Chapter 4
1038 Words
Serenya woke to silence.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment she thought she still dreamed. The chamber around her glistened like the inside of an onyx jewel, the walls of polished obsidian reflecting faint glimmers of pale blue fire that burned in torches shaped like twisting serpents. The floor was marble, black veined with silver, cold beneath her bare feet as she sat up.
A bed of silken sheets tangled around her limbs. Not white, not warm, but a deep blood-red, as if chosen to remind her where she was, a captive.
Serenya’s chest tightened. The memory came back sharp as a blade.
The trapdoor yawning beneath her feet, the darkness swallowing her whole, the sensation of falling and falling until shadow itself seemed to breathe around her. She had tried to fight, to summon light, but here… here her flame had sputtered uselessly. And then, his voice. Nekros’s voice, claiming her before she even understood the snare.
Her gaze darted about the chamber. On a tall stand near the bed hung a black silk robe, embroidered silver thread glimmering faintly in the torchlight. Beside it, upon a pedestal, rested chains of gold and obsidian that whispered of restraint more than adornment.
Serenya rose slowly, ignoring the tremor in her legs. She would not let him see her afraid. Not here. Not anywhere.
The door opened before she could even reach it.
Nekros did not enter as a man might. He was shadow first, smoke bleeding through the cracks of the door, filling the corners of the chamber with a presence that made the walls themselves shiver. Then he stepped into form, tall and imposing, his figure draped in robes as black as the void, edged with silver. His silver eyes caught the light, endless, a storm swirling in the dark.
He smiled faintly. “Awake, at last.”
Serenya clenched her fists. “Where am I?”
“My palace,” he replied, his tone casual, almost indulgent. “The only place you belong now.”
“I belong to no one.” Her voice rang sharper than she expected, defiance hardening her spine. “You’ve made a mistake if you think…”
“...that you have a choice?” Nekros cut in smoothly, stepping closer. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. “No, little flame. I do not make any mistakes. You are here because I willed it. And you will remain here whether you desire it or not”
He gestured, and from the air itself, a gust of shadow coiled, lifting the black gown from its stand. “Wear this.”
Serenya lifted her chin. “I’ll wear rags before I drape myself in your chains.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “You have fire, even here. Interesting.”
His gaze softened, his expression flickering with something she could not name. He reached out, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face with the back of his fingers. The touch was light, yet it sent a strange shiver down her skin.
Then he spoke, low and dangerous: “You remind me of someone. Long ago. She too had eyes that defied me, lips that spoke with fire. She…” His voice trailed, the shadows thickening, as if memory itself pained him. “…is none of your concern.” His demeanor switched back to cold and haunting.
Serenya froze.
She searched his face, but his mask of control returned swiftly, though his eyes lingered on her in a way that unsettled her more than his threats.
“Who is she?,” she asked in a whisper.
“You will speak of this no more,” Nekros said, stepping even closer until his breath fanned against her cheek. “All that matters now is that you will fulfill your purpose of coming here.”
Her pulse raced, a war inside her chest. Fear told her to recoil, to spit in his face and curse him for daring. Yet another part trembled at the heat in his words, at the hunger veiled beneath the coldness.
“Let me go,” she said, but softer now as if scared he would bite her.
He smiled, slow and cruel. “No. I will dress you in silk, chain you in jewels and do with you as I please because you are my plaything.” His hand slipped to her wrist, cool fingers circling her skin. With a firm tug, he drew her flush against him, his shadow curling around them like smoke.
Serenya’s breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating, yet intoxicating. She could feel the sharpness of his words like daggers, yet beneath them lingered something else, desire, dangerous and forbidden.
His lips brushed her ear, his voice a silken whisper. “You are mine now, little flame. Mine to break. Mine to burn. Mine to keep.”
Her heart thundered so loud she swore he could hear it. She wanted to shove him away, to spit defiance, but her body betrayed her. She was frozen, trembling, caught between revulsion and something she dared not name.
When he finally released her, the air rushed cold against her skin. He turned from her as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just unraveled her with a touch and a whisper.
“Dress yourself,” Nekros commanded, his back to her. “Tonight, you dine at my table.”
And then he was gone, dissolving into shadow, leaving only silence and the faint echo of his words.
You remind me of someone…
Serenya sank onto the bed, clutching the silken sheets as though they were a lifeline.
She hated him. She hated this cage. She hated the way his eyes had lingered on her, the way his touch had burned her skin.
And yet
Her fingers brushed the place where his hand had held her wrist. The heat lingered still, as if the shadows themselves had branded her.
Serenya buried her face in her palms, fury and confusion warring within her. She was not his possession. She would never be but the first spark of something she did not understand had already been struck.
- Writer
