The Anchor of the Void

Chapter IV

Eleanor



“Miss Eleanor, the driver is downstairs.”

Sicily’s voice drifted through the heavy oak door, polite and punctual as always. I barely heard her. I was too busy staring at the girl in the mirror, wondering who she was supposed to be.

I smoothed the crisp, white fabric of my dress, the silk cool and expensive against my palms. Today was Sunday—a day for tradition, for family, and for the quiet sanctity of the church. But for the first time in years, I was going alone.

The house felt unnervingly large as I walked downstairs, the air thick with the heavy silence coming from Henry’s room. Every floorboard creaked like a protest. I clutched my bag tighter, my knuckles white, feeling the weight of the secrets hidden behind the closed doors above me.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding, mocking the darkness of the past few nights. My driver was already waiting, his expression a polite, professional mask as he pulled open the heavy door of the sedan.

“Morning, Miss Eleanor,” he murmured.

“Morning, Martin,” I replied, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears.

I stepped into the back seat, the leather cool against my legs, and watched through the tinted glass as the iron gates of the estate swung open. I tried to focus on my prayer book, but my mind kept drifting back to the forest—and the invisible eyes I felt tracking us the moment we cleared the driveway.

I didn't look back. I didn't see the shadow detaching itself from the treeline to follow us into the light.

We were a distance from the house when the front tire exploded.

I screamed as the car fishtailed, the world tilting sideways as we careened off the pavement. The scream was cut short as we slammed into a massive oak tree. The impact jolted me against the seat; I gasped, pressing a hand to my face and feeling the warm, metallic slick of blood from my nose.

“Martin?” I choked out. He was slumped over the wheel, unconscious.

Panic flared in my chest. This road was a ghost—rarely traveled and miles from help. I fumbled for the handle, shoved the door open, and stumbled out into the dirt. My head was spinning, and a sharp, sickening throb in my feet made me wonder if I’d broken a bone in the wreck. I looked down, my breath catching. My pristine white dress was ruined, now heavily stained with a deep, spreading crimson.

The forest seemed to swallow the road, the shadows of the trees reaching out like long, thin fingers. I was barely aware that I’d wandered off the pavement and into the treeline, my head spinning from the wreck. Every step was a haze of pain and confusion.

I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.

Suddenly, a cold, heavy hand clamped over my throat from behind, cutting off my breath. Before I could even gasp, something hard and heavy collided with the back of my head. The world tilted, the green canopy above me spinning into a blur of grey. My knees buckled, and the darkness rushed in to meet me before I even hit the ground.

Awareness returned in agonizing waves. My arms were wrenched above my head, wrists raw and stinging where the rope bit into my skin. I tried to scream, to cry out for help, but the sound died in my throat; a thick, coarse cloth was stuffed into my mouth, gagging me.

Everything was a blur. I fought to pry my eyelids open, but they felt heavy, glued shut by dried blood or sheer exhaustion. My entire body throbbed with a dull, sickening heat, every muscle protesting the way I was hung against the wall.

Then, the heavy groan of a door echoed through the room.

I snapped my eyes open, the sudden light searing my vision. A silhouette stood in the doorway—a tall, dark shadow cutting through the glare. I began to thrash, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, struggling against the ropes until they chafed my skin raw.

“So, you’re awake?”

The man’s voice was a low, heavy rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. I looked toward him, but the room was swallowed in shadows, leaving him as nothing more than a dark silhouette. A sob caught in my throat, muffled by the gag, and my heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it might burst. Pure, cold fear had taken root in my chest.

He began to walk toward me, his boots clicking slowly against the wood. As he stepped into the thin sliver of light falling from the doorway, the breath left my lungs for a different reason.

I was frozen. He was handsome—no, handsome was an understatement. He was strikingly, lethally beautiful.

The light revealed a hair as dark as the shadows he’d stepped from. His eyes were a striking, polished silver-grey that seemed to pierce right through me. A jagged cut split his upper lip, but rather than marring his face, it lent him a rugged, dangerous sort of handsome. He was tall and sun-kissed, with a lean, athletic build—not overly muscled, but possessed of a hard, effortless grace.

For several long minutes, we did nothing but stare. He watched me with a mocking smirk tugging at his lips, his silver eyes unblinking. Then, he closed the distance. He reached out and gripped a handful of my hair, jerking my head back so hard my neck strained. With his other hand, he ripped the cloth from my mouth. I gasped, my lungs burning for air, and met his gaze with pure venom. I spat directly in his face. He didn’t flinch; he simply wiped the saliva away with a slow, dark chuckle that sent a chill down my spine.

“Feisty. You’re just like your brother,” he chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. He released his grip on my hair only to catch my jaw, his fingers digging painfully into my skin as he forced me to look at him. “Too bad he won’t ever see you again. Not in this lifetime.

“What do you mean? Let me go! Who are you?” My voice cracked, a cold wave of panic crashing over me. “What do you even want from me?”

He released my jaw, the pressure of his fingers lingering on my skin. He stepped back and sank into a chair directly in front of me, crossing his legs with agonizing slowness.

“Your brother owes me,” he said, his silver eyes locking onto mine. “And you? You’re simply the interest on his debt. Consider yourself the payment for his sins.”

“What? Levi? You’re Levi.”

The realization hit me like a physical blow, draining the color from my face. My skin went pale as a slow, dark smirk spread across his lips, confirming my worst fear. “What do you want from me?”

“I considered killing you outright,” he mused, leaning back in the chair. His silver eyes glinted with a cruel light. “But then I thought—that would be too easy. I’d rather play with you, torment you, and break you. I want to let him taste the agony of knowing you’re being hurt.”

“You’ve already killed his friends!” I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation. “What more do you want? Don’t you see? He’s bedridden—he almost died because of you!”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “I certainly hoped he had.”

“You’re so cruel,” I spat, trying to inject iron into my voice even as my resolve crumbled. “My father will find me. He’ll never spare you for this.” I fought to look tough, but deep down, a sob was clawing its way up my throat.

“Your father?” He let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. He stood abruptly, a silver blade suddenly gleaming in his hand. He stepped into my space, hovering over me so closely I was trapped by his shadow. “Don't make me laugh, princess.”

The blade touched my skin. He didn't cut, but the icy steel made me shiver violently. I held my breath as he traced the tip of the knife slowly up my leg, dragging it over my thigh and upward until the cold point rested against the pulse of my neck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a broken sob finally escaping my lips.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. I felt his hand tangle in the back of my hair, the tug sharp and demanding. There was a faint snip of steel. I opened my eyes just as he took a step back, holding a dark lock of my hair between his fingers.

A cruel smirk played on his lips. “This will do nicely.”

“Please, just let me go,” I pleaded, my voice breaking as tears finally spilled over, hot and stinging against my cheeks. “I won’t say a word to anyone. I just… please.”

He didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just watched the tears fall with a look of bored curiosity.

“You can cry all you want,” he said, his voice a low, terrifying calm. He leaned in one last time, his silver eyes like twin shards of ice. “But I won’t let you go. Not until you draw your very last breath.”

He left me in the silence, the echo of his footsteps fading into the dark. I fought with everything I had, twisting and wrenching my wrists until the skin felt like it was on fire, but the knots wouldn't budge. I kicked out at the shadows, my heels striking nothing but empty air. It was useless.

I looked down at my dress—once a pristine, ivory silk, now stained with grime and the dust of this hellhole. I scanned the room, my eyes searching frantically for a loose nail, a jagged edge, anything that could offer a sliver of hope. But there was nothing.

The realization sank in, cold and heavy. I was truly stuck here with a psychopath. I bit my lip until I tasted iron, trying to stifle the sound of my despair, but the tears wouldn't stop. They tracked hot paths through the dirt on my face, blurring the world until all that remained was the crushing weight of my own fear.

I hung there for hours until my arms went numb and the rope felt like it was sawing through my wrists. Just as my strength was failing, the heavy thud of footsteps returned. I forced my head up, my vision swimming, and saw Levi. He tossed a tray of food onto the table with a cold clatter before walking toward me.

With one swift motion, he sliced the cord anchoring me to the ceiling.

I hit the floor hard. The impact jolted through my battered frame, knocking the wind out of me. I groaned, my ribs screaming in protest against the wood, but he didn't give me a second to recover. He hauled me up by my shoulder and dragged me toward the table, my weak legs barely able to keep pace.

“Can you please... be gentle with me?” I pleaded as he forced me into the chair. “I’m a woman, after all.”

“I am never gentle,” he clipped, his voice like grinding stone.

He didn't untie my wrists. Instead, he shoved a fork into my hands, wedging it between the tight coils of the rope that bound my palms together.

“Eat,” he commanded, hovering over me. “Don’t make me repeat myself, and do not—under any circumstance—disobey me.”

I looked down at the plate, and my stomach turned. It wasn't anything like the food I was used to; it barely looked edible, a greyish mess that looked more like slop than a meal. But with his shadow looming over me, I knew I had no choice. I had to eat before he lost his patience and killed me on the spot.

I scooped a bit up, my face twisting in disgust as I forced it into my mouth. The taste was vile—bitter and metallic. I dropped the fork with a clatter and looked back at Levi, who was still standing behind me like a silent statue.

“You expect me to eat this?” I gestured to the plate, my voice trembling with a mix of disgust and defiance. “Whatever this is... you might as well just kill me now.”

“I would love to,” he replied, his voice a cold, flat line. He didn't even blink. “But that would be far too easy. Now, eat.”

“I’m not a dog,” I snapped, the fear finally giving way to a spark of indignant rage. “I won’t eat this filth.”

He didn't move, but the air in the room seemed to grow heavier. He leaned down, his shadow stretching over the table until it completely eclipsed my plate. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of rain and cold steel filling my senses.

“You have two choices, princess,” he whispered, his voice dangerously smooth against my ear. “You eat it yourself, or I force it down your throat until you choke on it. Which will it be?”

I looked him straight in the eyes, my jaw set. “I will not eat it. Whether you force me or not, I’d rather starve.”

“Force it is,” he murmured.

He didn't hesitate. His hand clamped onto my cheeks, his fingers digging in until my mouth was forced open. He shoved a spoonful of the grey slop inside. The second the spoon pulled away, I spat it back out, the filth splattering across his shirt.

He didn't yell. He simply let out a long, slow sigh, his expression darkening. He scooped up another mouthful and jammed it past my teeth again. I threw it back at him instantly, my chest heaving with defiance and disgust.

He scooped up a third spoonful, shoving it in and immediately clamping his palm over my lips to keep it there. I didn't care. I forced the filth out anyway, the mess oozing through his fingers and over his hand.

He let out a low, frustrated groan. I clamped my jaw shut, glaring at him with everything I had. There was no way. I would truly rather die than swallow that poison.

I thought he was reaching his breaking point—that he might give up—but his expression shifted into something far more predatory. He gripped my face even tighter this time, his fingers bruising my skin. To my horror, he took a spoonful of the food himself, but he didn't swallow.

Before I could process what he was doing, he slammed his mouth against mine.

The shock of it stole my breath. I felt his tongue force the food past my teeth and deep into my throat, a brutal, invasive gesture that left me reeling. He didn't pull away; he held his lips crushed against mine, his grip on my jaw like iron, refusing to let me go until he felt the muscles of my throat convulse and I finally swallowed.

He finally let go of my face and stepped back, his chest heaving slightly. The foul-tasting food was smeared across my cheeks and chin—the same hand he’d used to muffle my mouth had left a trail of grime across my skin. I glared up at him, my eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and pure, raw disgust.

“Eat whatever food I give you next time,” he warned, his voice a low, lethal promise. “Or I won’t hesitate to do that again.”

He shoved the fork back into my bound hands, the metal cold against my skin.

“You aren’t in your palace anymore, princess,” he sneered, leaning down so his silver eyes were inches from mine. “Deal with it.”

I didn't answer. I just watched his retreating back until the door clicked shut, leaving me in the suffocating silence once again. I wanted to scream, to fly at him and claw that smug smirk off his face, but the ropes and my own exhaustion held me back. I was utterly helpless. All I could do was stare at the door, my heart aching with a singular, desperate thought: I just want to go home.

I turned my gaze to the room, really seeing it for the first time. It was ancient and clearly abandoned, the air thick with the scent of rot and stagnant dust. The windows were boarded up with jagged planks of wood, sealing me in. Only a few small, splintered holes allowed slivers of grey light to pierce the gloom, offering me no view of the world outside—only a reminder of how far away it was.

I took a shaky breath and forced myself to think. I needed a plan. I had to do something—anything—to get out of this place alive.

My eyes drifted back to the plate in front of me, and the memory of what had just happened flooded back. I could still feel the phantom pressure of his mouth against mine and the lingering taste of that vile food. I hated him—I truly did—but a traitorous thought crossed my mind. For a killer, his lips had been unexpectedly soft. He didn't smell like the rot of this room, either; he smelled clean, a scent of rain and cold air that didn't belong in a place like this.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thought. He was a monster, and I couldn't let his softness distract me from the fact that he was my captor.

I heard the heavy thud of his boots before I saw him. When Levi finally stepped into view, he was holding a condensation-slicked glass of water. My throat tightened instantly; the thirst I’d been ignoring suddenly felt like a desert in my mouth.

He didn't hand it to me. Instead, he placed the glass on the far edge of the table, just out of my reach. I couldn't take my eyes off it, watching a single bead of water trail down the side of the glass.

“You want a drink?” he whispered, leaning in until his breath fanned against my ear. “Too bad. You behaved badly, princess.”

“Please... just a sip,” I pleaded. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper, and I would have traded anything for even a single drop of water right then.

“Look at you, pleading,” Levi murmured. He leaned closer, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he watched me crumble. “What should I do with you?”

There it was again—that scent of rain and cold steel. It was intoxicating and infuriating all at once, making my head swim as he invaded my space.

“Levi, please,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“No. Not until you learn to obey. Not until you do exactly as I say.”

“Fine! I’ll do whatever you want,” I burst out, the need to flush the vile taste of that food from my mouth becoming unbearable. “Anything. Just give me the water.”

“You want it that badly?” Levi murmured, his silver eyes tracking the movement of my throat as I swallowed nothing but dry air. He picked up the glass, the condensation dampening his palm.

He leaned in, the scent of rain and iron clouding my senses again, and held the rim of the glass just an inch from my lips. I could feel the radiant cool of the water. My heart hammered against my ribs—I was ready to beg, ready to do anything.

But then, his hand tilted.

Slowly, deliberately, he began to pour the water out. I watched in frozen horror as the clear liquid spilled onto the filthy, dust-covered floorboards between my feet. The dry wood hissed as it drank the moisture I so desperately needed.

“There,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over my ear as the last drop fell. “You wanted the water. Now you can watch it disappear.”

He set the empty glass back on the table with a sharp clack and stood up, plunging the room into shadow as he blocked the small sliver of light. “Every time you spit at me, princess, something you need vanishes. Let’s see how long it takes for you to run out of things to lose.”

I watched the water vanish into the floorboards, the dark stain on the wood mocking my thirst. A fresh surge of hate boiled in my chest—I wanted to reach out and strangle him, to feel the life leave his throat the way he was draining it from mine.

But as the last of the moisture disappeared, the fire in me died out, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. I couldn't afford pride anymore. If I didn't play his game, if I didn't obey every twisted whim of this bastard, I was never going to see my family again. I wasn't just fighting for my dignity anymore; I was fighting for my life.