The Triplet Alpha Kings’ Plaything

Chapter 8: To Dance Or To Die

Zora’s POV

“Let me help you up.” Aiden’s voice boomed and I would have laughed at the way Lilith’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets in shock at his offer if I wasn’t so surprised myself.

As Aiden extended his hand, I felt a jumble of emotions churn within me. Wariness mixed with the hard edges of stubborn pride. The pain radiating from my throbbing ankle was a constant reminder of my vulnerability, and the last thing I wanted was to appear weak in front of one of my captors. My jaw clenched, and I forced a determined smile. "I appreciate the offer, but I can manage," I said firmly, avoiding his gaze as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Yet, behind his eyes, there seemed to be more to his intent, something he refrained from voicing aloud. It was infuriatingly cryptic, and I wrestled with the urge to demand he speak his mind. But right now, my struggle with my own limitations took precedence. The bitterness in my heart intensified as I silently cursed my omega status. It was an unfair curse that left me vulnerable and reliant on others, a stark contrast to the strength I yearned for. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be a regular wolf, already healing from something as small as a sprain instead of being an omega who healed with the speed of a snail. If only I were like them, perhaps I would have already healed and wouldn't need assistance in the first place. The thought sent a pang of frustration coursing through me, but I swallowed it down and forced myself to keep moving forward.

“You may be on your way. I shall accompany her.” Aiden said to Lilith who bowed but not before she bared her teeth at me in a way that told me there would be more hardship in the future.

As the entrance to the infirmary came into view, a mixture of relief and apprehension churned within me. The elderly woman stationed at the threshold greeted us with a warm smile that reached her eyes, but it was the lingering gaze she bestowed upon Aiden that set off a twinge of discomfort within me. Her presence seemed polite enough, her voice kind as she addressed him. "Greetings, my Lord. I'll be happy to assist your companion here."

Aiden, the enigma he always was, responded with his customary grace. "Thank you, Aemma, but I can manage. I just need some supplies to aid her."

Aid me? Why?

Their interaction was polite, yet there was an undercurrent—an intangible familiarity that danced beneath the surface. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, and my frustration simmered beneath the layers of decorum. Without much forethought, the words tumbled out, unfiltered, "I don't need your help." Aemma's expression mirrored my own surprise, and for a moment, I regretted my impulsive outburst. But Aiden's laughter sliced through the tension like a knife, transforming the awkwardness into something lighter. He took a step closer to me, his amusement apparent as he glanced my way.

Aiden's eyes locked onto mine, his amusement apparent in their depths. "Stubborn as always, Zora."

Aemma's lips curved into a small smile, a glint of wary amusement in her eyes as she studied me "Assertiveness is a quality to be admired, my Lord, isn’t it?"

Aiden's attention shifted back to Aemma, his tone light as he spoke. "I've come to appreciate it."

Their exchange was brief, yet the unspoken connection between them intrigued me. Was Aemma more than just a healer in their lives? Could she possibly be the triplets' mother, a maternal figure who had been there for them in some significant way? The thought swirled in my mind, a puzzle piece that refused to fit just yet. There were so many unanswered questions that I had about them and as intrigued as I was, I was more interested in running away.

Before I could delve further into my thoughts, Aemma motioned for us to follow her, leading us deeper into the infirmary's interior. She guided us into a small, secluded room, its quiet intimacy amplifying my growing dread. The knowledge that the inevitable pain of having my bone reset loomed ahead of me settled heavily in my stomach but more than that was fear that Aiden was about to finally make true on the fact that he and his brothers had brought me here to be a plaything. The room seemed to constrict around me, and I took a steadying breath, my apprehension momentarily overshadowing my annoyance with Aiden’s presence.

Aiden's unexpected transparency caught me off guard, his words ringing with an honesty that was almost disarming. "This won't be pleasant, Zora," he warned and I nodded in acknowledgment, my gratitude for his straightforwardness mingling with the growing trepidation that churned within me. The seconds stretched, each one carrying a weight of its own as I braced myself for what was to come.

And then, the agony hit with a ferocity that left me reeling. A scream erupted from deep within me, an instinctive response to the searing pain that surged through my body. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, filling the room with an almost tangible intensity. For a brief moment, it was as though I was consumed by the pain, as if there was nothing else in the world but that all-encompassing torment.

But then, as swiftly as the pain had come, something shifted. Aiden's touch, once a source of agony, transformed into something else entirely. His fingers traced a path up my ankle, a featherlight caress that set my skin alight with shivers. In that instant, the agony began to ebb, the edges of pain blurring as a strange sense of intimacy took over. Our eyes locked, and the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in a suspended moment.

In that suspended space, I found myself locked in a silent exchange with Aiden, a connection that defied explanation. It was as if the pain had momentarily receded, leaving behind only the awareness of his hand traveling up my ankle and then to my thighs where he squeezed.

As if awoken from a dream, reality crashed back with brutal force. Aiden’s unwavering gaze held mine, and his touch ventured further, reaching my thigh. Panic fluttered within me, a potent mix of vulnerability and self-preservation. I couldn’t afford to be swayed by any illusion, no matter how enticing. My palm stung from the force of my slap against his hand, and my voice trembled with a mixture of anger and defiance, “I won’t be your plaything.”

Aiden's demeanor shifted before me, the glint of amusement in his eyes too clear to miss. His voice cut through the charged air, a challenge hanging on his words like a dare. "So, do you wish to die then? Because that was the agreement, was it not?”

At that moment, I lost my voice, remembering how I had quickly agreed so that I could be saved from being sacrificed.

Aiden's smile transformed, taking on an edge that was both enticing and dangerous. The playfulness that had danced in his eyes was replaced by something deeper, something that set my heart racing with panic. His gaze held mine, unwavering, as he admitted, "I enjoy a challenge, especially from someone with fire."

The weight of his words hung in the air between us, a charged energy that sparked like electricity. There was an unspoken acknowledgment, a silent agreement that a battle had begun—one that wasn't solely physical, but a clash of wills, a testing of limits. His eyes held a glint of intrigue, as if he saw something in me that both intrigued and captivated him.

The room felt smaller somehow, as if the walls were closing in on the tension that crackled between us. But in that moment, I realized that this wasn't just a confrontation—it was a dance, a dance of strength and defiance, a dance that would determine who held the upper hand. And as the echoes of his words lingered, a fierce determination burned within me, a fire that matched the one he had recognized in me.

The charged air seemed to hum with an electric energy that pulled at the very core of our exchange. But then, with a subtle shift, he changed his approach. His voice, once a challenge, now carried a softer, darker undertone, as if he were probing the depths of my resolve. "You have not answered my question, pretty thing. Would you prefer to die by our hands?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. I held his gaze, my silence a resolute stand against his taunts. The seconds stretched, a silent battle of wills, as I refused to be goaded into responding to his dangerous proposition.

His chuckle broke the tension, low and almost fond. It was as if he had anticipated my lack of response, as if my silence had conveyed more than words ever could. "I thought as much."

With that, he turned to leave the room, his presence diminishing as the door closed behind him. His final words lingered, a promise that seemed to echo in the corners of the space we had occupied. The words, "tame your snarky mouth," held a hint of challenge, a hint of anticipation for what lay ahead. It was a declaration, a proclamation that a battle had indeed been initiated—an intricate dance of power and determination that extended far beyond the physical realm of pain and weakness and it was a battle that I had already lost from when I agreed to be their property.

As the echoes of his departure faded, I was left alone in the room, the weight of our encounter settling upon me. I knew one thing for sure—I needed to run away as soon as possible.