Chapter 21

AMARA

I had just finished healing myself. The burning pain in my back was gone. My breathing slowed, but my hands still shook. My power had taken a lot from me in making me feel better, and my head felt light. I wondered how I was going to replenish my magic since I wasn't allowed out of the room.

The door opened without a knock. Clara rushed in, her eyes wide like she had been running.

“Amara!” she called.

I stood, before I could respond or even brace myself for her impact, she collided into me and wrapped her arms around me like she feared she was going to lose me. I staggered a couple of steps backwards steadying myself before my hands shot up and wrapped around her holding her tight like I thought she might also leave me.

For a moment, it felt like we were safe, like the walls couldn’t touch us. But the smell of damp stone and metal reminded me where we were — in the chains of a deranged Rogue Alpha with no means of escaping.... Caged Forever.

She pulled back and turned me around. Her fingers searched my back, parting my hair, checking for the wound.

“It’s gone,” I told her meekly. And I was glad I'd healed myself before she came in. I wouldn't want her to see me as a weak person.

Her brows pressed together. “Where did it go? You were bleeding so much.”

“I healed it,” I shrugged like it meant anything.

She stared at me like I had grown two heads. “Amara… you healed it?" She asked incredulously. "What are you? A normal werewolf doesn’t heal that fast. Not with the kind of wound the psycho inflicted on you.”

I chuckled. "Don't let him hear you call him that."

"That doesn't answer my question." She screwed her features, her lips pressed tight as she stared hard at me.

I shuddered at her gaze but drew a deep breath. After what we'd been through, she needed an explanation. “I’m not a normal person like you're,” I said. “I'm a different kind of being. And that’s why Ragnar took me in the first place.” I offered her the simplest explanation I'd come up with.

Her lips parted like she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t. She nodded instead, like she had decided not to push.

She reached under her shirt and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. “A guard gave me this,” she smiled.

I looked down. It was food, a small, sweet-smelling snack.

But as I looked up at Clara, her cheek had warmed up and she tried to hide her face.

“What?” I asked, a small smile pulling at my lips, knowingly. It feels good teasing her.

“Nothing,” she muttered, placing the food between us. "Don't ask me please, let's just enjoy it."

I grinned widely. I sucked on my lips contemplating on teasing her more or just letting it go. Instead, I picked up one of the snacks. “Let’s eat before someone takes it away, then.”

We sat on the floor. The stone was cold under us. We ate in silence, the only sound was our chewing. I didn’t ask about the guard. She didn’t ask about my power. And that was even.

The door opened again. Mama B stepped in, her voice sharp. “Get up, we need to leave. Clients are waiting.”

I frowned. “Clients?”

“Move,” she ordered.

We followed her reluctantly. She didn’t take us through the usual way we went for practice. Instead, she led us down another tunnel. My feet dragged over the uneven floor. The air here was heavier, like it had not been touched by wind in years.

I wondered if this whole place was nothing but tunnels. Each turn felt the same.

We stopped at a door. Mama B unlocked it. The hinges cried when it opened. We stepped into a dim hallway. The air here smelled of smoke and something sweet but bitter underneath.

At the end of the hallway, another door stood. A guard blocked the way. He looked at us, then stepped aside without a word.

We walked through and I froze at the sight which welcomed me.

The room was wide and open. Light spilled from neon signs and strips running along the walls, their glow deep and unnatural. The music was low but steady, the beat like a slow heartbeat.

The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

A long bar stretched along the right side of the room. Bottles of every color lined the shelves, catching the neon light. Men sat on high stools, their backs hunched, drinks in their hands, eyes fixed on the stage.

The stage sat in the center like an altar. Three poles rose from the floor to the ceiling. The floor of the stage was polished to a shine, reflecting the colored lights. The platform was raised high enough for everyone in the room to see.

Dark booths lined the walls, shadows swallowing whoever sat inside. Laughter and low voices slipped out from those corners.

Mama B turned to us. “Follow me.”

My voice came out low. “Why are we here?”

She looked at me like the answer was obvious. “Some influential men are coming tonight. Ragnar wants his new strippers on stage. That’s you and the other girls”

Clara’s head snapped toward me. My heart sank.

“But he said in two days —” I began.

Mama B cut me off. “He changed his mind. And you're going to do what he says. Now questions young lady." She cut me a glance that told me this discussion was over and nothing I'd say would make her listen to me or even, let me go.

She led us to a side door. Inside was a small dressing room. Racks and shelves covered the walls. Most of what I saw were barely clothes; thin strings of lace, tiny shorts, bras that looked like they would fall apart if you breathed too hard.

The smell of expensive perfume and body powder hung in the air. A long mirror ran along one wall.

Mama B gestured at the racks. “Pick something from the rack and be ready in thirty minutes.”

Clara didn’t move. “We can’t do this,” she whispered to me.

“She said thirty minutes,” Mama B repeated, sharper now.

I turned to her. “And if we refuse?”

Her mouth curved into a cold smile. “Then Ragnar will come here himself. You won’t like that.”

She left, locking the door behind her.

As soon as Mama B shut the door, I spat the words under my breath.

“Ragnar… and his stupid business,” I muttered, my jaw clenched, and hands curled into fists. I wanted to rip his face apart.

Clara’s eyes shifted to me. “I know you feel bad about doing this,” she said softly, “but it’s best if we don't defy his orders.”

I looked at her. “And then what? He’ll just send someone to drag to do it and leave us alone.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want you whipped like that. I don’t want to see your back torn open again.”

Her voice dropped at the end. I could hear the memory in it.

I sighed and sat on the small chair. My shoulders slumped. My power could heal wounds, but it couldn’t take away the sting of humiliation.

Clara walked to the rack of clothes. She began to pull things out one by one. Her hands sifted through lace, leather, strings, scraps that barely counted as fabric.

She turned to me with something in her hand. “This one,” she said.

It was a knitted red short skirt and a matching bra that tied at the back of the neck. “A halter bra,” she added. “You’ll wear this.”

I stared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

She ignored me and kept looking for herself. She chose a gray dress that looked like a long singlet in the front but tied at the neck in the back, leaving her entire back bare.

“You’re seriously planning to put this on?” I asked, staring wide eyed at her.

“We don’t have much choice,” she replied.

I didn’t move for a moment. Then I stood, grabbed the halter bra and moved to the small divider to dress up. On autopilot I stripped off the cloth I was putting on and pulled it over my head. The fabric scratched my skin. The skirt clung too much. I hated it already.

When I stepped out from behind the small divider, Clara’s eyes widened.

“Wow,” she breathed. “You look —”

“Don’t say it,” I warned.

“— beautiful,” she finished anyway. Then she grinned. “Actually… you know what? Fuck Ragnar.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“We’re going to go out there, we’re going to dance for those men, and we’re going to make Ragnar watch. If he wants to use you like this, let’s make him hate every second of it.”

Her idea slid into my mind like a spark catching fire. I knew he wanted me for himself and was still requesting I be his personal seductress. But then he decided to punish me for escaping by asking me to strip for men.

I smirked. “I like that.”

“He wants you to be his personal stripper, right?” she said, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Yes,” I admitted not bothering to lie about it. She knew already.

“Then let’s make sure tonight hurts him instead.”

The thought alone made my pulse quicken.

We sat in front of the cracked mirror and began painting our faces. The air smelled of powder and perfume. Clara drew a dark line across her eyelids. I filled my lips with deep color. We worked in silence, only the sound of brushes tapping against the table.

We had just finished when the door opened without a knock.

Three girls stepped in. The scent of strong makeup filled the room. Their eyes were heavy with black paint, their lips bright with red lipstick. They wore only bras and panties, their skin oiled to shine under the stage lights.

The one in the middle walked like she owned the floor. I knew her face. I knew her voice before she spoke. She was the one who had shoved me the other night.

Her gaze slid over me. “Don’t think too highly of yourself just because Ragnar is flaunting you all over the place,” she said.

I leaned back in my chair, not speaking yet.

Her lip curled. “You’d better keep your paws off Ragnar. If you must know, he’s mine. He always has been. He always will be.”

Clara’s head snapped toward her. “She doesn’t —”

The girl cut her off with a laugh. “And don’t think performing one night makes you a queen. You’re nothing. You’re just a filthy whore… and you’ll stay one.”

Her voice dripped with venom.

The other two girls sniggered. One of them whispered something in the other’s ear, and they both giggled.

I rose from the chair slowly. My fingers flexed at my sides. I wanted to grab her throat, but I kept still.

“You done?” I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. She smirked like she had won something. “For now.”

They turned and left, their hips swaying as they went. The door shut behind them, and their perfume lingered like a curse in the air.

Clara exhaled hard. “What the hell was that?”

I stayed quiet for a long moment. “It was a warning,” I spat out the words.

Clara frowned. “About Ragnar?”

I nodded. “She’s afraid. She can feel her place slipping. That’s why she’s lashing out.”

Clara shook her head. “You don’t need her drama tonight.”

I smirked again. “No… but I might use it.”

She gave me a questioning look.

“You’ll see,” I told her.

I sat back down and fixed the last strand of my hair. My reflection stared back at me, but it wasn’t the same face from before. There was something sharper in my eyes now.

Clara leaned closer. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” I said, though my stomach still turned.

"Let's go make some men horny then." Her lips curled in a wicked smile.