TRAPPED BY THE FEMALE ALPHA

Chapter 3

Violeta's POV

Panic clawed at my chest. Think, Violeta, think. But there was no time for plans, no time for logic—just a primal, unrelenting certainty. If I didn't run now, I wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

I spun toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest. Just a few steps and I'd be free, I thought to myself—

"Where do you think you're going?" Her voice came through, like I'd just walked into her kitchen uninvited and stolen a cookie. Lady, I wasn't going—I was fleeing. Big difference.

Slowly, I turned back around, my breath catching as I took her in. The blood was gone—her face was clean, almost normal. Almost. But her eyes… those eyes told me everything.

"Nowhere," I said quickly, forcing a shaky laugh. "I just wanted to check the view outside."

Her gaze shifted, darting around the room until it locked on the telephone, and for a brief moment, her face twisted—a crack in her composure. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that maddening calm.

"Did you pick—"

I didn't let her finish. My legs moved before my brain could catch up, adrenaline taking over. I bolted for the door, shoving it open so hard it slammed against the wall. The cold night air hit me, but I didn't stop.

Don't look back. Don't trip. My legs felt like lead, but I kept running. Run, Violeta. Run.

Each breath came like sandpaper against my throat, and every step sent a sharp sting up my legs. The gravel bit into my soles, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints, but I didn't dare look back.

Just a little farther, I told myself. Just keep going—

Then something slammed into me from behind. Hard. I hit the ground face-first, the air knocked clean out of my lungs. Pain shot through my arms and knees as I tried to scramble away, but her weight pinned me down.

"Whatever you think you heard, I can explain," she said, her voice maddeningly calm.

"Explain?" I choked out, thrashing beneath her. My hands clawed at the dirt, my muscles screaming as I tried to shove her off. But she didn't budge. It was like fighting against a brick wall. "How the hell are you this strong?"

She didn't answer. She didn't even flinch. That expression—so calm, so empty—twisted something in my chest. No screaming, no threats, just…nothing. And somehow, that was worse.

"You heard it, didn't you?" Her voice dipped, quiet and cold. Almost…disappointed. "You weren't supposed to. But now you have, and I'm sure you know what I intended to do with you."

She dragged me back inside, her grip like iron, and now I sat tied to a chair. She pulled another chair in front of me, settling down.

"Here's the deal," she said, leaning forward. "I'm willing to take the risk and keep you alive, but you've got to be of use to me. I can't just protect you for nothing—this isn't a charity. I need something in return, or you're dead. Simple as that."

She shrugged, as if my life meant nothing more than a gamble to her, and I glared at her.

The ropes burned against my skin, each twist slicing deeper. I shifted, and the rough fibers scraped raw patches into my wrists. Struggling was pointless—I knew it—but God, I couldn't stop pulling.

"You're despicable," I spat, venom dripping from my words.

She sighed, rubbing her temples like I was a child throwing a tantrum.

Without a word, she stood and walked over to a small table, pulling a sheet of paper from a pile. She scribbled something on it, then, with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the document onto the table in front of me.

"Sign that," she said, her voice steady and unnervingly calm, "and we'll seal it with blood. You'll live. If you don't…" She trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.

"What—what do you want?" The words stuck in my throat, my voice cracking. "What the hell do you want from me?"

She smirked, a slow, deliberate curl of her lips that made my skin crawl.

"We want different things," she said, her tone almost bored. "But with me? Oh, it's simple." She leaned in close, so close I could feel her breath on my face. "One year," she said, like she was offering me a discount at a flea market.

"You'll work for me. One year, no questions, no limits. My slave" Her lips curled into a faint smile, but her eyes told a darker story. "Call it…an intimate arrangement."

"Sign, and I'll make sure you live." She leaned closer, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.

Her words hit me, but it took a second to register. A year? As her what? My stomach twisted. My brain refused to make sense of it, like it was protecting me from the truth. But I knew. God, I knew.

Disgust. That was what I felt. Disgust at her, at myself for sitting here like a prey, and at the sickening clarity that she had all the power. My jaw clenched, but tears pricked at the edges of my eyes. No, Violeta. Don't break. Not here, not now."

I wanted to lunge at her and tear her apart, to claw at that maddeningly calm face until it cracked. But deep down, I knew the truth—I didn't stand a chance. She was stronger, faster, and terrifyingly composed.

So instead, I did the only thing I could. I let out a strangled, broken, "Why?"

She tilted her head, studying me like I was some wild animal she was trying to tame. "My brother and father need you for a ritual. To stop the ritual, I'd have to kill you before they get their hands on you."

The words made no sense, like she'd suddenly switched to a language I didn't speak.

"But," she continued, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, "there's another option. I could hide you from them—keep you out of sight until I'm crowned Alpha. That'll be within a year. But during that time, you'll… satisfy me."

Her voice dropped lower, softer, the predatory edge sharpening. "Have you ever been with a woman, Violeta?"

My throat tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My voice was gone, swallowed up by the storm raging in my head. Ritual? Alpha? What the hell was she talking about? Was this some 19th-century cult?

Her words swirled in my mind, impossible to grasp. This woman had to be insane—delusional and trapped in some twisted, hallucinated universe she'd created for herself.

But crazy or not, I wasn't ready to die tonight. I wasn't going to let her win, no matter how strong she was or how little I understood. If signing whatever document she had was the key to surviving, I'd sign it. Screw the details. Screw her plan. I'd figure out how to escape later.

"Give me a pen," I demanded, forcing steel into my voice even though my hands were trembling.

Her laugh was cold and sharp, cutting through me like a blade. Slowly, she circled behind me. I tensed, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring, but there was nothing I could do when she grabbed my hand and pulled it toward the table.

The flash of silver was the only warning I got before pain exploded in my palm.

I gasped, jerking against her grip, but she held me firm. Blood welled up, warm and sticky, and dripped onto the paper she had spread out on the table.

"W-What the hell are you—" I couldn't even finish the sentence before she sliced her own palm open. The sight of her blood—thicker, darker—made my stomach churn.

She pressed her hand against mine, our wounds meeting in a sticky, stinging collision. I flinched, the raw pain making my eyes water as our blood mingled and splattered onto the paper below.

"What the hell is this?" I hissed, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted iron. My mind scrambled for logic, for something to hold on to, but all I could think was one ridiculous, desperate plea: Please, God, let her be STD-free.

Her lips curled into that infuriating smirk again, as if she could read my thoughts. "Now," she purred, "we've sealed the deal."

When we were done, she carefully folded the bloodstained paper, and slipped it into her pocket, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"See? The descendants of the Logan are safe," she said, a triumphant smile stretching across her face.

The sight of it—so smug, so self-assured—made my blood boil. I wanted to rip that smile off her face, to see her choke on her own words. But before I could say anything, something about her phrasing made my stomach twist.

"Descendants?" My voice was sharp. "Does that mean my sister can be used for the ritual as well?"

Her expression faltered for the briefest moment, the cracks in her confidence barely visible. "Yes, but—"

I didn't let her finish. Panic surged through me, hotter than my anger. "Please, you have to take her in as well! I'll do anything you want—anything! Just don't let them get to her."

Her gaze turned cold, and the next words out of her mouth shattered me.

"Your sister betrayed you, Violeta. She's dead."

Dead.

The word echoed in my head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else. My breath caught, my heart stuttering painfully in my chest. My sister? Dead?

"When?" I croaked, barely recognizing my own voice. "How?"

I searched her face desperately, hoping, praying for some sign that this was all a lie, a cruel manipulation to break me. But then I saw it—the guilt in her eyes, faint but undeniable.

She had done it.

She had gotten to my sister first.

The realization hit me like a freight train, and my mind went blank, the rage surging so violently I could barely think.

"You… you killed her," I breathed, my voice trembling as my fists clenched at my sides. My body moved before my brain could catch up, instinct driving me forward.

I launched myself at her with everything I had, blind with fury, blind with grief.