"Chase..." Sheena whimpered coquettishly, her voice trembling with need. She wanted him to move, wanted his fingers inside her pussy, wanted him to make her feel good, but Chase’s hand remained exactly where it was. He didn’t curl a finger, didn’t shift his palm; he simply watched as she rolled her hips, using her own wetness to rub against his unmoving hand.
He didn’t react. Not even a flicker.
When Sheena reached toward his crotch again, desperate to spark something out of him, she froze because there was still nothing. No response. No desire. No heat. The realization hit her like a slap, burning humiliation creeping up her throat. Was her charm failing? Did he not even see her as a woman?
And in truth... he didn’t.
In Chase’s eyes, Sheena wasn’t a temptress; she was merely a she-wolf, a weak creature clinging to him like a parasite desperate for survival. A woman who wanted to use him as her escape route out of this hell.
She reveled in the luxuries their master provided, delighted in the nights they writhed together like starved animals in heat... yet despite enjoying privileges others could only dream of, she still conspired behind the master’s back, greedily plotting her escape while using others as disposable shields.
To Chase, she was nothing more than that, someone who wouldn’t claw her way out on her own, someone who didn’t even know what true strength looked like.
Did she honestly think Chase hadn’t noticed her pathetic attempt to use him, obsessing over him only because of his strength and his looks? She thought he was naïve because he was a virgin, but Chase was far from stupid. That was exactly why he kept her at arm’s length.
His body refused to react to any woman, not because he’d turned gay, but because grief had burned the desire out of him. He still saw his mother and ex-mate dying in front of him every time he closed his eyes.
He never recovered. This numbness... this emptiness... it was his survival mechanism. His trauma frozen into flesh.
Maybe that was why their master trusted him so much. Chase had earned his place through blood and will, proving his worth again and again. The master tried spoiling him, showering him with gifts, sending women to his bed so he could "relax and enjoy himself" and continue to work hard.
But no matter how many women were offered to him, Chase never touched a single one. Nothing stirred him. Nothing tempted him.
If Sheena thought she could tempt him where all others failed, she was delusional.
And so, their master became fully convinced that Chase’s dick was broken. That was why he never worried, never questioned Chase, even when he moved near the women in his harem. In the master’s mind, Chase had been ruined, and he took pride in that.
After all, he had ordered Chase’s mother and mate to be raped in front of Chase and his father before killing them, delighting more in the destruction of their minds than the destruction of their bodies.
Psychological ruin was always sweeter to him than physical pain.
He believed Chase’s inability to respond to women was simply the price of the torment he created, that Chase’s body had shut down because of the trauma. And perhaps, in a twisted way, he wasn’t wrong.
But everything changed the moment he realized how strong Chase actually was. When he stepped out of the shadows and witnessed the sheer potential in the young wolf, a new idea took root in his mind.
Revulsion crawled across his skin. He felt tainted, contaminated. For a moment, the urge to cut off his own hand flashed through him, just to rid himself of the filth she had smeared onto him.
Barely moments passed before several guards burst through his door. Chase was still hunched over the sink, fingers bleeding as he continued to scrub.
"Chase. Come with us. The master wants to see you," one of them said as they moved in to seize him.
Chase didn’t resist. He simply stepped away from the sink, water dripping from his damaged hand, and walked out of the room without a word.
"No need. I’ll come with you..." Chase said calmly, his voice flat, his eyes still dark and unfathomable.
Soon, he and the four guards arrived at their master’s chamber. Sheena was already there, kneeling on the floor, crying, her nightgown clinging to her in a disheveled mess as if she had just returned from a forbidden tryst. Their master sat above her, expression unreadable, gaze sliding to Chase with cold amusement.
"Chase," he began lazily, "care to explain why you touched my woman?"
His tone was nonchalant, almost bored, but everyone in the room felt the razor edge beneath it. Chase, however, didn’t flinch. He didn’t even spare Sheena a glance, not a single flicker of acknowledgment.
He bowed his head with obedient precision. "Master," he said, voice steady, "please tell this servant what I have done wrong."
Their master snorted, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips as he rose to his feet and began circling Chase.

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