Natalie POV
The heavy oak door of my cell didn't just swing open; it shrieked against the stone floor like a dying animal.
Richard stepped over the threshold, the glowing, red-hot extraction iron held firmly in his right hand. The white-hot silver tip cast long, terrifying shadows across the damp walls, painting the narrow room in the colors of an active furnace. The intense, metallic scent of heated silver combined with his suffocating cinnamon and chocolate aroma, making my throat tighten in a violent spasm of morning sickness.
"Step back, Richard," I breathed, my back pressing hard against the rough bedrock of the rear wall. My hands, bound tightly in the heavy silver cuffs, instinctively dropped over my lower abdomen, shielding the fragile six-week-old heartbeat with my own flesh.
