Alpha Zanthus

Chapter 3

I awoke to the feeling of something cool being placed on my heart.

My breaths were calm yet shallow, and I didn't want to panic because I didn't want whoever was near me to know I was awake. However, I cracked an eye open - it was enough where I could investigate my surroundings, but not enough so whoever it was knew I was watching them.

I soon realized that what was placed on my heart was a stethoscope, and it was the pack doctor who was checking me out; making sure I was okay. Zanthus must've grown concerned and called him in.

"Her breathing seems fine, Alpha," The doctor told him, removing the stethoscope from my heart and pulling the shirt I was wearing back up. He removed the earpieces from his ears and placed the instrument around his neck. He looked at Zanthus, who was standing at the foot of the bed, watching me with scrutinizing eyes. "Her temperatures a little high, and she's experiencing swelling and bruising on her neck, but she should be back to normal when she turns 18 in...?" The doctor trailed off, not knowing when I turned 18. Which meant that he knew I was underaged, and that fact embarrassed me a bit. I must've seemed like a weak child to him.

"Tomorrow." Zanthus told him, his voice deeper than normal. He was trying to hide his humiliation. I could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn't thrilled that he had to explain - even if it was only to the pack Doctor - that he had marked a minor. Zanthus knew what his pack would think if they knew. I knew what his pack would think if they knew. They'd feel disgusted...ashamed.

"Tomorrow...A November baby. A Scorpio," the doctor laughed, trying to make humour out of the awkward situation. "My my, Alpha, you're going to have your hands full with this one." The doctor laughed again. And it was funny, being a November 1st baby, because everyone thought that since I was a Scorpio, I was feisty. I wasn't feisty at all - the sign of a Pisces would've been more suiting for me. They were the kindest zodiac sign.

Zanthus ignored the doctors dry humour. "So she should be back to normal tomorrow?" Zanthus questioned again, raising a blonde brow. I didn't miss how he looked paler than usual, or how he had deep purple under eye bags. He must've been concerned about me - either lacking sleep, or just making sure I was okay. Both scenarios, however, made me inwardly smile. Because both represented worry and care.

The doctor looked back at me, and I was startled when I noticed his eyes were as silver as his hair. He was obviously older, but he looked good for his age; a silver fox. "Yes. If not, call me again. It may be fatal." A wave of alarmed heat shot through me.

Fatal.

I knew I was reacting badly to the mark, but to know it could quite possibly be fatal, scared me. A mark being fatal was unheard of - never reported or known of within the werewolf community. But then again, neither was being marked under the age of 18. I had broken one known fact; I just hoped it wouldn't turn into two.

"Sounds good, Doc." Zanthus said. I didn't miss how he didn't say 'thank you'. It stuck out to me a bit more than it should've.

"Alright, Alpha, I'll be off now." the doctor announced, standing up and grabbing his emergency kit. He bowed his head in submission, before going to leave out the door. However, he didn't make it very far.

Zanthus grabbed him by the throat, bringing their faces close together. "If you even breathe the idea of squawking this to anyone, I will kill you, and throw your head in the next bonfire I have. Understood, doc?" And suddenly I realized why he called him 'doc'. It was intentional disrespect. He called him 'doc' because he was only using half of his title, which insinuated he was below the Alpha; and not worthy of being called by his full purpose. I felt angry, and my anger for Zanthus tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Understood, Alpha." The doctor rasped, mouth open as he struggled for breath. His face turned red, and his free hand shook violently by his side.

"Good," Zanthus sneered, pushing the doctor away from him. "Now get." He ordered, motioning his arm to the door. He stood with his large arms crossed over his broad chest as the doctor quickly scurried out of the room. He truly enjoyed intimidating and scaring people into submission. I didn't enjoy having knowledge of that...

"Fatal." I whispered under my breath to myself, still trying to come to terms with the significance of the word. It all seemed so surreal - but it was completely real.

Zanthus snapped his head in my direction, and I didn't know if it was because he had heard me whisper under my breath, or he just wanted to address me just...because. "I know you're awake," he said, and I opened both of my eyes, and lifted my head up to see him. "I could feel your eyes on me." He said, his voice chilling. I shivered from the sound of his voice.

I managed to push myself up into a sitting position, and all my energy was drained just from that simple action. My body ached all over, feeling as if I'd been trampled by an elephant. I was boiling, too, it felt like my body was covered with third degree burns. My head pounded as if I had a hangover, and I could feel that my body was completely covered with perspiration. I also seen that the black, silk bedsheets were wet with drops of my sweat, too.

My sweaty curls clung to my face like white on rice. And I frowned as I peeled them away. "I was out for three days?" I finally questioned, voice strained and scratchy. My throat hurt - it was raw, and it stung when I spoke. But it didn't compare to how much my throats movements irritated my mark.

It hurt more then, than it did the first day I was marked. I cautiously moved my hand to feel if it was swollen, and was startled when my fingers met with skin sooner than they should've. It was more swollen than I could've imagined. I whimpered, feeling helpless...

Zanthus nodded, approaching the bed. By instinct, I tucked my knees to my chest, curling into a little ball. I eyed him carefully, making sure he wasn't going to try anything with me. I was shocked, however, when he simply sat on the edge of the bed beside me, close enough to hear my breathing, but far enough away to give me needed space. "I thought you weren't going to wake up." He said, voice even. I noticed how he didn't say he was 'worried'. He just said it as if it was a normal, fleeting thought. There one moment, and gone the next.

"The mark could be fatal?" I questioned again. I already knew the answer, I just wanted Zanthus to elaborate further, and not leave me so much in the dark.

This time, he froze. His golden eyes scanned my face carefully, gauging if I would react poorly or not. "Possibly. But I don't think it will be." He quickly brushed the question off. If he was even an ounce concerned, he hid it well. He didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve, and I found myself wishing he would.

"You don't even seem to care." I accused him, looking at him with equally accusing eyes. I was tired - drained of all my energy, and he didn't even care.

When I dreamed of a mate, I dreamed of someone who would love and care for me. I dreamed of someone who was kind and respectful - yet stern and strong enough to run their pack; not cruelly. And I dreamed of someone who wouldn't forcefully mark me; which subsequently wouldn't forcefully make me their mate.

So, someone who wasn't like my father. It seemed like a reoccurring thread.

My father, like Zanthus, forced my mother to be his mate. Like me, she was admired for her rare beauty amongst the werewolves. And like Zanthus, my father was triggered by an all consuming lust, and he forcefully marked her. He forced her to conceive children, until she could provide him with a male heir. And he got angry when she only provided him with girls.

But she died during childbirth when she was giving birth to me. So I partially blamed myself for her death. I couldn't deny the fact that I was angry, at myself, because I blamed myself for never being able to meet her. And I would get upset when Ocean bragged about how wonderful she was. I missed out. But I was glad my family didn't hate me, or blame me for the loss of her. But my father always seemed somewhat distant with me, come to think of it...

Zanthus frowned at me, giving me an annoyed look, but he didn't argue. I couldn't tell if I was right, or if Zanthus just wasn't in the mood to counter me. "You need to eat." He stated, diverting his eyes.

"No, I'm not-" hungry. I went to say, but he was gone before I even had the chance to finish my sentence. I huffed, annoyed that he wasn't listening to me.

I looked down at myself, only then realizing I was still in my clothes that I wore when Zanthus brought me to his cabin. I also knew they were still dirty, because they smelt horrible. Sour and salty - like sweat. I was embarrassed by my own stench, too.

Moments later, Zanthus came back into his - our bedroom with a bowl of chicken broth. It was something light, credits to that, but I still didn't think I could even stomach it. Heck, as soon as its aroma hit my nose I felt ill. I wouldn't be able to keep it down.

"Zanthus, I can't." I told him softly, shaking my head in defiance.

He gave me a warning growl. "You can and you will." He said through harshly gritted teeth. He was annoyed by my small act of defiance; I knew he wasn't used to not receiving immediate submission. It wasn't even intentional on my account.

"Zanthus, I won't be able to stom-" I went to say, but he cut me off by grabbing the back of my head, and shoving a spoonful of piping hot broth in my mouth. Caught off guard, I swallowed. It burnt my mouth, and my throat on the way down, and I instantly began a coughing frenzy.

"Eat!" He yelled at me, trying to shove another spoonful in my mouth once I stopped coughing. I pursed my lips shut, showing my rebellion towards his actions. His eyes turned an angry shade of black. "I said eat!" He roared, removing his hand from the back of my head, and squeezing my jaw with it instead. My lips squished as my mouth opened on its own accord. He shoved another hot spoonful in my mouth. And I actually spit it out.

All over Zanthus' face.

Instantly, my eyes went wide. He let go of my jaw, face completely going void of all emotion. Somehow this frightened me more than it would if he would've attacked me.

I grabbed the edges of my baggy shirt, lifting it up to Zanthus' face, and attempting to wipe the soup off. My slim stomach was exposed, and I couldn't even bring myself to care. All I could focus on was trying to fix my mistake. "I-I'm s-so sorry." I stuttered.

Zanthus growled, grabbing my wrist and throwing me onto his red oak floors. I landed painfully on my hip, and the side of my head bounced off of the ground. I was stunned for a moment, but was quickly forced back into alertness when Zanthus grabbed my wrists.

I yelped when he grabbed my wrists, pinning them beside my head as he sat across my waist. I wasn't unfamiliar with these common actions - they were dominant actions, forcing the other person into submission. Ocean had done it to me a few times when I was misbehaving. However, she wasn't well over 200 pounds of pure muscle, and her nails never pierced the delicate flesh of my wrists, either.

"How dare you disrespect my orders!" Zanthus screamed in my face, cheeks quivering with fury and power. I was rendered powerless as he continued to tighten his hold on my wrists - the flesh ripping even more so than before. "Mate or not, you will respect me! You are a she-wolf, born to submit and follow my every order! I don't care if I f*****g marked you as mine or not, I will kill you if your defiance becomes too much, Olive!" He roared, spit landing on my face. "Are we understood?" He queried, voice shaking with ire. "I asked are we understood?!" He roared once again. All I could do was nod through my tears.

Content, Zanthus glared at me as he stood up off of me. He growled once more, before leaving the room; and then the cabin altogether. He slammed the door, and I jumped, startled by how loud the slam was; given the door he slammed was downstairs.

I looked at my wrists, only to find them bloody and mangled from Zanthus' assault. I took a deep breath, wanting to stand, but not having the energy to. So I sufficed by placing my hands in my shirt and rolling the fabric a little around them to apply some pressure. Instantly, blood saturated the once white fabric.

Drained by anxiety and from the mark, I fell asleep on Zanthus' polished oak floors.