CHAPTER 15

AMARA

He asked me to sleep, but I couldn't. I tried harder to do that, but my body went still and my eyes were open in the dark, my mind refusing to stop.

I kept thinking about where I was. What I had walked into. I left home hoping for a perfect life among the werewolves.

"All I wanted to do was learn their ways, train, grow stronger, and most importantly, find the witch who murdered my father.”

I said, releasing a moan of pain, my ragged breath filling the room at the thought of my failure. “But here I was, trapped in the hands of a sick, depraved rogue called Ragnar. He wasn’t just a threat. He was obsessed and had a plan to use me. My blood. He wanted to make himself the strongest alpha existing.”

Ergh!

I turned on the bed disgusted at the thought of someone drinking my blood to make himself powerful. I stared at the wall. My chest felt heavy. I kept asking myself, “how did he even find out about my bloodline? I had never told anyone. My parents had made sure to keep it hidden my whole life, and had it been Stefan hadn't broken my heart in the woods, I wouldn't have been awakened and knew I carried something like this in me.”

My mother’s words echoed in my mind. The moment you awakened, your signature had been noticed." She had warned me telling me it would draw attention and danger would follow.

I pressed my hands into the blanket. I began to regret leaving the little town she had hidden me in. I was safe there. I had been unknown. Now, I was exposed.

But I refused to believe I had no choice. I would escape. I didn’t know how yet, but I would.

The door burst open. I sat up quickly.

Ryder stepped inside. His eyes were cold, his posture strict. “It’s time for practice,” he said.

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just stepped aside and jerked his head toward the door. “Move.”

I slid off the bed. My bare feet touched the cold floor. I walked toward him.

He turned and led the way. We moved through a dimly lit hallway. The air was damp. The stone walls pressed close. I wonder how old these walls were. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, catching glimpses of torches that barely burned.

We walked in silence, but my mind raced. I thought about running. But I knew he would catch me. I thought about fighting. But he was stronger. So I had to wait.

At the end of the hallway stood a single door. Ryder stopped. He reached for the handle and pushed it open.

I stepped inside.

Ragnar sat on a sofa, his body relaxed, but his eyes wandered around like he was scared someone would dive out of the shadow and attack him. A woman sits beside him. She leaned close to him, whispering something in his ear.

I stood there, staring at Ragnar. My voice shook, but I forced the words out.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?”

Ragnar didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he stood.

His steps were slow, heavy as they hounded towards me. He came closer until his shadow fell over me.

And then I reached out and grabbed my chin. His fingers were strong, rough even. He tilted my head up, so I had to look into his eyes.

“You will learn to respect me,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Or I will design your pretty little mouth in a way you will never forget.”

I tried to pull my chin away, but his grip tightened. His eyes stayed locked on mine for a moment longer, then he let go.

Before I could speak again, the door opened.

A few girls stepped in. They moved like frightened deer, their eyes darting around the room. I scanned their faces quickly, searching for one particular person.

“Clara!” I rushed forward as soon as I saw her.

We met halfway and wrapped our arms around each other. I squeezed her tight, feeling her shake in my arms.

“Did they hurt you?” I asked quickly.

She pulled back just enough to look at me. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “The guards… they’re mean, but we’re fine.”

Relief hit me, but it didn’t last long. Ragnar’s voice cut through the moment.

“That’s enough.”

We turned to face him. His expression was unreadable. He gestured toward the sofa where he had been sitting earlier. Beside it now stood the woman I had noticed before.

She was middle-aged, with striking red hair, her lips were lined with heavy lipsticks, her body was adorned with a crop top that barely clung to her chest and short pants that stopped high on her thighs, chains decorated her body, glinting in the light. Everything about her screamed that she had been in the business of selling herself for a long time.

“This,” Ragnar gestured a hand towards her, “is Mama B.”

And the striking Mama B smirked at us.

“She will be taking you through classes,” Ragnar continued. “Teaching you how to be strippers. When you are ready, you will perform for my clients.”

My stomach dropped as realization dawned on me. He was serious about us working as strippers.

Ragnar’s eyes swept over us. “I will not waste time on your training. You will be fast learners. Or I will kill you.”

A shiver ran through the girls. Clara’s grip on my arm tightened.

Mama B clapped her hands once. “The first lesson we'll be taking is positions,” she said sharply as she walked among us, adjusting our stances. “Your back must be straight and your shoulders loose. Don’t look stiff. Men want curves, not boards.”

She moved to the center of the room. “Strippers attract men with the way they move. It’s in the hips, the eyes, the way you make them think they can touch you… but you don’t let them. You make them want more.”

She began to move. Slowly at first. Her hips swayed from side to side in a rhythm that seemed almost hypnotic.

Her arms moved with her body, framing the sway. Furthermore, her chest lifted, dropped, and rolled; she ran her fingers down her side, letting them linger on her waist.

Mama B's eyes locked on us as she moved, almost daring us to look away. She turned her back, bent slightly, and rolled her hips in a slow circle. The chains on her body clinked softly with every movement.

She straightened and spun back to face us, her steps small but deliberate.

Every movement seemed planned to pull attention to her body. She bit her lip as she traced her collarbone, then slid her hand down toward her stomach.

She stopped just before her waistband and let out a soft laugh.

“That,” she said, “is how you keep them hooked. Now… your turn.”

One by one, she made us step forward and try.

The first girl stumbled through it, her movements stiff and awkward. Mama B snapped at her, fixing her posture and forcing her to try again.

Then it was Clara’s turn. She moved better, her hips finding some kind of rhythm, but I could see the fear in her eyes.

Finally, it was me.

I stepped forward. My heart was pounding. I would rather not do this.

Every part of me screamed against it. Ryder stood watching, his arms folded. Ragnar lounged in his seat, his eyes fixed on me.

“Go on,” Mama B said.

I forced my body to move. My hips swayed slowly just as hers had done, and I willed my hands to follow. I tried to keep my face blank, but Ragnar’s hot gaze made my skin crawl. I kept my steps small, moving in a slow circle.

Mama B clapped once. “Better. But use your eyes more. Make them feel like you’re thinking about them.”

I bit back a retort and followed her instruction, letting my eyes wander briefly to Ragnar as I was curious on how he'd react. I would rather not give Ryder the satisfaction he means anything to me, but I could feel his eyes fixed on me. His smirk deepened.

When it was over, I stepped back into line. My hands felt clammy.

Ragnar and Ryder seemed pleased, you could tell from their expression. Ragnar leaned back, his fingers drumming on the arm of the sofa. Ryder chuckled quietly.

The lesson went on until Mama B was satisfied. Finally, Ryder took the other girls away, leading them back to their rooms. Mama B followed.

That left me alone with Ragnar.

He looked at me and called with one finger. “Come here.”

I stayed where I was. “I’m hungry. And I want to sleep.”

His smile was slow. “I won’t repeat myself, Amara.”

My stomach tightened at the way his words rolled out of his lips like a prayer to a god. The shivers that ran down my spine. I stepped forward slowly until I stood in front of him.

“Sit,” he said, patting his thigh.

I froze.

“Sit.”

I lowered myself onto his lap. The moment I did, I felt the hard bulge pressing against the back of my ass. I tensed as I tried shooting out of his thighs, but his hands slid to my waist and tightened around it, keeping me firmly in place. My breath caught.

“You’re a little whore,” he said quietly. “Can you feel it? Your dance made me hard.”

I jerked back slightly, but his grip held me in place.

He tilted his head, studying my face. “And you know watching you dance made me put up this proposition; Be my personal strip dancer, and you won’t have to dance for the others. Only for me.”

My jaw clenched. “No.”

His smile didn’t fade. “Think about it. There will be no crowds, no other eyes but just mine.”

“I said no,” I snapped furiously. “And you’re disgusting.”

He laughed softly. Then, before I could move, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine.

I tried to push him away, but his hand at my waist held me still. His lips were rough, forceful. I turned my face, breaking the contact.

He pulled back just enough to speak. “Think about my offer, Amara. You’re the first I’ve ever said this to.”

My stomach churned at his words, his dark eyes on me. My mind raced, but I didn’t answer him as I stood up and bolted out of the room and didn't stop until I got into mine.