I stay in the greenhouse until the sun sets beyond the trees. The walk is quiet on my way back into the main house. Even without distractions, I don't notice the man in front of me until he pushes off from the wall he's leaning on.

He isn't one of the ones I've seen before since I’m sure I'd remember him. Like Kane, he exudes authority. Unlike Kane, he also has an aura of menace that makes me stop in my tracks like a deer in the headlights. My blood runs cold as he approaches; I’ve never felt more like prey in my life.

“You smell good. Most of your kind stinks, though I have met other humans who also smell…" he pauses for a moment and his mouth moves as if he’s chewing on the word, "...good.”

He’s close enough that I need to look up at him but I can only just make out his face. His eyes are too dark to tell the color but they burn with unbridled emotion. Rage? Lust? Maybe just a predator.

His dark hair is short-cropped but messy. He’s as tall as the others but leaner, more whip-like. He reminds me of a big cat rather than a wolf.

He circles me and a cold shiver goes up my spine. More than anything I want to run but fear and the knowledge that I won’t make it far keep me in place. As he walks behind me, his hand runs through my hair.

“I'm not sure why some of you are less disgusting."

I should be insulted but I can barely focus on his words. Somehow he cuts through my hair tie and my hair falls around my shoulders. As it does he gathers it up in one hand and wrenches my head back. Bending over me, he presses his nose into my neck.

"Are you scared, human?” he purrs against my skin, sending sickly vibrations down my spine.

I swallow hard and he laughs. “Your heart is pounding like a little rabbit. How can any of them resist when the scent of your fear is intoxicating?” Can he smell my fear? I know about animals and pheromones in a general sense but it’s never occurred to me that that knowledge might directly impact my life.

He pulls harder and I whimper; it feels like he might rip a chunk of hair from my head. With his other hand, he grips my cheeks forcing my mouth open.

“Pitiful creatures. Why alpha keeps any of you here is beyond me." He smiles, forcing my lips apart further, and shoves a finger inside my mouth, making me gag. I balk, scrabbling at his arms as he keeps me bent backward, still gripping my face with bruising force.

“If you can’t take that, how will you work with anything bigger?” he sneers, adding a second finger and swirling them around inside my mouth. So I do the only thing I can do, bite down.

It doesn’t seem to hurt him but his grip increases to the point where I think my jaw is going to break. I let go and cry out in pain, which only makes him smiles, bearing all his teeth.

I close my eyes, afraid of what will happen next, but he throws me forward hard enough that I stumble and fall to my knees.

"Absolutely pitiful," he says scornfully.

I don’t look back, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground between my arms. My entire body trembles as I wait for the next attack but after I minute of silence I can’t bear to wait any longer. I dare a glance over my shoulder and see that he’s gone.

Picking up the walking sticks I’d dropped when he first grabbed me, I push myself to my feet. I don’t remember the rest of the walk back but I end up inside my room with the door shut and stand in the dark for a long while. As the adrenaline wears off, I am bone-deep weary. I forgot that I was surrounded by monsters and I have no one but myself to blame.

Right as I’m about to get undressed, I hear a soft knock on my door and open it to reveal a teenager who’s the spitting image of Myra.

"Hi," she says cheerily "I'm Cassidy. Did Myra tell you I'd be coming?" I shake my head and she smiles sheepishly, running her fingers through her close-cropped chair. Watching her hand slide over her scalp makes me realize that Myra had also had very short hair; it couldn’t be a coincidence.

I look down and see she’s got a pair of scissors and hair clippers in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. I reach up and touch my hair at the sight of them. It’s very long but that was my choice. Having someone else tell me I have to cut feels like just one more thing being taken away from me.

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"It's just hair, right?" She says with a shrug as she walks past me into my room. I know she’s trying to make me feel better but all it does is leave me feeling wearier than before.

"Does everyone keep it short?" I ask as she sets up in the bathroom, dropping the plastic bag on my bed.

I peek into the bag as she answers. Inside is a pack of socks, a pack of underwear, and a set of front-closing sports bras. I’ve never worn something like that before but they look pretty comfortable.

She beckons me over, "Yeah, pretty much. Come on. I find it's easier to cut first and then clip."

"How short?" I ask as I straddle the toilet seat, my back to her.

"I usually use it at the longest setting. About two inches."

"And we're expected to keep it short?"

"Hmm, yeah. Makes it easier to manage and harder to grab, of course." Her words are a punch to the gut. Just moments ago someone had grabbed me like that. Was assault so commonplace here that women guarded against it like this?

"Buzz it off," I say, my voice steely. I'll never let any of them grab me like that again.

"All?"

"Yeah, like G.I Jane," I answer with a sardonic smile.

"Whose that?" She asks as she works the scissors through my hair one section at a time

"Ah, Demi Moore with a crew cut." I muse and then proceed to relay the entire plot of G.I Jane as she finishes cutting and then begins shaving my head.

She offers to wait for me while I take a shower. I try to decline but she’s quite persistent. When I get out Cassidy’s sprawled out on my bed, asleep.

Wrapped only in a towel, I gently shake her shoulder. "Don't you have your own bed to sleep in?" I tease softly.

She grumbles something and rolled over, making me smile. Then a piece of my heart crumbles at the thought that Nia will never be a sleepy teenager, impossible to wake up.

Cassidy cracks an eye open and smiles up at me. "You look good with a Demi Moore haircut."

I wonder if I should explain that Demi Moore normally doesn’t have hair like a skinhead but think better of it. Then I'll have to explain skinheads as well.

"Well, I'll get out of your hair. Get it? Hair?" She snorts at her own joke and stands, stretching and yawning loudly. "I'll see you around, yeah?" She asks as she picks up her stuff and heads to the door.

"Yeah,'' I agree, though my heart isn't in it. Part of me hopes I won’t see her again. She’s kind and young and she reminds me of Nia. I don’t want to find good things here. I don’t want comfort or contentment. It’s easier to accept the cage when it’s gilded.

I close the door behind her and go back into the bathroom to examine my face in the mirror. Bruises are starting to form on my cheeks. I can almost make out each finger, like a handprint across my face. I run my hand across the centimeter of fuzz I now have and am pleasantly surprised with it. I don’t look half bad like this.

Shuffling back to the bed I flop down and the second my eyes close I’m dead asleep.

I wake up again when the morning light hits my face and am grateful for it since I don't have an alarm clock or phone to get me up. Thinking of a phone, I wonder if there’s a landline here I can use to call for help. It’s a long shot and I can’t even tell the police where to find me but it’s something to keep in mind as I plan for my eventual escape.

At some point, while I was out of my room yesterday, Myra or Cassidy left a pile of clothes. It’s three more sets of the same thing I’ve been wearing plus a pair of sturdy dark brown boots.

I try them on but they’re too roomy in the toe.

“Too big definitely beats them being too small” I mutter to myself as I stuff an extra sock down into the front of both boots. They fit perfectly now.

I leave my room and start to push open the kitchen door when someone clears their throat behind me. I turn around and see Myra.

"Wasn't I supposed to go straight to Harry?"

"Yes. You've been asked for, however. Follow me."

With the walking sticks, it’s much easier to keep pace and I revel in this tiniest bit of independence. When I reach her she studies my face, presumably looking at the bruises but says nothing. Based on what Cassidy said last night, I get the feeling that this isn’t too out of the ordinary.

She takes me up the staircase we went the last time and into the main part of the house. Here everything is warm and inviting, unlike the basement. The floors and walls are polished mahogany that gleams in the morning light. The walls are covered in paintings of every style and time period, modernist to renaissance, and the northern and southern walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

We walk through the main entrance hall where the ceiling is at least three stories high and up a grand staircase that branches out into walkways that lead over to the eastern and western wings of the building.

Looking up, I can see people moving about on the walkways above, going from room to room, or heading downstairs. Off to one side, I hear the sounds of voices and cutlery on plates.

"The pack mess hall is over to the right. We eat in the kitchen. I'll make sure something is waiting for you with Harry when you're finished."

She leads me up to the third floor and we stop in front of the furthest door on the southeast side. She knocks and waits; I don't hear a "come in" but after a few seconds she opens it, ushers me inside, and then closes ithe door after me.

“Fuck,” I breathe as I take in my surroundings. I’m back in the Alpha’s office again.