Chapter Two: The Door I Should Not Have Opened
1721 Words
I could not move.
Not when he said those words.
Not when he started rising from the floor like something that had forgotten how to be human.
My heart was beating too fast, too loud, like it wanted to escape my chest before the rest of me could.
“My wife.”
The words echoed in my head, but it was not just what he said.
It was how he said it.
There was something wrong in his voice. Something that did not belong to the man I had stood beside only hours ago.
Something that felt… hungry.
I took a slow step back without thinking.
His eyes followed me.
They were still glowing. Not like the stories I had heard about wolves. Not the golden shine of power or the calm strength of an Alpha.
This was different.
Darker.
Deeper.
Like looking into something that had no end.
“You should not have come here,” he said.
This time, his voice sounded closer to normal, but the strain in it made my skin tighten.
Like he was fighting for control.
Like he was losing.
“I heard something,” I managed to say, though my voice felt small in the room. “I thought…”
I did not know how to finish that sentence.
What had I thought?
That he was hurt?
That he needed help?
That I could do anything at all?
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he closed his eyes like he was trying to steady himself.
When he opened them again, the glow was still there.
Fainter.
But not gone.
“I warned you,” he said quietly.
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
The kind that made it clear that nothing about this moment was safe.
I nodded quickly, my fingers tightening at my sides.
“I know,” I said. “I just…”
Again, the words failed me.
There was no excuse that made sense.
No reason strong enough to stand against the look in his eyes.
Silence filled the space between us.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Then he took a step toward me.
I froze.
Every instinct in me screamed to run, but my body refused to listen.
He moved slowly, like each step was measured, like he was holding something back with every breath he took.
When he got closer, I could see the tension in his face. The tightness in his jaw. The way his hands flexed slightly, like he was trying not to reach for me.
“Do you trust me?” he asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard.
Trust.
It felt like a strange word to use in a moment like this.
I barely knew him.
I had been forced into his life.
And yet, something in the way he asked made it feel like my answer mattered more than it should.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
But he noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze darkened slightly, and something in his expression shifted.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
Something that almost looked like disappointment.
“No,” he said softly, answering for me.
The word settled between us.
I swallowed.
“I do not know you,” I replied, my voice steadier than I expected. “I do not know what you are.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back.
The air changed.
Sharpened.
His eyes flashed again, brighter this time, and for a second, I saw something else beneath the surface.
Something that did not like being questioned.
Something that did not like being seen.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
I could feel the heat of his body now, the quiet power that seemed to surround him, pressing against my skin in a way that made it hard to breathe.
“And yet,” he said, his voice low, “you came looking.”
There was no softness in his tone now.
No patience.
Only truth.
I had come.
I had opened the door.
I had seen what I was never meant to see.
“I was curious,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
His expression changed again.
Not softer.
Not calmer.
Just… different.
Like the word had done something.
Like it had reached something inside him that should have stayed buried.
“Curiosity,” he repeated slowly.
Then he let out a quiet breath that did not sound human at all.
It sounded like a warning.
Before I could react, he moved.
Fast.
Too fast for me to follow.
One second he was in front of me.
The next, his hand was against the door behind me, closing it with a sharp sound that echoed through the room.
I flinched.
My back pressed lightly against the wood as I looked up at him.
He was closer now.
Closer than he had been before.
His head lowered slightly, his gaze locked on mine like he was trying to see through me.
“You should learn something,” he said.
His voice had dropped again.
That deeper tone was back.
The one that did not belong to him alone.
“In this place… curiosity has consequences.”
My breath caught.
I could feel it now.
The shift in the air.
The change in him.
The way his control was slipping, piece by piece.
I should say something.
I should push him away.
I should try to leave.
But I did none of those things.
Because something else had taken hold of me.
Not just fear.
Something stronger.
Something that made it impossible to look away.
His gaze dropped briefly.
Not to my eyes.
To my neck.
The movement was small, but I felt it like a touch.
My body tensed instantly.
And that was when I realized something was very wrong.
He was not just looking at me.
He was fighting himself.
His hand pressed harder against the door, his jaw tightening as his breathing grew uneven again.
“Leave,” he said suddenly.
The word came out strained.
Forced.
Like it hurt him to say it.
I did not move.
I do not know why.
Maybe it was shock.
Maybe it was confusion.
Or maybe it was the way he looked at me.
Like he did not want me to go.
Like something inside him wanted the exact opposite.
“Go,” he said again, louder this time.
But even then, there was something else beneath it.
Something that made my chest tighten in a way I could not explain.
I took a step to the side, trying to move past him.
For a second, I thought he would stop me.
But he did not.
His body remained still, tense, like he was using every bit of strength he had left just to stand there.
I reached for the door.
My fingers brushed against the handle.
And that was when it happened.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Tight.
Warm.
Unforgiving.
I gasped softly, my body going still as his grip held me in place.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then slowly, he pulled me back.
Not hard.
But enough.
Enough to make it clear that I was not leaving.
Not yet.
His head lowered again, closer this time, his breath brushing lightly against my skin.
It was uneven.
Controlled.
Barely.
“I told you to stay away,” he said quietly.
“But you came anyway.”
My heart was racing now, faster than before, louder than before.
I could feel it in my chest, in my throat, in every part of me.
“I am sorry,” I whispered.
It was the only thing I could think to say.
But the moment the words left my lips, something changed.
His grip tightened slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
But enough to make me aware of it.
Aware of him.
“Sorry does not change what you saw,” he murmured.
My breath hitched.
His face moved closer.
Too close.
And then his lips stopped just beside my ear.
Not touching.
But close enough for me to feel the heat of them.
“And now,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous, “you belong to something you do not understand.”
My chest tightened.
A cold feeling spread through me, slow and heavy.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he released my wrist.
Suddenly.
Abruptly.
I stumbled slightly, my hand catching the door for balance.
When I looked up again, he had stepped back.
The distance between us felt too wide.
Too sudden.
Like something had been cut off.
“You should sleep,” he said.
His voice was calm again.
Too calm.
Like nothing had just happened.
Like I had not seen what I saw.
Like I had not felt what I felt.
I stared at him, waiting for something else.
An explanation.
A warning.
Anything.
But he said nothing more.
He turned away from me and walked back toward the center of the room, his movements controlled again, distant again.
Like he had locked whatever that was back inside.
For now.
I stood there for a moment longer, my thoughts spinning, my heart still racing.
Then slowly, I opened the door and stepped out.
The hallway felt colder than before.
Or maybe it was just me.
I walked back to my room, each step heavier than the last.
Nothing felt the same anymore.
Not the silence.
Not the walls.
Not even myself.
Because I knew something now.
Something I could not ignore.
Something I could not forget.
I had seen what lived inside my husband.
And it had seen me too.
I reached my door and stepped inside, closing it behind me with a quiet click.
For a moment, I leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing.
Trying to calm the storm inside me.
But it did not work.
Because the moment I lifted my hand to my chest, I felt it.
A sharp sting.
Sudden.
Burning.
I frowned and looked down.
Slowly, I reached up and touched my neck.
And then I froze.
Because beneath my fingers…
Something was there.
Something that had not been there before.
Warm.
Raised.
And pulsing
Like it was alive.
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