CHAPTER 2- THE KEEP
1230 Words
(Evelyn’s POV)
I woke up to heat.
Not the cozy kind from my blanket or the sunlight peeking through my window, but heavy stifling warmth that pressed against my skin like an unwelcome touch.
My eyelids were sticky when I forced them open, my head pounding as though I’d been hit with a brick. For one fragile second, I told myself I was home.
That the nightmare of glowing eyes, snapping teeth, and the man who’d ripped wolves apart with his bare hands had been a fever dream.
But then I saw the ceiling.
It wasn’t plaster or paint. It was stone. Smooth, gray, ancient.
I bolted upright, the breath choking out of me.
The room I was in looked like something torn from a gothic movie set.
Stone walls soared higher than they had any right to, their cold surfaces broken only by flickering sconces that spat shadows across the floor.
A massive fireplace roared at the far end, the logs crackling under flames, the smoke curling into a dark chimney above—heavy velvet curtains—blood red—draped over windows I couldn’t see through. A carved oak bedframe loomed around me, its posts so thick I could barely wrap a hand around one, the sheets tucked tight beneath me.
Everything about the place screamed old.
Old and heavy.
Old and permanent.
And very much not mine.
Panic clawed its way up my throat. I scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over the long hem of a fur pelt that had been draped at the end like some medieval blanket. My bare feet hit the cold stone.
I looked down.
My shoes—gone. My tote bag—gone. My phone—gone.
“No,” I whispered, spinning in place. “No, no, no—”
There was a door. Towering, carved with symbols I didn’t understand. I stumbled upon it, grabbing the iron handle, yanking. It didn’t budge.
Locked.
I slammed my fist against the wood, the sound echoing back at me.
“Hey! Let me out! Do you hear me? You can’t keep me here!”
My voice cracked. The stone walls swallowed it whole.
The pounding in my chest worsened. My thoughts spun too fast, colliding with one another.
Wolves.
A man with golden eyes.
The words he’d spoken, low and final— You’re mine.
I backed away from the door, pressing against the wall. My throat tightened until breathing felt impossible.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Werewolves didn’t exist. Monsters didn’t drag college girls off city streets and lock them in stone fortresses.
And yet—
The door creaked.
I froze, my blood turning to ice.
It swung open without hurry.
It was him.
The man. The wolf.
Both.
He stepped inside with the kind of authority that made the room itself seem smaller.
His dark hair was damp, brushed back from his face now, but his eyes still burned with that unnatural gold, glinting even under the low firelight.
He wasn’t naked anymore—thank God—but the loose black shirt he wore didn’t make him less intimidating.
If anything, it only sharpened his features: the broad shoulders that stretched the fabric, the cut of his jaw, the quiet violence stitched into every movement.
I pressed tighter against the wall.
“Stay away from me.”
His gaze swept over me, deliberate. Like he was cataloguing every breath I took, every tremor I failed to hide. Then his lips curved—not into a smile, not really. Into something darker.
“You’re awake,” he said. His voice was deep, rough, the same gravel and smoke that had burned itself into my memory.
I swallowed hard.
“What the hell is this? Where am I?”
He tilted his head.
“Safe.”
“Safe?” My voice cracked on the word.
“You kidnapped me! You—” I jabbed a finger at him, my hand trembling. “You turned into a wolf. I saw you. I saw you kill those things!”
“They were rogues,” he said, flat, unbothered. “They would have torn you apart.”
“I didn’t need your help!”
The lie sounded weak even to me. His brow lifted slightly, as though he heard the fracture in my voice.
“You’re in my Keep now,” he said simply. “No one will touch you here.”
“I don’t want to be here!” I snapped. My chest heaved, my pulse loud in my ears.
“I want to go home.”
He stepped closer, and every instinct in me screamed to retreat, but the wall was already at my back.
“You can’t.”
My throat closed.
“What do you mean, I can’t?”
His golden eyes caught the firelight, sharp and merciless.
“Because you belong to me.”
My stomach plummeted. The words hit harder this time, not just spoken in a dark alley but here, in a place that looked built to last centuries.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“No, I don’t. I don’t even know you.”
“You will.”
The certainty in his tone made my blood run cold.
“I’m not your—” My voice wavered. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not it.”
His gaze hardened, the faintest growl rumbling beneath his words.
“You’re mine. My mate.”
Mate.
The word was foreign and yet terrifyingly intimate, like it meant more than boyfriend, more than husband—like it was binding, permanent, inescapable.
I shook my head again, desperation rising.
“This is insane. You’re insane. There’s no such thing as mates, there’s no such thing as wolves. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.”
His hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside me, close enough that heat rolled off him in waves.
His scent—something dark, woodsy, wild—flooded my lungs.
“Dreams don’t smell like fear,” he murmured.
Tears burned behind my eyes. My chest heaved, fighting for air.
And for the first time since the chase began, I realized I wasn’t just terrified.
I was furious.
Furious at him for dragging me here. Furious at myself for being too weak to stop it. Furious at the way some traitorous part of me noticed how close he was, how his voice scraped along my skin like it belonged there.
I shoved him.
Hard.
He didn’t move.
Not an inch.
But something flickered in his gaze. Surprise. Amusement.
Respect.
“Good,” he said softly. “Fight me. Fight everything. You’ll need it.”
Before I could spit back, he pulled away, striding toward the door with the same lethal calm he’d walked in with.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he said without looking back.
“Tomorrow, you’ll meet the pack.”
“Would you at least have the courtesy to tell me your name!?”
I yelled out of anger and somewhat deep despair.
“Ronan”, he said without breaking stride or rhythm.
The door shut behind him, the lock clicking once more.
I slid down the wall, my body trembling too hard to keep standing.
Safe. He’d said I was safe.
But the stone walls around me, the roaring fire, the locked door…
It all felt like a cage.
- Writer
