The dressing room ch 12

Last night should’ve broken me. Most people get caught trying to escape and rethink their entire life. They curl up, cry and lose hope. But not me.

I lay awake after Pierce pinned me to that damn wall, after he whispered all those threats like sweet nothings. Stared at the ceiling and made a new plan. Because I don’t care what he says, how strong he is, how many guards he’s got, or what kind of twisted claim he thinks he has over me.

This isn’t over.

He thinks I’m his? Then he better never blink. Because the second he does, I’m gone.

When morning came, I acted normal. Whatever “normal” means in a mansion owned by a bloodthirsty psychopath who wants to chain me to his bed like some medieval fairytale gone full-blown horror movie.

I showered, got dressed and brushed my hair like I didn’t still feel bark scraping across my back from the night before. My spine ached, legs felt bruised, but I walked out of that room like nothing happened.

I turned the corner to the living room and there he was. Pierce leaned against the wall like he knew I’d be coming. Like he’d been waiting just to ruin my morning too.

His sleeves were rolled up, casual. Relaxed even. The kind of calm that comes from knowing you’re the one holding the leash. I

didn’t stop until I was in front of him and we just stared at each other.

“So,” I said flatly. “What now? More guards? Steel cuffs? You gonna start locking me in a freaking dungeon of yours?”

He tilted his head slowly. “No.”

“No?” I repeated, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.

“Now, I’m about to show you the truth.” He pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Because I think the reason you keep trying to escape is that you still don’t see the full picture you got into.”

I scoffed, arms folding across my chest. “What? That you’re a psychopathic mafia boss who kidnapped me, gave me some weird bite mark and now claims I belong to you?” I rolled my eyes hard. “Yeah, no confusion there, I already get it. Loud and clear.”

“Lyra,” he warned, jaw tightening, voice clipped. “Don’t try to piss me off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?” I snapped. “Tell me, Pierce, what exactly don’t I understand?”

He didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t move. “That I’m not just some mafia boss, little fox.”

I stared at him. “Oh good,” I muttered. “So what? You’re a wizard now? A vampire? Let me guess, demon prince of the underworld?”

Still nothing. Not even a twitch of amusement on that fucking arrogant face.

“Well, that one was close. I’m a werewolf, actually,” he said.

I blinked once. The silence stretched for half a beat and then I just laughed. Ugly, disbelieving, you’ve-lost-your-fucking-mind kind of laugh.

“Oh my God,” I wheezed, wiping a nonexistent tear. “You’re serious.”

He nodded once and walked to the center of the room. “Do you want me to prove it?”

“Nope,” I said quickly, hands raised. “I’m good. Really. I’ve had my quota of crazy for the week. I don’t need a show-and-tell.”

But the grin on Pierce’s face said otherwise. That arrogant grin that told me I had ‘no say’.

The whole air itself changed right then and there. Thickened, like the room had dropped ten degrees and gained a hundred pounds and then I heard it—the first crack.

I froze on another snap. Cracks, tendons twisting, bones breaking. His body distorted, folding in on itself in impossible angles. His skin rippled, peeled, reshaped.

Choking on a breath, my previous laughter died in my throat, I stumbled back, legs locking, knees buckling against the edge of the couch. “Wh-what are you— What the hell—?”

Then he was gone. In his place was a beast. A creature now towered—massive, white as snow, fur like it had swallowed the moonlight—is a freaking wolf. Not a big dog. Not a bear. A wolf.

And those eyes—those unmistakable electric-blue eyes, his eyes—looked straight into me.

My scream tore loose before I even knew I was screaming. “Ah-hh! What the fuck! What the actual hell is that?!”

I tripped backward, flipping over the couch and crashing to the floor behind it. I grabbed at throw pillows like they could somehow save me. My whole body convulsed with panic, my chest was fully on hellfire.

My mind was probably glitching. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t real.

I scrambled, skidding back behind the couch, crawling like a wild animal, nails ripping at the floor.

“No, no, no, no, no— This isn’t happening, this isn’t—” When he took a slow step forward, I lost it and my breath shattered into pieces. “Get away from me!”

Then I ran or better to say tried to. But he was faster.

A blur of white, a weight like a freight train slammed into me, flattening me onto the carpet. I hit the floor with a thud and a cry, face crushed against it, arms pinned under his massive paws. His breath—hot and ragged—puffed against the back of my neck.

I thrashed. Kicked. Sobbed. “Get off me! Get off!”

My voice was hoarse and shaking and then I heard his bones shift again. Fur disappeared, paws retracted, flesh molded and reshaped. In seconds, the monster pinning me wasn’t a wolf anymore. It was Pierce.

When I dared to peek through tear-blurred vision, he was completely back. Human. Fully naked. Unbothered. Still on top of me.

I shrieked again and tried to squirm away, but he straddled my hips and grabbed both of my wrists, pressing them into the floor beside my head.

“Wow,” he said with a sharp grin. “And here I thought you were tough.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, tears burning hot down my cheeks.

“All that fire earlier,” he said, tilting his head in cruel amusement. “Where’s that mouth now, Lyra? Thought you were the brave little fox. Not just some screaming mess. Scared of the big bad wolf?”

I whimpered. Actually whimpered. My entire body was shaking like I’d been dragged through ice, fingers were numb and I could feel my vision tilted sideways.

Pierce laughed, low and vicious. “I shift one time and you’re already crying like a baby? I expected more from you, sweetheart.”

His face lowered, lips brushing my ear. “What happened to all that attitude, hmm? Where’s the fire now?”

But then he paused, his breath hitched. I felt it. And suddenly, all the mocking drained out of his voice when his eyes moved down my face. Took in the way my chest heaved. The full-blown, choking panic behind my wild, unfocused gaze.

My tears. Not rage, not defiance. Just raw, terrified crying—the quiet, soul-crushed kind. The kind you can’t fake.

“Lyra,” he said, quieter now.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I was gone, drowning in fear and the weight of everything I’d just seen. I couldn’t breathe. My body wouldn’t move.

“Shit,” he murmured again, and something in his voice cracked this time.

He let go of my wrists, then gently—so gently it made me hate him even more—he rolled me onto my back. I flinched hard, but he didn’t stop. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and settled onto the floor with me straddling his lap, my face buried in his bare chest.

“Breathe,” he whispered. One arm wrapped around me, the other pressing the back of my head to him.

Then, slowly, he bent down and started licking the bite he’d given me earlier. Each slow, deliberate drag of his tongue across the mark sent heat and calm through me like a sedative, primal and strange.

He held me tighter, voice a low rumble. “It’s not just some fucked-up kink. It’s our mated bond. Maybe you don’t understand it yet, but you will. You’re mine now.”

I whimpered again, but softer this time. Still shaking. Still barely here.

“And I’m yours, little fox,” he said, quieter now, breath ghosting over my ear. “You’re stuck here with me, Lyra. Forever. And thank fuck for that.”

His tongue traced the bite once more before a hot kiss over it. And somehow, even through the panic, the horror, all the chaos, my body stopped trembling and my heart—traitorous and wild—began to beat in time with his.