The Three Who Chose Me
Chapter 33: Beneath the Monster’s Feet

Chapter 33: Beneath the Monster’s Feet

Josie

The threat silenced me in a way nothing else ever had.

I wasn’t even aware I’d stopped breathing until my vision darkened at the edges, my chest rising in shallow, broken pants. My lungs burned. My eyes stung. But I refused to give Alpha Ian the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart—not yet. Not in front of him.

Still, I was quiet.

So quiet, it scared even me.

His words echoed in my head again and again.

"Behave, or one of your mates will bleed."

My fingers curled against the ropes at my side, my wrists still raw. I blinked fast, trying to push back the tears that burned like acid. I couldn’t cry in front of him. I wouldn’t. But I was shaking. Not with fear—at least, not only fear—but with anger, sorrow, betrayal... and a darkness I didn’t know I carried.

Alpha Ian turned away, and with a snap of his fingers, a couple of men stalked into the room.

"Take her to the house," he ordered gruffly. "She needs to start learning her place."

Their hands grabbed me roughly. I stumbled forward, weak and barely able to walk straight. The night air hit me like a slap, cold and foul. The sky above was bruised black, and the wind carried the stench of rotting trees and damp soil. Every inch of this place felt haunted—like the ghosts of Ian’s past victims lingered in the shadows, whispering warnings I couldn’t hear.

But I wasn’t given a chance to breathe it in. I wasn’t given a second to look for exits, to gauge my surroundings.

I was being dragged forward, step by step, toward a fate I had no control over.

The house was large but ugly—opulent in the way of men trying to prove something. The halls were dim, the floors creaked beneath my feet, and the air reeked of smoke and something metallic—blood, maybe. Or fear.

They brought me to a wide room lit by flickering oil lamps. And there, Alpha Ian waited. Sitting on a worn throne-like chair as though he was royalty.

"Sit," he said coldly, pointing to the floor.

I didn’t move.

"Sit," he barked again.

My legs folded beneath me, not because I obeyed, but because they could barely carry me anymore. I knelt by his feet, hating myself. Hating him. Hating everyone that had a hand in putting me here.

Then his hand came down, rough and possessive, grabbing my hair like it was a leash.

"You’ll start tonight," he said, voice low. "With your mouth."

My heart dropped.

I didn’t respond.

He tilted my head toward him, forcing me to look at the bulge in his pants, his sick smile aimed at my horror.

"Suck it, omega. That’s what you’re good for, aren’t you?"

Tears pooled behind my lashes.

I shook my head. Just once. Just barely.

His grip tightened until I whimpered.

A fresh wave of hatred curled in my gut. I wanted to die before I gave him what he wanted.

I wanted to kill him.

My parents... my parents sold me to this monster. This vile man who saw my body as something to be owned and used.

Why?

Why didn’t they love me?

Why didn’t I matter?

Something sharp pulsed inside my chest—rage and grief twisting into something darker, something feral.

Then I saw it.

A metal pin, maybe a sewing needle or a tack—left carelessly under the edge of the table near his chair.

He leaned in, loosening his belt.

I lunged.

I grabbed the pin and slammed it straight between his toenails.

His scream tore through the house, guttural and raw.

He reared back, eyes wide in disbelief and agony.

"YOU BITCH!"

His boot came up and kicked me in the ribs. I cried out as pain lanced through my side. The guards rushed in.

"Get her the fuck out of my sight!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips.

They dragged me away, fists tight around my arms, and I didn’t even fight them this time. I smiled through the pain. I had hurt him. Even if it was small. Even if I paid for it. I’d made him bleed.

The next part was somehow worse.

They stripped me down. Shoved me into a freezing shower. I was too weak to protest. Too sore to cry. The water burned against my raw skin, and my limbs trembled like they were about to fall apart.

Then came the clothes.

Tight. Skimpy. Humiliating.

A sheer red slip that clung to every part of me, with slits up the sides and a neckline that dipped dangerously low. My breasts were barely covered. My thighs were exposed. It wasn’t fabric—it was a display.

"Eat this," the maid grunted, tossing me a bowl of dry fruits.

I didn’t move.

One of the guards backhanded me. My lip split open again.

I forced myself to chew. My jaw ached. My throat refused to swallow. The food tasted like sand.

"This is your punishment," the woman hissed in my ear. "You’ll learn to respect your Alpha."

I didn’t answer.

Because they were wrong.

He wasn’t my Alpha.

They took me to the dining hall.

A long wooden table stood at the center, surrounded by men in dark clothes and twisted grins. Their eyes fell on me the second I walked in—hungry, leering, cruel.

Alpha Ian sat at the head of the table, his foot bandaged, his face dark with fury.

"Where the hell is Jack?" he barked to a man beside him.

"He said he’s on his way," the man mumbled.

Jack.

My stomach turned at the name.

Please don’t let it be that pervert from the party. Please.

Alpha Ian’s eyes met mine.

He smiled again. Ugly. Crooked. Evil.

"Come here," he said.

I stood still.

"Now."

My legs moved.

He grabbed me by the wrist, yanking me close enough that I nearly fell into his lap.

"Try anything again," he whispered in my ear, "and I’ll make you beg for death."

My blood ran cold.

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

The room went quiet as I was made to sit at his feet again, like a pet. The men laughed and joked around the table, drinking and eating like this was just another night. Like I wasn’t there. Like I was nothing.

Then one of them turned to Alpha Ian. "Is she going to be treated like your real mate, or what?"

He laughed—a cold, bark of a sound that made my stomach turn.

"Real mate?" he snorted. "Hell no. She’s going to be my sex Luna. She’s here for pleasure, nothing else. But don’t worry, boys, I’ll share—if you can pay."

Laughter erupted around the table.

My entire body went still.

"You can’t—" I started, voice shaking.

He grabbed my breast.

I flinched, a sharp cry leaving my lips as his fingers dug in.

"Didn’t say you could talk," he muttered.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear.

Then—

"Get your hands off my mate!"

The entire room fell silent.

My head snapped toward the voice.

My heart stopped.

Standing at the edge of the dining hall, bathed in moonlight from the shattered window behind him, was Thorne.

His shirt was torn. His face was bloodied. His eyes were blazing with a fury that could have melted bone.

He looked like a god of war.

Alpha Ian stood slowly, dragging me to my feet as if he thought he had the upper hand.

Thorne’s growl shook the floor.

"I said—get your filthy fucking hands off her."

And for the first time since I was taken...

I felt like I could breathe again.