Terms of Surrender

The Waiting Game: Tess

Before I crawled into the bed, I turned to a fresh page in my notebook. I had to update my notes, integrating new data, my new hypothesis. Alpha = Leader. Pack = Tribe/Cult. Mate Bond = Political Marriage/Requirement for Leadership. Silvercrest Pack = The Name of an Ancient Cult.

Even as I got into the comfortable bed, my body remained on high alert. I felt as if my senses were hyper-tuned to the Penthouse, listening for any creak. Any sign of movement from Darian. The silence felt more terrifying than the thought of being able to hear him.

Despite my resolve, I was running on adrenaline and exhaustion. Every time I drifted towards sleep, the anxiety jolted me awake. I closed my eyes and all I could see was Darian’s face when we were in the meeting room. The flash of his liquid metal eyes and the low, guttural sounds he made replayed in my head. Even with the cult theory, the primal terror of a monster still lingered just below the surface.

In order to find sleep, I had to focus on my next steps. I had to make a plan. Tomorrow, I would ask him about the land. I would use the audit notes to prove that I’m intelligent enough to be a valued partner, and therefore too useful to harm.

At some point in the night, I was pulled into that space in between sleep and wakefulness. The air in the room suddenly felt thicker, heavier, warmer. Even asleep, my senses screamed that Darian was near. He was close. Too close. I was fully awake now, but I kept my eyes closed. I feigned deep sleep, my face a mask of calm, presenting him with the guise of a compliant prisoner.

Slow, heavy footsteps crossed the carpet towards the bed. I forced my breath to be shallow and rhythmic. I could feel my anxiety threatening to spike, I begged my heartbeat to stay calm. The spiced pomegranate scent was overpowering now.

He stopped right beside the bed. The sheer heat radiating from his body was suffocating. I had to fight the urge to instinctively pull away. I focused on keeping the rhythm of my frantic heart slow and steady.

A warm, heavy weight settled on my shoulder. It’s a controlling touch, possessive, yet somehow oddly gentle. A test. His voice was a low, rough murmur, barely audible, yet vibrating straight through me. “Sleep, my Luna.”

The hand lifted. A moment later, the footsteps receded. I heard the soft shut of the door, and the sound released the tension I was holding. I finally took a deep, shaky breath, but otherwise remained perfectly still in the dark. I survived the inspection. He was a predator who thought he was a protector, and he had given me more data to research: Luna.