6
1034 Words
Seraphina
“Who the f**k are you, and what are you doing here?” His voice slices through the air like a blade—low, gravelly, and disturbingly inhuman. It rumbles deep from his chest, somewhere between a snarl and a growl. My breath catches. I freeze. I can’t speak. I can’t move.
He steps toward me slowly, deliberately, and I feel every ounce of heat drain from my body. His presence is magnetic in the most terrifying way. My lips part, but no sound escapes. My brain has gone blank.
“Who sent you?” he growls louder now, the sharpness of his tone jolting my spine. I flinch, instinctively shrinking back.
I blink. Once. Twice. Still no words come. My voice hides somewhere deep inside my throat, terrified to emerge. I open my mouth, try again.
Nothing.
“Are you one of the rogues?”
The accusation doesn’t make sense. Rogues? What is he talking about?
My first thought is that he’s high. Or delusional. Or both.
“I—I…” I stutter, stepping back as he leans in close—far too close.
His face is inches from mine, his breath hot against my cheek as he sniffs me. Sniffs me. I stiffen, disgust and fear colliding in my stomach. My skin prickles beneath his gaze.
He breathes me in like he’s trying to identify something. Then he pulls back, eyes narrowing.
“You’re a human.”
What?
I frown, completely lost. “Aren’t we all?”
He doesn’t respond to my sarcasm. Instead, he turns his back and walks to a couch draped in shadows. The room is dim and suffocating, sealed off from the world. No windows, no sunlight—just thick air and tension you could slice with a knife.
“Do you work with rogues?” he asks again as he sits, eyes fixed on me like I’m a puzzle missing a single piece.
“Rogues?” I echo, confused. “What even is that?”
He tilts his head slightly, as if trying to figure out if I’m lying or just stupid.
“Where did you come from?”
I hesitate, but then give him the truth. Or a version of it.
“I used to live with my husband… and his mistress. Until I escaped.”
His expression shifts ever so slightly. Surprise. Just for a second. Then his brow furrows and he mutters under his breath, “So you really are a human.”
I’m still trying to decode what the hell is going on when it hits me—I shouldn’t be here. Wherever here is. My instincts scream at me to run. My chest tightens, adrenaline kicking in.
I turn to walk away, not sure where I’m going, just desperate to leave. Then—a gust of wind.
It roars behind me, whipping my hair forward across my face. The air is thick and alive, and I spin around in confusion. There are no open windows. No vents. No possible source. Yet he’s standing right in front of me again.
I gasp. My eyes dart behind me. He was just sitting. Now he’s here.
“How—” I stammer.
He towers over me, his face calm but his eyes… his eyes glow. Hazel, but not human. Golden flecks shimmer like dying stars, and something ancient stares back at me. Something that doesn't belong in this world.
“Did I give you permission to leave?” His words hit like a whip.
I shake my head without thinking, my body betraying the fire in my heart. Submission is muscle memory now—Jacob trained it into me. Years of nodding, obeying, disappearing.
He grabs my wrist and begins walking. I stumble behind him, unable to break free. His grip is firm—tight enough to remind me who's in control, loose enough to avoid pain. He drags me down a winding staircase into the belly of the house.
We enter a lounge lit with flickering lamps and glowing embers. At least twenty people fill the space. They fall silent the moment we arrive. Some lounge on leather couches. Others stand, tense, alert.
All of them look at me.
He releases me and sinks into the largest chair—more throne than furniture. He commands the space like a born ruler. His broad shoulders rest lazily against the backrest, but there’s nothing relaxed about him. Power radiates from his skin.
I stand awkwardly in the center of the room, exposed, shrinking beneath their judging eyes.
“People,” he says, and the murmuring dies instantly. He doesn’t look at them. He looks at me. His gaze doesn’t waver, as if he's studying the shape of my soul.
“We have a woman who escaped her house.” The words sting like acid. I feel myself go pale, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
“And now,” he says slowly, with a cruel smile, “we have a new bait.”
My stomach churns. Bait? For what?
A tall woman with piercing green eyes and tight black leather pants steps forward. “What are the orders, Alpha?”
Alpha.
He exhales deeply. His chest rises, then falls. Every pair of eyes in the room stays locked on him, waiting. “I’ll decide soon.” He pauses, then glances back at me. “But for now… she’s a prisoner.”
The words slam into me.
A prisoner.
No. Not again.
“Prison? What do you mean? Ryder brought me here! He said I’d be safe—”
I turn to Ryder, my last thread of hope. But he won’t look at me. His gaze is pinned to the floor. His silence cuts deeper than any words.
Liar.
Anger burns hot in my chest. “I’m not a prisoner,” I snap. “And I’m leaving.” I spin around, chin high, and take a step toward the door. A hand clamps over my mouth from behind. Strong. Unyielding.
A sharp scent floods my nose—chemical, bitter, sweet. I kick and thrash, but it’s no use. The room spins. Gravity flips sideways. My knees buckle. And the world fades into darkness.
- Writer
