Chapter 7 - Hello, Little Bird.
1466 Words
Lylah wasn't sure what she was walking into, but she knew one thing—she needed to be bold enough if she wanted to get out of this alive.
And oh yes, she intended to escape at the slightest opportunity.
She’d been gone for hours. Or maybe centuries—time was being extra dramatic tonight.
By now, her father was probably sprawled across his bed, drowning in a drunken snore. But come morning? He’d be worried sick. If she didn’t make it back soon, he’d definitely notice. Maybe.
She passed through several rooms, but they were all locked. Mighty doors with strange doorknobs. And not one sound did she hear.
No steps. No voice. Nothing but her own.
The ghost of a shadow she’d previously seen—a gimmick in her head—as if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
It felt like she was completely alone.
A what-the-heck-is-going-on moment certified by the silhouette of unease.
For a second, the air felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions.
And then it hit her—what if she was being kept for ritual purposes? Or maybe for organ harvesting?
A cold knot formed in her stomach. She clenched her fist, forcing the terrifying thoughts her head cooked up away.
This was not the time to spiral into crime documentary theories.
She knew she needed to be brave, not scared in this situation. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Then she dragged her feet forward—cautiously.
What's the worst that could happen?
The deeper she went, the grander the fortress was.
After climbing through the long staircase, in what felt like an endless walk through loneliness. Her eyes landed on a ten-foot iron door at the center of the third floor, worthy of the ‘King of doors’ crown.
A gentle push—the door yawned open, surprising her.
Finally. An open room.
The moment she stepped inside, the intoxicating fragrance of black baccara rose enveloped her in a welcoming hug.
The room was dimly lit in classic neon lights. No bold decorations. No flamboyant colors, just a quiet charm of effortless luxury.
A black, baroque lampshade gleamed on the bedside table, casting a soft, eerie glow over the figure resting on the bed.
Her breath stumbled over itself like it saw a ghost in g-string.
She stepped closer, careful not to make a sound.
There he was. Her creepy abductor. Shirtless. Asleep on the thickly swollen master sized bed.
Her mind fired a grenade countlessly as she stared at the figure.
What beauty? Muah-like type of fine.
He had an otherworldly beauty, one she had never seen before. Her mouth parted in awe, savoring his ethereal looks— painfully divine.
The dim light cast sharp shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting the impossible symmetry of his face, the smooth planes of his torso, the sculpted lines of his big arms resting behind his head.
Long silver hair flowed dominantly—striking and unnatural. He looked like a god.
No, no, no…no.
Lylah smacked her face in an ‘ah-ha’ moment gone wrong. Snapping her senses back to life.
She shouldn’t have the fancy time to drool over god-knows-who. He was obviously dangerous.
Who knows why he had kidnapped her. She didn't want to find out the ugly reason either.
Her eyes searched around hastingly, she needed a weapon. Or anything weapon-able.
Bingo!
A four poster structured stool, lacquered brownish-blue and gold sat beside the other side of the bed.
Her face colored brightly—her instinct’s whispered—stomp his head and run.
“Now’s my chance,” Lylah justified her thoughts.
She raised the stool. One shot, that’s all she needed.
But before she could smash the stool against his face, his hand shot out. Faster than thought. He tossed the stool away like it was made of paper and snatched her wrist, flipping her beneath him in one smooth, fluid motion.
A startled gasp escaped Lylah’s lips as her back hit the mattress.
Her body stiffened—she forgot how to breathe for a second.
Her mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
He was supposed to be asleep. Deep asleep.
How the f**k was he awake? Did he hear her all along?
But I was as quiet as a mouse hiding from a house owner. Cautious too! she cried in her head.
Lylah squirmed, but his grip was unyielding, his body caging her in place.
His ember eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
He frowned. Then slowly—so painfully slowly—he said “Wanna die…little bird?”
She froze.
Her heart dropped to her stomach, then shot back up again to its place.
That voice. She knew that voice—too memorable to forget in a blink.
It was the same calm yet intimidating voice she’d heard earlier before, when she was almost killed.
He was her savior. But now? She needed another to save her from him.
She stilled. She knew better than to upset him further. The ball was not in her court at the moment.
“Think Lylah, think,” her inner voice howled.
A shadowed smirk flickered across his face. He could hear her little thoughts. And then—he moved, releasing her from his grip. She was scared, he knew.
“We’ve said our hellos now, little bird.”
“Return to your room,” Axel muttered dryly, his voice solid with authority.
He laid back on the bed. It was adorned with silken sheets of gray and deep oxblood.
He placed his big, strong arms behind his head, shutting his eyes—ignoring her presence like nothing had happened.
Utterly confused, Lylah stared at him, almost too long it felt like a year.
Wasn't he going to kill her for attempting to kill him? Wasn't he going to tell her why he captured her? Where she was?
She had questions, loads of them but she figured it could wait a little longer.
At least he didn't lock her in a cage……yet.
So maybe this counted as half-captivity?
Just then, her stomach gave a loud, embarrassing growl.
Oh f**k! Wrong timing, you traitorous worms.
She froze. Awkwardly so.
Slowly, she raised her head, stealing a glance at the massive figure still splayed out on the bed.
He hadn't moved. Eyes shot. Chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
Not a word. No concern. No gesture. No offer of food or even direction to a kitchen. Just stillness.
She could swear he heard her stomach growl, she was certain. He just didn't care at all.
Why keep me hostage if you wouldn't even feed me? Lylah screamed….but only in her head.
Asshole!
Lylah frowned.
She was starving, held as captive in a fortress she didn't know, and the man who had brought her here—who had captured her—couldn't even bother to lift a f*****g finger.
“Thanks for nothing,” she muttered under her breath, placing her hands around her stomach in what looked like a consolation to her roaring worms.
And with that, she stepped out of the room, back the same way she came.
On reaching her ‘room’, her nose twitched, drawn by a subtle, warm aroma.
She pushed the iron handle, it opened up to a large feast. Of course, she would call it a feast, she hadn't been served such amount of food in her whole life. Not just much, grand.
Her jaw practically hit the floor.
A long ornate table gleamed beneath another glowing chandelier. Platters of food were already laid out—fresh fruits, fried fish, steamed bread, roasted meat, and goblets brimming with wine— all laid out as though she’d summoned it.
Her hunger pushed her forward, scanning through the satisfying sight. Her mouth watered. She smiled.
Her thoughts shifted to Axel for a moment.
Okay, maybe not a total asshole.
But how had he done all this? When? They’d been together the whole time… right?
So far there was no other presence apart from both of them. Or was there?
The shadow from before? Was there someone else.. another hostage?
As if on cue, the door creaked open behind her.
She turned—pulse spiking.
The door stood half-open, swaying just slightly.
But no one was there.
She steered her gaze back to the front, a chill crawling in.
Then—she heard it.
A sound.
Scraping. Wrong. Closing in.
A dragging sound.
Like something that shouldn’t be moving… but was.
Her heart did three full backflips but not in a stunt-showoff kind of way.
She wasn’t alone.
And she was too scared to turn around again. Her hunger died a natural death—willingly.
A presence loomed behind her.
Another presence.
- Writer
