Playing The Alphas

SAMANTHA

I wrapped myself tightly in my tattered clothes and stumbled back to my house. Every step sent jolts of pain through my body, and I could feel the eyes of servants and slaves on me as I passed. They whispered behind their hands, their gazes filled with pity or mockery. I didn’t care. I just needed to get inside. I needed to be alone.

Scared of being caught, I slammed the door close and locked it from the inside. The click of the lock was the most reassuring sound I’d heard all day. I pressed my back against the solid wood, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. Exhausted, I collapsed against it and slid down to the floor. The rough wood scraped against my back, but I barely felt it.

I clutched my knees and tears began to flow down my cheeks uncontrollably. They came in great, heaving sobs that shook my entire body. I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t want to stop them. For so long, I had held everything inside, bottling up the pain and the fear and the humiliation. Now, alone in the silence of my small house, it all came rushing out.

"Why me?" I whispered into the empty room. "Why must I constantly face such hardships?"

Jayce singled me out from the moment I arrived. Molly Hanes despised me with a passion I couldn’t understand. I was shunned by the other sex slaves, who saw me as a threat or an outsider or both. And now, Finnian had set his sights on me. His cold amber eyes, his possessive touch, the way he had claimed my mouth like I belonged to him—it all came flooding back, making me shudder.

It had been only a few short days since my arrival at this place, but I found myself in this dreadful predicament. Overcome with fear and feeling utterly helpless, I couldn’t stop my tears from flowing.

"I don’t deserve this," I choked out, my voice breaking. "I don’t deserve this kind of existence."

I buried my face in my hands and tears dripped through my fingers. The memories of my arrival here haunted me—the betrayal by John and Amanda, along with their deceit and my indifferent beta father. Had it not been for them, my life wouldn’t have turned out this way. I would still be in my pack, still have my dignity, still be free.

I clenched my jaw. A fierce anger ignited within me and my sadness was quickly replaced. No! I must persevere. I must see them face consequences. I couldn’t just give up now. John, Amanda, my father—they had all played their parts in my downfall. They thought they could destroy me, break me, reduce me to nothing.

They were wrong.

With that resolve, I cleaned my eyes, pushing the tears away with the back of my hand. I pushed myself off the floor, my muscles protesting, and gradually rose to my feet. My legs felt like they were made of stone, heavy and numb.

With heavy, numb legs, I made my way to the bathroom, bit by bit. Each step was a battle. I gripped the walls for support, my fingers leaving faint smears on the painted surface. When I finally reached the bathroom, I turned on the water and let it run until steam filled the small space.

After struggling to clean myself up, I finally felt a wave of relief wash over me. The warm water soothed my aching muscles and washed away the grime of the day. I scrubbed my skin until it was pink, trying to erase the feeling of Finnian’s hands on me, Jayce’s marks on my chest. Some things couldn’t be washed away, but I tried anyway.

As I dried my hair with a towel, I headed toward the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. My throat was raw from crying, and I needed something to ease the burning. I walked on autopilot, my mind still reeling from everything that had happened.

Then, something on the coffee table in the living room caught my eye.

I walked over to it, intrigued. To my surprise, there was a note and a box of ointment for wounds. The box was small but elegant, clearly expensive. The note was folded neatly beside it.

"Who could have left these?" I murmured, my brow furrowing.

Curious, I picked up the note. Instantly, my face drained of color. The writing on the note was bold and imposing, each letter sharp and deliberate. I knew that handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere.

"I enjoyed last night. I’ll be back."

As I read the note, I began to shake uncontrollably. The paper felt light at first but grew unbearably heavy in an instant and slipped through my fingers, fluttering to the floor like a wounded bird.

"Jayce Cunnigham!" I gasped, stumbling backward. "It was him again!"

Flashes of the previous night tormented me. His hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, the way he had taken me without asking, without caring. He drained all my energy and my private part still hurt. The ache was a constant reminder of what he had done, what he had taken.

A cold sweat broke out on my back at the mere thought of him. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling. Holding the ointment felt like holding a piece of burning coal. I almost dropped it, almost threw it across the room, but something stopped me.

I forced myself to stay calm. With closed eyes, I took a deep breath and clenched my fists. The air filled my lungs, slow and deliberate.

"You can do this," I told myself. "You can survive this."

I reminded myself that as long as I was breathing, there was still hope. I wouldn’t be crushed by this. Not by Jayce. Not by Finnian. Not by anyone.

Though the ointment from Jayce repulsed me, I didn’t throw it away. Instead, I applied it cautiously to my wounds—those inflicted by Molly Hanes and her followers, the bruises from Jayce, and my aching private part. The ointment was cool against my skin, soothing the inflammation and easing the pain. I hated that it helped. I hated that I needed it.

"No matter what," I whispered, my voice trembling with determination, "I refuse to let those villains harm me further."

Exhausted from the entire ordeal, I eventually finished everything and succumbed to sleep. My body gave out, and I collapsed onto my bed, too tired to even pull up the covers. The darkness swallowed me whole, and for a few precious hours, I knew nothing but oblivion.

Today’s events were just the start. I knew I’d face numerous dangers in the days ahead, so preserving my strength was crucial to confront these future challenges. I couldn’t afford to break. I couldn’t afford to give up.

True to my expectations, the very next morning, as soon as I stepped into the training room, a squad of soldiers burst in and encircled me. Their armor gleamed in the early morning light, and their faces were hard, expressionless.

"Samantha Samuels, right?" the lead soldier barked, his hand resting on his sword. "The king wants to see you. Come with us."

My blood ran cold. The king? Why would the king want to see me? I had done nothing to draw his attention. Unless... unless Molly had reported me. Unless she had spun some lie to make me look like a traitor.

"I—" I started, my voice catching in my throat.

"Now!" the soldier snapped, grabbing my arm roughly. "No delays."

I had no choice. I couldn’t fight them. I couldn’t run. All I could do was obey and pray that whatever awaited me wasn’t worse than what I’d already endured.

As they dragged me through the corridors, I felt the eyes of everyone we passed. The servants, the guards, the other slaves—they all watched, their expressions ranging from curiosity to glee. Word had spread. Everyone knew I was in trouble.

"Let’s go," the soldier growled, shoving me forward. "The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting."