Submission is Not My Style novel Chapter 25

   Kali’s POV 

The world feels distant, as if I’m trapped in a dream–floating, no, sinking–caught between reality and darkness. A sharp, relentless throbbing pulses through my skull, and my body feels unbearably heavy. 

Am I dreaming? Is this what dying feels like? 

The last thing I remember is the betrayal–the wicked cackle of that old woman and the greedy voices of those bastards, plotting to sell me off like a damn object. 

I should have known. I should have learned my lesson. But I didn’t. 

And now… there’s a sound. 

A noise so foreign in this desolate place, yet so familiar it stirs something deep inside me. Whimpers. Choked sabs. The distinct sound of flesh meeting flesh–a body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. 

What…? 

I try to move, but my limbs refuse to obey. My eyelids flutter open weakly, my vision blurred, the edges swimming in darkness. There’s movement–no, a shadow. A figure stands tall, fists striking down with brutal force, beating someone into the dirt. 

A man. 

Through the fog in my mind, a name lingers on the tip of y tongue. 

Jack? 

Could it really be him? 

Did he hear my desperate, pathetic plea through bond? Did he run miles to save – Me? 

The believed? If he’s here, was I wrong to push him away? 

Would I still reject him? 

about this mean he truly cares? That maybe, just maybe, he isn’t as cold as I once 

I fight to keep my eyes open, but my vision is still blurry. The scent in the air–it isn’t intoxicating as it should be. It’s familiar, yes, but not quite Jack’s. And yet… something about it stirs recognition deep within me. 

I strain to listen, my body still too weak to react, but I catch part of a conversation. 

The woman–damn her. Her voice quivers with terror. “Who–who are you?” she gasps between sobs. 

“Why are you doing this to us?” one of the men chokes out, his voice thick with pain. 

A low, cold chuckle follows, sending a shiver down my spine–though not as intense as the chills Jack’s voice would bring me. Then, a deep, unyielding voice–one laced with something dark and dangerous–replies, 

“Call me Fury.” 

I try to sit up and immediately realise something’s wrong. My head wasn’t resting on cold dirt like I expected. It was on something firm. Warm. 

1 freeze. 

Slowly, I crack my eyes open, my breath hitching when I see what–or rather who–I had been using as a pillow. 

Fuck. The warrior. 

Not just any warrior. 

Him. 

The one from Jack’s pack. The one who, unlike the rest of those bastards, had kind eyes. The one who stopped me from settling the score between those two mates that day. The one who told me not to interfere because Jack hadn’t introduced me as his Luna. 

But why was I disappointed that it was him and not Jack who had come for me? 

“You-“I gasp, scrambling upright so fast that I nearly topple over. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He looks down at me, calm and unbothered, like I hadn’t just jolted awake in his lap. His dark eyes watch me carefully, unreadable as he remains silent.