shattered resistance

Lyra lay on the cold table, the sharp sting of the fresh cuts on her skin mixing with the dull ache of exhaustion. Every breath felt like fire in her chest, and her body trembled with the aftershock of Kael's punishment. But her mind was still sharp, still raging against him—against everything he represented.

Kael watched her from the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes a storm of unreadable emotion. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that he was enjoying this—enjoying the power he had over her, the way he could break her piece by piece. But there was something else in his gaze too, something she couldn't quite place. It wasn't just cruelty. It was…interest. A sick kind of fascination with how far he could push her.

"You're quiet today," he murmured, stepping closer. "No more defiance? No more fight?"

Lyra's jaw clenched. Even after everything, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't **break**.

Kael tilted his head, studying her with that same unsettling intensity. He reached out, his hand tracing the curve of her bruised cheek. His touch, though light, was a cruel reminder of how easily he could hurt her—how easily he could control her.

"You'll learn, Lyra," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with menace. "You'll learn that fighting me is useless."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she forced herself to blink them back. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She wouldn't show weakness.

Kael's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he stepped back, his expression unreadable. He turned toward the door, leaving her strapped to the table, her body trembling with both fear and anger.

"You'll have time to think," he said over his shoulder as he reached the doorway. "About what happens next."

And with that, he was gone, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was days. Time had become a blur in this place, and Lyra could no longer tell how long she'd been lying on the table, her body weak and broken. The only sound was the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance, echoing through the cold, empty room.

She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Kael's face—his dark, calculating eyes watching her, waiting for her to shatter. She hated him. She hated the way he made her feel, the way he twisted her emotions until she didn't know what was real anymore.

But more than that, she hated the part of her that **wanted** him. The part that, despite everything, was drawn to his power, to his control.

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. No. She couldn't let herself think like that. She couldn't give in.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and this time, it wasn't Kael. It was Marcus.

Lyra's heart pounded in her chest as Marcus approached her, his lips curling into a twisted smile. He was Kael's Beta, but there was something even more sinister about him—something darker, more violent. And as he stepped closer, Lyra felt a cold wave of fear wash over her.

"Well, well," Marcus murmured, his voice low and mocking. "Look at you. Still here. Still breathing."

He circled the table, his fingers brushing over the leather straps that held her down. "Kael's been going easy on you. If you were mine, I'd have broken you by now."

Lyra's breath came in shallow gasps, but she refused to look at him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

Marcus leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "You're lucky you belong to him," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "Because if it were up to me, I'd make you beg."

His hand slid over her arm, and Lyra's skin crawled with revulsion. She tried to pull away, but the restraints held her in place, leaving her helpless beneath him.

"You're weak," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on her arm. "And you will break. Just like all the others."

Lyra's heart raced, her mind screaming for a way out. But there was none. She was trapped. And Marcus was enjoying every second of it.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Kael stormed into the room, his expression dark with fury. Marcus straightened, stepping back from the table, but the smirk never left his face.

"What are you doing here?" Kael demanded, his voice a low growl.

Marcus shrugged, his eyes flicking toward Lyra before meeting Kael's gaze. "Just checking on your little project."

Kael's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Get out."

For a moment, Marcus didn't move, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kael. But then, with a slow, mocking smile, he turned and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Kael stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage. Lyra lay still on the table, her body tense, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know what to expect—didn't know if Kael's anger was for her or for Marcus. But when he finally looked at her, his expression softened just slightly, the cold edge in his eyes fading.

"You'll never have to deal with him again," Kael said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "He overstepped."

Lyra's mind raced, her thoughts swirling with confusion. Why was he protecting her? Why did he care what Marcus did to her?

But before she could say anything, Kael stepped closer, his hands moving to the straps that held her down. He unbuckled them one by one, his touch surprisingly gentle, until she was free. She sat up slowly, her body weak and trembling, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

"You'll rest now," Kael said, his voice still calm but firm. "But know this, Lyra—you are mine. And no one else will touch you."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin for just a moment longer than necessary. And then, without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving Lyra alone with the weight of his promise.