Chapter Fourteen
1551 Words
Thalia kept her head lowered, breath shallow, every muscle in her body coiled tight. The floor beneath her palms felt rough, splintered, grounding her just enough to keep from shattering completely. She did not look at him—not yet. She couldn’t. Not when his presence pressed against her like a weight, not when the air itself seemed to bend around his voice.
Darius paced.
Slow. Deliberate. Each step measured, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to dismantle her.
“You know,” he said casually, as if they were speaking of something trivial, “I always wondered when you would finally try to run.”
Her fingers twitched.
She shifted slightly—barely noticeable—her knee brushing against the edge of the rug. Beneath it, she felt it. A seam. A faint difference in the wood. Her heart stuttered, hope flaring sharp and dangerous.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
A low, humorless chuckle left his lips. “Careful,” he said softly. “You’ve always been terrible at hiding your intentions.”
Thalia froze.
Her stomach dropped.
He stopped pacing and turned to face her fully. The firelight caught his eyes, turning them molten gold, inhuman and merciless. His smile was wrong—not restrained, not distant like before—but openly cruel, stretched thin with amusement.
“Do you know the first time I saw you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t need her to.
“You were small. Filthy knees. Hair tangled from running where you weren’t supposed to be.” His gaze dragged over her like a blade. “You looked up at me like I was a god.”
Her throat closed.
“I remember thinking,” he continued, voice calm, reflective, “how easy it would be to break you.”
Her chest seized. She forced herself to breathe, slow and silent, inching her hand closer to the edge of the rug, closer to the hidden door beneath it.
“And you grew,” he said. “Still weak. Still quiet. Still… empty.”
Empty.
The word struck harder than any blow.
“Wolfless,” he spat, disgust thick in his tone. “A mistake the Moon Goddess should have buried.”
Her vision blurred. She swallowed hard, the taste of metal flooding her mouth.
“I watched you suffer,” he went on, unbothered. “Watched them use you. Mara. The pack. I let it happen.” He tilted his head, studying her reaction. “Do you know why?”
Her nails dug into the floor.
“Because it taught you obedience.”
She flinched.
Darius stepped closer, boots stopping just short of her curled legs. He crouched slowly, bringing himself to her level. Smoke curled from his cigarette, drifting toward her face. She turned away instinctively, but he leaned closer.
“Look at me.”
Her body refused.
His smile sharpened. “Ah,” he murmured. “Still pretending you have a choice.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, on the narrow strip of shadow beneath his boots, anywhere but his face. Her body had already begun to shut down—heart racing, limbs heavy, the familiar haze creeping in at the edges of her vision.
His patience snapped.
Darius grabbed her chin, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt, forcing her head up. Her breath hitched sharply as pain shot through her jaw.
“I said,” he repeated, quieter now, more dangerous, “look at me.”
Her eyes met his.
The moment they did, the past crashed into her.
Cold water.
Moonlight on skin.
His voice in the dark.
The helplessness.
Her body stiffened violently.
He saw it—and smiled.
“There it is,” he murmured, thumb pressing harder beneath her jaw. “That look.”
Tears welled instantly, spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back. Her breath came shallow, broken, her chest tight as if iron bands were closing around it.
“You remember,” he said softly, almost fondly. “I wondered if you would.”
Her hands trembled where they rested on the floor. She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
“You were so quiet that night,” he continued calmly. “Did you know that?” His eyes gleamed. “Not screaming. Not fighting. Just… shaking.”
Her stomach lurched. A strangled sound slipped from her throat before she could stop it.
“I thought you’d hate me afterward,” he admitted, tilting his head. “Thought you’d look at me with anger. Defiance.”
His smile twisted. “But you didn’t.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.
“You looked exactly like this.”
Fear surged so hard it made her dizzy.
“I owned you then,” he said plainly. “Just like I do now.”
“No,” she whispered, the word barely sound at all.
His grip tightened one last time before he released her abruptly. She collapsed forward, coughing, gasping for air, her jaw aching where his fingers had been.
He straightened, adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened.
“You see,” he went on, resuming his slow pacing, “that night wasn’t impulse. It wasn’t loss of control.”
Her heart slammed painfully.
“It was confirmation.”
“You think Kael helped you out of kindness,” Darius said lightly. “That pathetic little hero act.” His lip curled. “I should rip his throat out for daring to touch what belongs to me.”
Thalia’s breath hitched.
“You see,” he continued, voice dropping, “that’s the part you don’t understand.”
He stopped.
The room felt suddenly too still.
“You were never just some servant.”
Her heart pounded violently.
“You were never invisible to me.”
Her world tilted.
“You were mine long before you knew what that meant.”
The words landed wrong. Heavy. Ominous.
She lifted her head slowly, dread crawling up her spine.
Darius turned fully toward her, eyes gleaming. “You’re my mate.”
The room seemed to collapse.
It felt like the sky and the earth slammed into her at once—like something vast and merciless had fallen straight through her chest. Her breath left her in a broken gasp. Her hands went numb.
Mate.
“No,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
His smile widened.
“Oh, yes,” he said softly. “Isn’t it disgusting?”
She shook her head, tears burning. “That’s not possible. I—I don’t feel anything.”
“Exactly,” he snapped, sudden fury cracking through his composure. “And that is why I hate you.”
The words lashed.
“I feel it,” he said, voice venomous. “Every second. The pull. The bond clawing at my spine. And you?” He laughed sharply. “You feel nothing. You’re empty. Broken. Useless.”
She crawled backward instinctively, her heel brushing the edge of the rug. The trap door beneath it might as well have been a dream.
“I was cursed with you,” he went on. “A wolfless mate. A defect. A humiliation.”
Her chest ached like it was caving in.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” he added, voice cold again, “that you are mine—or that I can’t even break the bond properly because you’re too incomplete to feel it.”
She sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking.
“And don’t fool yourself,” he said, stepping closer again. “This isn’t love. I don’t love you.”
The words were deliberate. Surgical.
“I despise you,” he continued. “For what you represent. For what you deny me. For existing.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the edge of the rug again, her body screaming at her to move, to run, to survive.
“I claimed you because I could,” he said. “Because you are weak. Because you had nowhere else to go. Because the world wouldn’t miss you if you disappeared.”
He leaned down suddenly, gripping her chin, forcing her to look up.
“And because,” he whispered, smoke ghosting over her lips, “you are mine to ruin.”
Her eyes met his—gold on gold, terror against cruelty.
“I knew you’d try to escape,” he said quietly. “You always were stubborn in the most pathetic way.”
Her gaze flickered—just once—toward the floor.
His smile returned.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I know every thought in that pretty little head of yours.”
He released her and stood, towering over her now.
“You can crawl. You can run. You can hide.” He shrugged. “It won’t matter.”
She pressed her palm flat against the rug, heart screaming.
“You were born mine,” Darius finished coldly. “And no matter how far you think you can go—”
He stepped back, giving her space.
“—I will always find you.”
The fire crackled.
The Red Moon burned.
And beneath her trembling hand, the hidden door waited.
- Writer
