NAMES! NAMES

As I walk, I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The entire way back to the Alpha's cabin, he follows close behind, his presence suffocating.

By the time we reach the cabin, which is now assumedly his, I feel like a prisoner. He escorts me right through the door, not offering me the chance to falter a single step.

My cheek is bleeding again, and I can feel a dampness on my hairline that I can't decide is from his breath, nervous sweat, or werewolf slobber. I settle for not knowing, trying to push the thought out of my mind.

He guides me through the large living room, up the stairs, and down the hallway, his nose prodding me in the shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time, silently ordering me to stop in front of the door to the guest room from before.

Taking the hint, I open the door and enter, my heart racing with anticipation. He gestures into the room with his head, and I hesitantly walk further in, looking around at the familiar space.

The door suddenly clicks closed, leaving me alone, and I wonder what he expects me to do now. Does he think I'll try to escape again?

I sit down on the bed, sinking into the plush comforter, and stare blankly at my lap, mindlessly picking at the hem of the shirt I'm wearing - his shirt. I'm still zoning out when the doorknob turns suddenly, making me jump in my own skin.

He's standing on the threshold of the door, his eyes fixed on me, and my gaze goes directly to what's in his hands. A long, thick rope hangs from his grip, and my heart skips a beat.

"What are you doing?" I blurt out with a bit of a squeak, trying to keep my voice steady. I swallow nervously, watching his every movement like a hawk, my senses on high alert.

He approaches me, his eyes never leaving mine, and orders, "Hold out your hands." I hesitate, unsure of what to do, but his growl makes me yank my arms up in a heartbeat, holding them out at his mercy.

He starts by tying my wrists together, then my hands while my fists are balled, making it impossible to spread my fingers, and henceforth impossible to use my claws.

I feel a surge of fear and frustration as he ties the opposite end of the rope to the bedpost, giving me leeway to move around a bit but never leave. Just like a dog on a leash.

He avoids eye contact the whole time he works, making me wonder if it's possible that he feels somewhat guilty for this.

The lighting of his obsidian irises is doing the flickering thing again, like his wolf is trying to come out but he's fighting to restrain it.

Typically, a werewolf's eyes only turn black when their primal instincts are triggered. His have stayed dark, which means he's been on the edge of losing control to his wolf this entire time.

As he finishes tying me up, he starts towards the door, and I suddenly feel the need to stop him. Like some part of me wants him to stay, if only for a few seconds longer.

"Are you at least gonna tell me your name?" I ask indifferently, trying to sound nonchalant despite the turmoil inside me. I know his name, I've heard it off of Alpha Jaime's tongue, but something, some part of me, needs to hear it off his.

He pauses with his hand over the light switch, not bothering to turn around. Even beneath the fabric of his shirt, I can see the taut muscles of his back tightening.

"Evans Decuir”, he says finally, his voice low and rough.

A few seconds pass as the name sinks in, and goosebumps rise on my skin as my entire body prickles with alertness. I visualise the spelling of it in my head and repeat it various times, trying to commit it to memory.

He looks over his shoulder, not at me, but exposing the side of his face in my direction. "What's yours?" he asks gruffly, his eyes still avoiding mine. I'm quiet for a while before answering,

"Why should I tell you?" I say it mostly to annoy him, but partially because I truly don't see a reason to tell him. He doesn't deserve that yet.

"Because I told you mine," he growls, something he seems to do a lot, his fingers gripping the frame of the doorway harder, causing the wood to crack loudly.

"So? I didn't offer you a trade," I huff, trying to sound defiant, as I lay over on my side and squirm to get comfortable, which is a challenging task when unable to spread my arms at all.

Once settled, I rest my head on the pillow and close my eyes, trying to appear nonchalant despite the turmoil inside me.

"Goodnight," I say curtly, trying to dismiss him, but he doesn't move. I can sense his presence, his eyes on me, and I wonder what he's thinking. Is he waiting for me to make another move, to try and escape again? Or is he simply trying to intimidate me, to assert his dominance?

The silence stretches out, and I start to feel a sense of unease. I don't know what he's capable of, what he might do if he loses control. His eyes have been black for so long now, and I know that's a bad sign.

Finally, the light flips off, and the room is bathed in darkness. Directly following that, the door slams aggressively closed, making me jump. Despite it, I can't find it in me to be scared anymore. I'm tired, exhausted from the events of the day, and I just want to sleep.

I lay there, fully ready to drift off, but something eats at my conscience. In the back of my mind, I know it's because he's angry with me. But I push that thought away. I got the last word in, and that's all that matters.

As I drift off to sleep, I'm aware of the rope binding my wrists, the feel of the bedpost digging into my skin. I'm a prisoner, trapped in this room, at the mercy of a werewolf who seems to be teetering on the edge of control.

But I'm not afraid. Not yet, anyway. I'm too tired, too numb. I just want to sleep, to forget about this day, to forget about Evans Decuir And his piercing black eyes.

Tomorrow, I'll worry about escape, about survival. But for now, I just want to rest.