Chapter 9: Smug god
Vivian Grey’s POV
"You see, Vivian," Zaliver’s voice cut through the tense silence, calm but charged with certainty, "even if you somehow got past the doors, guards, cameras, and every inch of this place, you still wouldn’t make it off this island without me knowing."
He moved toward me with measured steps, his towering presence swallowing the distance between us. I didn’t flinch, but every part of me felt the press of invisible chains tightening around my limbs.
When he was close enough, he gently took the phone from my hand. His fingers brushed mine, too soft for someone so dangerous. He glanced down at the screen, then back at me. But I refused to meet his eyes. I just stared past him, through him, as if clinging to the illusion of freedom would make it real.
There was no escaping this place.
No loopholes, no weak spots.
I was caged. Completely.
Forever?
No, no, I couldn’t accept that. There had to be a way out. My gaze shifted back to Zaliver, who was now typing something into his phone, his expression tightening with annoyance. When he caught me watching him, his brow rose.
I stayed silent, but my mind spun faster than ever. There was water, tools, a working pack system. This wasn’t just a hideout. This place was designed for long-term living. For a community. Last I heard, the Bermuda Triangle was a cursed zone untouched by human governments, left alone for being too strange. But if he had built a base here, kidnapped women from all over the world, then he must’ve found a way in and out regularly.
And his phone, if it worked, it meant he’d figured out how to get technology functioning in a place everyone else believed was disconnected from the world.
I narrowed my eyes, studying him. "You’ve built a functioning society here, in a place the rest of the world ignores," I said, steady and clear.
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. There was a reason I’d graduated top of my class, brains were a weapon too. And people always underestimated girls who weren’t tiny and delicate. Big mistake.
"My, my," he said slowly, lips quirking with amusement. "You are clever. And here I thought I’d have to explain everything to you."
I hated how handsome he looked when he was being smug. Even when he was rude, my wolf didn’t want to snap at him, she leaned closer. I clenched my jaw and looked away. It wasn’t fair that he held all the power. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, supernaturally.
"So you have a pack," I asked, trying to piece it all together. "And you’re their alpha? What’s life like in the Bermuda Triangle? How did I even get from Washington D.C. to here?"
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he started moving around the room, picking things up, setting them back down in a way that almost looked absent-minded. I walked over to the bed and sat down. When he noticed, he paused, like he was waiting to see if I’d try something.
Then he spoke, pride woven into every word.
"Yes, I have a pack. And though I rank much higher than a typical alpha, I still carry out the responsibilities of one. Every pack answers to me, whether they realize it or not." His lips curled into a wicked smile. "I’m the Alpha of Alphas."
A strange, hot thrill ran through me. Something about the way he claimed it like the world bent at his feet sent shivers down my spine. It was attractive in a terrifying way. But power like that didn’t come free. No one ruled without paying a price.
What did it cost him to gain this kind of control?
He walked over to one of the large couches and sank into it, resting his hands on his thighs.
"After some empty years, I decided to create my own pack while still leading the others from afar," he said like it was the most normal thing in the world. "This island was the perfect place. Setting up a force field? Barely an inconvenience."
Empty years?
I tilted my head, heart thudding faster. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, maybe twenty-five, but there was no way that was right. The name Lupus Deus had been whispered for centuries.
"H-How old are you exactly, Zaliver?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
He looked up at me sharply, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Does it matter?"
I shook my head quickly, biting back my nerves. Maybe it didn’t. But deep down, I felt like it did. Werewolves didn’t live forever, we just aged slowly. Still, there had to be a limit. And if his years stretched far beyond mine, what would that mean for us? Would he mourn me when I died? Would he forget me? Move on?
The idea made my chest ache.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the loose strands that constantly fell over his forehead. For a moment, he looked human. Young. Frustrated. Like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world too long and was tired of pretending it didn’t crush him.
"I don’t know when I was born," he said at last, voice lower now. "The first years of my life are a blur. I don’t remember a damn thing before a certain point."
I watched him carefully, sensing something off. My gut twisted. He was lying. Or maybe only telling half the truth. But I didn’t push.
"I’m old, just not that old," he muttered. "Around six hundred years."
My eyes widened. Six hundred?
I shot to my feet, stunned, and pointed a trembling finger at him. "Six hundred?!"
How the hell was I supposed to process that?
The man who kidnapped me, who claimed me, who spoke like he owned the very laws of nature, wasn’t just powerful. He was ancient.
"You pedo-bear! Get away from me, you creep!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the cold walls like a wild, feral thing trying to claw its way out of a cage.
Zaliver didn’t even flinch. He rose from his seat with that same slow, deliberate dominance that always made the air feel thinner. In a flash, he was in front of me, grabbing my wrist. My heart stalled. Then, without warning, he pressed my hand against his bare abdomen.
"Does this feel like a damn beer belly to you?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
I froze, palm flat against hard muscle and warm skin. Nope, definitely not a beer belly. It was all toned strength, heat, and primal power under my fingers. I shook my head, cheeks burning, afraid that if I moved even a twitch he’d shift his view of me from mate to hormonal teenage molester. Not that I wasn’t already regretting that outburst.
He let go of me and took a step back, eyes burning with irritation. Yeesh, someone had a soft spot for their age.
"Sorry," I muttered, finally realizing how immature I’d sounded. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to summon some dignity.
"No more questions," he said, voice clipped. "Now, do you want to sit here sulking all day, or do you want to see your new home?"
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