Chapter 5
1578 Words
THE GOLDEN CAGE
~ELENA POV~
I woke up to the smell of cedar, spicy musk, and expensive woodsmoke.
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. I felt wrapped in a warm blanket of comfort, something so different from my usual busy life filled with caffeine that my mind didn't know how to accept it.
I was warm. Unbelievably, impossibly warm.
I lay in a bed that felt more like a soft cloud from the sky than just a piece of furniture. I opened one eye, thinking I would see the boring gray paint on my bedroom ceiling or the bright white of a hospital room.
I saw neither.
This was not my apartment in the East Village. It was not even in the same tax range as my apartment.
The room was large.
The walls were made of rough-hewn dark stone that glittered faintly in the firelight. High vaulted ceilings stretched up into the shadows, supported by exposed wooden rods thick enough to hold up a bridge.
Across the room, a huge stone fireplace…large enough to roast a whole pig…housed a roaring fire that crackled merrily, casting dancing orange shadows against the slate floor.
It looked like a medieval castle had a baby with a five-star Aspen ski resort.
Memory crashed into me hard. I remembered a snowstorm, a dark alley, and men who looked scary with sharp teeth. And him. The man in the suit with eyes like gold.
I sat up, gasping as the air rushed into my lungs. “Oh my god. I’ve been kidnapped.”
I tossed the heavy blankets away and quickly moved back against the headboard. I looked at myself in a panic. I was still wearing my shiny green party dress. though it was wrinkled now.
My feet were bare. I looked over the side of the gargantuan bed and saw my Jimmy Choos placed neatly, side-by-side, on the rug.
A shiver went through me that had nothing to do with the cold. He had touched me. He had taken my shoes off while I was unconscious.
Panic, cold and intense, flooded my veins, overriding the remaining drowsiness. I wasn't a damsel; I was a lawyer. And lawyers didn't wait to be rescued…. Assessed the threat and took care of it.
I needed a weapon.
I looked around the room quickly. No phone. No sharp things. But by the fireplace, I saw some heavy iron tools. I jumped off the bed and ran to the fireplace.
I picked up the heavy iron poker and felt its weight. It was strong and cold….perfect.
I rushed to the door, which was a big, heavy wooden door that looked like it was from a dungeon.
I grabbed the iron handle and pulled, but it did not budge.
Locked. Of course it was locked.
“Dammit” I shouted, kicking the solid wood with my bare foot. Pain shot up my toe, but I ignored it.
I ran to the windows on the far wall. They were floor-to-ceiling glass, framed by heavy dark red curtains. I pulled the fabric back, expecting to see the dirty grey street of Manhattan, or maybe the skyline of New Jersey if he had taken me out of the city.
I stopped dead. The breath left my lungs.
Outside, there was no New York skyline. No taxis honking. No sirens wailing. No skyscrapers blocking out the sun.
There were trees. Miles and miles of pine trees, their branches heavy with thick white snow, stretching out like an endless white ocean. In the distance, there were tall, sharp mountains standing out against the clear morning sky.
I wasn't in the city. I wasn't even in the suburbs. I was in the middle of nowhere.
“Where the hell am I?” I whispered, my voice fogging the glass.
Click.
The sound was sharp and distinct. The heavy lock on the bedroom door was turning.
I turned around, holding the fire poker like a baseball bat. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I backed away, putting the massive four-poster bed between me and the door.
The door creaked open.
Declan Thorne walked in.
He wasn't in his fancy suit anymore. Now he wore dark ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt that clung to his chest and arms, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Without the jacket, he looked even bigger and more intimidating.
He easily held a silver tray with a teapot and a plate of toast on it.
He looked up, saw me standing there with the iron bar raised, and paused. He didn't flinch. He didn't look scared. He didn't even look surprised.
His golden eyes swept over me, staying for a second on my bare feet, then moved up to the weapon in my hands. A corner of his mouth quirked up.
He looked…entertained.
“Put the poker down, Elena,” he said. His voice was calm, deep, and echoed with that same frustrating authority I had heard in the alley.
“Stay back” I shouted, brandishing the iron. I adjusted my grip, my knuckles turning white. “I know my rights, This is unlawful imprisonment, kidnapping, crossing state lines with a hostage, and…and probably a dozen other felonies. If you don't let me go right now, I will rain legal hellfire down on you so hard your ancestors will feel it”
Declan didn't look impressed by my legal threats. He kicked the heavy door shut behind him with his heel, the latch clicking softly. He walked further into the room, ignoring my weapon completely, and set the tray down on a small coffee table near the fire.
“Eat,” he said, pouring a cup of tea. The scent of chamomile wafted toward me. “You are low on blood sugar. You passed out for twelve hours.”
“I didn't pass out, you drugged me” I snapped, inching sideways so I could keep him in close vision while watching the door.
“I sedated you,” he corrected, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “You were in shock. Your heart rate was bordering on cardiac arrest.”
“I am going to kill you,” I threatened, lowering the poker slightly to point it at his chest. My arms were shaking, betraying my bravado.
Declan turned to face me fully. He crossed his arms over his massive chest, leaning casually against the heavy wooden dresser.
“You can try,” he said simply, as if discussing the weather. “But we have much to discuss. Starting with why a low-level Rogue pack was hunting you in Manhattan.”
My brow furrowed. “Rogue pack? What are you talking about? They were muggers on meth, They had bad skin and twitchy hands!”
Declan shook his head slowly. “They were wolves, Elena. Exiled ones. Driven mad by the lack of a pack bond. And they wanted you.”
“Wolves?” I let out a hysterical, breathless laugh. I lowered the poker an inch. “Okay. You’re insane. That’s it. I have been kidnapped by a billionaire psychotic with a furry obsession who thinks he’s living in a fantasy novel.”
Declan pushed off the dresser. His relaxed behavior vanished instantly. He moved toward me.
“Don’t come closer” I screamed.
He didn't stop.
I swung the poker. I put every ounce of my fear and adrenaline into the swing, aiming for his shoulder.
He caught it.
He didn't dodge. He didn't block. He just reached out with his left hand and caught the iron bar in mid-swing.
Thwack.
The sound of flesh hitting iron echoed in the room. He stopped it dead.
I stared at his hand. He wasn't even weakening. His fingers were wrapped around the metal, holding it as easily as if it were a straw. I pulled, trying to wrench it back, but it was like trying to pull a sword from a stone.
He looked me in the eye and gently pulled the weapon from my grip. He tossed it onto the bed behind me with a dismissive clatter.
“Sit,” he commanded.
It wasn't a request. It was an order. And the terrifying thing was, my body wanted to obey. A strange, dormant instinct curled in my gut, a voice whispering Alpha. My knees trembled, urging me to lower myself, to submit.
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge with every ounce of my stubbornness. I stood my ground, lifting my chin.
“I want to go home.”
“You can’t,” Declan said, his face hardening into stone. “Not yet. Not until I figure out why you smell like magic, and why my wolf has decided you are his, you are staying right here.”
I blinked, the nonsense of the sentence hitting me. “Your… wolf?”
Declan’s eyes flashed.
It wasn't a trick of the light this time. I watched, frozen in horror, as his irises swirled with liquid gold light. For a split second, his round human pupils elongated, snapping into vertical, predatory slits.
A low growl rumbled in his chest….a sound so deep and growling that no human vocal cords could produce it. It shook through the floorboards and into the soles of my feet.
He stepped closer, threatening over me, blotting out the firelight.
“Welcome to Blackwood, Elena,” he said softly, a dangerous smile touching his lips. “Merry Christmas.”
- Writer
