TWO
1117 Words
Seraya
I didn’t even know how I got out of the council chamber. My feet moved on their own, numb and trembling. Wolves stood along the hallway, silent and watching like vultures circling something half-dead. I could still feel the sting of Thorne’s voice in my head, the hollow echo of his rejection repeating over and over again like some curse I couldn’t peel off. My hands clutched his shirt against my body. It was the only thing I had left of him. And I hated that I held it like it still meant something.
Outside, the wind bit at my bare skin. My body ached, my legs were weak, but I kept walking. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay in a pack that no longer saw me as one of their own. Whispers chased me. I could feel their eyes on me, burning with judgment and disgust. I tripped once, knees scraping against the gravel, but I didn’t cry out. I just stood again. One step after the other. Toward the edge of the woods. Toward the old cabins. Toward anywhere that wasn’t here.
Then the trees blurred.
The world spun.
And everything went black.
I came to slowly, the scent of pine and damp soil thick in the air, my body slumped over something hard. Shoulders. A man’s. I tried to move, but my limbs were too heavy. My eyes refused to open. I felt the rush of wind, branches scraping past, the weightless drag of my legs as I was carried deeper and deeper into the forest.
I slipped in and out. Sounds became shapes. Shapes became darkness.
When I finally opened my eyes, they wouldn’t focus. A low buzzing echoed in my ears, like a swarm of hornets hiding inside my skull. My throat was dry. My head throbbed. I tried to sit up, but my wrists wouldn’t move. Panic surged fast and sharp through my veins. I looked down, vision slowly sharpening. Ropes. My wrists were tied to the posts of a cold wooden bed. My ankles, too.
The scent wasn’t Blood Ash.
It was unfamiliar.
Richer.
Spicier.
But it wasn’t home.
I yanked against the restraints, my breathing uneven now, vision darting around the room. Everything was dim. Stone walls. A low fire crackling. Shadows everywhere. A wooden chair sat near the bed, turned slightly away. And then it moved.
He stood slowly.
Tall. Broad. Hair dark as night. Eyes like fire, gold and piercing, glowing in the firelight.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice smooth—too smooth, like silk over something sharp.
I flinched, tugging again. “What the f**k is this? Who the hell are you?”
He stepped closer. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look angry. He looked... satisfied.
“You don’t recognize me?” he asked, tilting his head. “I’m hurt.”
I stared harder. I didn’t know his name, but I knew the tattoo on his chest. The one from the photo.
River Moon.
My breath hitched. “It was you,” I said slowly. “The picture. That was you.”
He smiled. “Photoshop is a beautiful thing. Made me look good, didn’t it?”
“What do you want from me?”
His eyes darkened as he sat in the chair beside me. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Seraya. I just didn’t know how to get you. You were always hidden behind Thorne. Always so protected, so quiet. But the moment I saw you, I knew.”
“You don’t even know me,” I hissed, straining against the ropes. “You kidnapped me, you sick bastard.”
“I’m Zairon. You’ll remember that.” He said as he stepped into the light.
He leaned forward. His voice dropped low, intimate. “Oh, but I do. I’ve watched you. I’ve listened to you. Do you remember last spring? The river border? You stood in the tall grass for a second too long. You picked those yellow flowers and whispered something into the wind. I watched you laugh. Alone. You looked... untouched.”
I froze.
He wasn’t lying.
He had seen me.
He’d been watching.
“You’re insane,” I spat.
He chuckled. “Maybe. But at least now I have what I want. And you, Seraya... you’re free now. You don’t belong to Thorne. You belong to me.”
“You think tying me up means you own me? You don’t know s**t about me.”
He stood again, circling the bed slowly, watching the rise and fall of my chest. “You’re wrong. I know your birthday. I know your favorite place to read. I know the way your eyes squint when you’re angry. I know that you like blueberry honey, and that you sleep on your right side. I know you’ve never truly shifted. And I know you’ve been broken since you were a child.”
His voice was quiet. Cold. Not threatening. Just... matter-of-fact.
“You planned all this,” I whispered. “The photo. The rejection.”
He nodded once. “Of course I did. Thorne was always too proud. Too obsessed with power. I just gave him a reason to do what he was already afraid to admit—that he didn’t deserve you.”
Tears burned in my eyes. Not from fear. Not yet. From the violation. The invasion. The understanding that someone had orchestrated the worst moment of my life with deliberate precision.
“I will kill you,” I said, low, steady. “When I get out of these ropes, I will rip your f*****g throat out.”
He smirked. “That’s the fire I wanted to see.”
He moved closer, reached out, and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. I jerked away, and he smiled again, slower this time.
“You’ll hate me now. But in time... you’ll understand. You’ll see that I’m the only one who ever wanted you entirely. Not for duty. Not for politics. Just you.”
He leaned in close, his breath brushing my ear.
“And I don’t plan on letting you go.”
I screamed.
He didn’t flinch.
Just turned around, walked back toward the door, and said over his shoulder, “Rest, Seraya. You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we begin again.”
Then he left.
The lock clicked behind him.
And I was alone.
Alone in the dark, tied to a bed, with the firelight flickering and my mind unraveling.
And somewhere deep inside me, under the fear and fury, a small, dangerous thought bloomed:
If Thorne really believed that photo… did he ever know me at all?
- Writer
