Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 25

"Hello, Isolde," Evanthe said, her tone mockingly sweet. "I'm so excited to work with you. We're going to have such fun together."

 

The way she said 'fun' made my skin crawl.

 

"Now then," Greta continued, "your training will focus on three primary areas: dance, vocal presentation, and interaction techniques. Evanthe will assess your current abilities and develop a customized program."

 

"How long is this supposed to take?" I asked.

 

"As long as necessary," Greta replied. "Until you can demonstrate proper proficiency in all required areas."

 

With that ominous pronouncement, Greta and her companions left, closing the door behind them with a finality that made me feel trapped.

 

"Well," Evanthe said, circling me slowly like a predator sizing up prey, "let's see what we're working with, shall we?"

 

She gestured toward the mirrors. "First, let's assess your movement. Walk to the far end of the room and back."

 

"You want me to walk?"

 

"I want you to move like a woman who understands her power," Evanthe corrected. "Like someone who knows how to captivate a Lycan man's attention just by crossing a room."

 

I walked to the end of the room and back, feeling ridiculous under her critical gaze.

 

"Horrible," she pronounced. "You move like you're heading into battle, not like you're trying to seduce someone. We'll need to completely retrain your muscle memory."

 

I stared at her, my mind completely blank. This was insane. This whole situation was completely insane.

 

What followed was the most humiliating half an hour of my life. Evanthe critiqued everything—my posture, my breathing, the way I held my hands, the expression on my face. According to her, I was doing everything wrong.

 

"Jesus Christ, Isolde," Evanthe said with exaggerated exasperation after I'd attempted to walk across the room for the third time. "You walk like you're stomping grapes. This isn't a fucking barn dance."

 

Sybilla, who had positioned herself on one of the chairs like she was watching entertainment, laughed loudly. "I told you she was hopeless. Look at her—she moves like a linebacker."

 

"Shoulders back, chest out," Evanthe commanded, physically adjusting my posture with rough hands. "God, it's like you've never owned breasts before. They're supposed to be an asset, not something you hide under a sweater like you're ashamed of them."

 

"Maybe she is ashamed of them," Sybilla chimed in sweetly.

 

My face burned with humiliation, but I forced myself to stand straighter.

 

"Better, but your face," Evanthe continued, circling me like a vulture. "You look like someone just told you your dog died. Lycan men want to see invitation, not constipation."

 

"Try smiling," Sybilla suggested with mock helpfulness. "You know, like you're actually happy to be here instead of looking like you'd rather be getting a root canal."

 

I attempted a smile, which apparently was another mistake.

 

"Oh my god, that's even worse!" Evanthe clapped her hands together in delight. "You look like a serial killer trying to lure children into a van. What the hell is wrong with your face?"

 

"She's always been weird," Sybilla said conversationally. "Even back home, she never quite figured out how to be feminine. Mother tried to help her, but some people just can't be fixed."

 

"Let's try the breathing exercises," Evanthe said, moving to stand directly in front of me. "Breathe from your diaphragm, not your chest. And for fuck's sake, stop looking like you're about to hyperventilate."

 

I took what I thought was a proper breath, only to have her shake her head in disgust.

 

"No, no, NO! You're breathing like a dying fish. Here, watch me." She demonstrated an exaggerated breathing technique that emphasized her chest movement. "See how that creates a rhythm? How it draws attention to the right places?"

 

When I tried to copy her, she actually rolled her eyes.

 

"This is pathetic," she announced to Sybilla. "I've worked with some difficult cases, but this is next level. She has the natural sensuality of a brick wall."

 

"Now let's work on your posture while standing," she continued. "Pretend you're at a cocktail party, holding a drink. Show me how you'd position yourself."

 

I stood with what I thought was reasonable posture, one hand raised as if holding a glass.

 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Evanthe breathed. "You look like you're about to give a presentation. This is a cocktail party, not a board meeting!"

 

"She always was more interested in fighting than flirting," Sybilla observed. "I guess all those years of martial arts training turned her into a man."

 

The comment hit me like a slap, and I felt my hands clench into fists at my sides.

 

"And there it is!" Evanthe exclaimed, pointing at my hands. "The aggression! Do you see how your whole body language just shifted? You went from awkward to threatening in two seconds."

 

"Lycan men don't want to fuck a fighter," Sybilla added helpfully. "They want to fuck a woman."

 

"Maybe some girls just aren't cut out for this," Sybilla said with false sympathy. "Not everyone can be naturally feminine and appealing."

 

The casual cruelty in her voice made me want to scream. Every comment was designed to chip away at whatever confidence I had left, to make me feel inadequate and worthless.

 

"Let's try walking again," Evanthe said. "This time, I want you to imagine you're walking toward someone you're attracted to. Someone you want to impress."

 

I walked across the room, trying to incorporate everything they'd told me.

 

"Still looks like you're marching to war," Sybilla commented. "Maybe we should put her in combat boots instead of heels."

 

"The problem is attitude," Evanthe said, studying me like a specimen under a microscope. "She's approaching this like it's a punishment instead of an opportunity. Lycan men can sense reluctance from a mile away."

 

*Because it IS a punishment,* I thought bitterly.

 

"You know what?" Evanthe said suddenly, her voice taking on a tone of mock inspiration. "I think we need to start from the very beginning. Like, kindergarten level basics."

 

"What do you mean?" I asked, dreading the answer.

 

"I mean we need to teach you how to be a woman," she said with obvious relish. "Starting with the most fundamental concepts."

 

Sybilla clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, this is going to be fun!"

 

As I stood there, surrounded by mirrors that reflected my humiliation from every angle, being systematically torn apart by two women who seemed to take genuine pleasure in my discomfort, one thought dominated my mind:

 

This was a disaster. An absolute fucking disaster.

 

As I attempted to follow her increasingly ridiculous instructions, one thought kept running through my mind: *How the hell am I going to survive this?*