008: Caged Fire
1159 Words
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Neza
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"Make sure she eats but she must not leave this room..." I heard Jackson's voice ordering, firm as a slammed door.
The room was unfamiliar. My lashes fluttered open and at first I thought it was a dream — but no, the high painted ceiling, the golden drapes pooling on polished marble, the faint musk of cigars that had seeped into the walls — all of it told me I was still at the Blodwyn estate. Home, but not mine. It wasn’t the room I grew up in, not the small chamber at the east wing where the window cracked whenever it rained. This room was bigger, suffocating in its finery, and every corner screamed prison.
I sat up, my head pounding, my throat dry. On the table sat a silver tray: bread, fruit, water, meat still steaming faintly. My stomach knotted, but not with hunger, I was furious.
I swung my legs off the bed and went for the door. Locked. Of course. I jiggled the handle harder, my nails scraping the wood. "Open it, damn you!" I slammed my fist against it. No answer.
I grabbed the tray and hurled it at the door. The plate clattered, apples rolling across the floor. My chest rose and fell like I’d just run ten miles.
"You think locking me here will tame me?" I shouted, my voice echoing. "I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that bastard if he comes near me."
As if summoned, the lock clicked.
I froze.
The door creaked open and there he was, broad shoulders filling the doorway, expression carved in stone, lips tugged into that slight smirk that made me want to claw his face.
"You’ll kill me?" he drawled, stepping inside, shutting the door behind him. "I came to see how you’d try."
"You smug son of a—" I didn’t finish. I lunged at him, nails bared like I could shred through his arrogance.
He caught my wrist mid-air, firm grip swallowing my bones.
"Neza," he said smoothly, like a warning and a tease in one breath.
I spat at him. He tilted his head, the spit landing on his chest, and laughed. He actually laughed in this damn situation I'm in, this is funny to him?
"You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’ll sit here obedient," I snapped, twisting my arm.
"You’re mine now," he said, matter-of-fact, as if stating the weather. "You can throw plates, curses, even claws, but this—" he pushed me back until my shoulders hit the wall "—doesn’t change."
My pulse thrashed against my throat. "I’d rather die."
"Then die screaming my name," he murmured, pressing in close.
The fury in me boiled over. I raised my other hand to strike, but he caught that too, both wrists pinned above my head. My body arched against the wall unwillingly, trapped.
"Let me go!" I hissed.
"You’d scratch me like a wildcat." His voice was amused, low, vibrating against my ear. "But you’ll only wear yourself out."
I twisted, kicked at him, caught his shin. He grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen. Instead, he pushed his thigh between mine, pinning me harder.
"Fight me then," he challenged. "Show me what fire you think you can burn me with."
I thrashed, my breath ragged, heart hammering. He was too close, heat radiating through his clothes, through mine. I hated the way my body noticed.
"Get off me!"
He leaned closer until his lips brushed my ear. "Say it again, and I won’t."
Something inside me snapped — frustration, rage, the twisted betrayal of my own skin prickling at his nearness. I wanted to hate him. I did hate him. But my body… traitorous, shameful body… it reacted.
He saw it. I knew he saw it. His smirk deepened as if reading my thoughts. "You hate me, don’t you?"
"I do," I spat.
"Good," he said, voice like velvet steel. "Hate makes you burn hotter."
He pressed harder, and suddenly my nails dug into his arms when he let my wrists go. I tried to shove him, but the moment his lips crashed onto mine, the protest tangled with a moan that betrayed me.
"No—" I gasped against his mouth, tears pricking from the frustration of it.
"Yes," he growled back, devouring the word, devouring me.
The kiss was rough, unyielding, nothing tender. His teeth grazed, his tongue claimed, and damn my body for melting against him even as my mind screamed.
I shoved again, but the wall was behind me, his weight pinning me, my own strength faltering. He caught my leg when I kicked, hiked it up against his hip, making me gasp.
"You feel that?" he taunted, lips brushing mine.
"I hate you," I cried, voice breaking.
"Then hate me while I make you fall apart."
And he did. God help me, he did.
Every touch was infuriating — rough palms on my skin, each grip claiming what I swore he couldn’t own. My back scraped the wall with every push, my fists pounded his shoulders, but then traitorous moans slipped free, humiliating in their honesty.
Tears burned my eyes. Not just from the force of it, but from the maddening betrayal of my body, how it wanted this war, how it answered every strike with a plea for more.
"Stop… please—" I gasped.
He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"
I hated that my silence answered him more than my words could.
He didn’t stop.
It was too tormenting to pretend not to want him more, my cries tangled in his name, my rage drowned in waves of unwanted pleasure. I clawed his back, half to hurt him, half to hold onto something as my body convulsed against its will.
When it was over, I sagged against the wall, trembling, tears sliding hot down my face.
He stepped back only slightly, chest heaving, eyes dark, lips swollen from battle. He looked satisfied — not just from the act, but from winning.
I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, to curse my body for betraying me. Instead I laughed — sharp, bitter, broken.
"You think this makes you victorious?" My voice cracked.
He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from my damp face. "I don’t think, Neza. I know."
My knees threatened to buckle, but his hand lingered at my waist, keeping me from collapsing.
I shoved him away, finally finding breath. "One day," I swore, voice low and shaking, "I’ll burn this estate down with you inside it."
His grin widened. "Then I’ll make sure you’re chained to me when you do."
And with that, he walked out, leaving me trembling in fury and confusion, body still buzzing with the war he had waged against my body and won.
The door clicked shut, locking me back into my cage.
- Writer
