Chapter 8 : Romeo and Juliet - Part 11
1019 Words
The flickering torchlight casts jagged shadows across his sharp, elegant features, making him look even more otherworldly,more monstrous.His eyes once an electrifying shade of stormy blue, begin to shift.
The colour darkens.
Deeper.
Darker.
Until they are nothing but endless pools of coal black void.
The eyes of the devil.
A primal terror snakes its way down my spine, clawing at my insides, screaming at me to look away.
To never meet the gaze of something, so unnatural, so wrong.
Unmoving, he watches me with those abyssal black eyes, drinking in my fear like it’s the sweetest wine.
I should have never called his name.
Instantly, I regret it, but it's too late.
The small, irrational fear of being left alone have overpowered my senses, had driven me to summon the very demon I had hoped would leave me in peace and now he's here, standing before me, his obsidian eyes burning into my soul-silent, patient.
Waiting.
For what I don't know, but whatever it is...I know it can't be good.
Then, just as the tension becomes unbearable, - he speaks- his voice, low,rich,laced with something unidentifiable.
"You remember my name so easily little one."
His tone is unreadable, but I swear I hear satisfaction laced beneath it. Like he had expected me to call for him. Wanted it.
His tone is unreadable, but I swear I hear satisfaction laced beneath it. Like he had expected me to call for him. Wanted it.
My lips part, confusion battling my fear.
"Why—why are you doing this?" I manage to whisper, my voice hoarse. "I don’t even know you."
Something flickers in his expression—something dark, something possessive.
"You don’t know me?" His head tilts slightly, as if amused, but the predatory gleam in his eyes suggests anything but humour.
He takes another step closer, and the temperature in the room drops.
"Then tell me, Faye…" He leans in, his voice dipping into something almost dangerous. "Why have I not been able to forget you?"
My breath catches.
What?
Forget me?
Forget me from what?
The memory hits me like a slap—fleeting, insignificant at the time, but now… now it’s a thread being pulled loose, unraveling something far bigger than I ever could have imagined.
The coffee shop.
That morning.
I had barely noticed him at first, too lost in my own world to care about the too-perfect, too-arrogant man standing in line ahead of me. But then he had turned—his sharp, impossibly beautiful features twisting into irritation as I accidentally bumped into him.
It was one second.
A mere brush of my shoulder against his,
but I had looked him straight in the eye. And instead of shrinking away, instead of apologising like some meek commoner before royalty, I had done the unthinkable.
I had rolled my eyes.
Scoffed at him.
Told him to watch where he was going.
A single, fleeting moment. A throwaway interaction.
For me.
But clearly not for him.
And now, standing before me, with those black, consuming eyes and a presence that feels like a force of nature, I finally understand.
It wasn’t just about what I said-It wasn't only about the oak tree.
It was what happened before.
It was all about the way I spoke to him it.
The way it happened.
The way I said it.
I had looked into the eyes of a man who was feared, revered, obeyed without question… and I had treated him like he was just another guy in a coffee shop.
Like he wasn’t Lucien.
Like he wasn’t a king in his own right.
And something about that—about me—had burrowed into his mind and refused to leave.
No one spoke to him that way. No one dared.
And yet, I had.
And now?
Now I would pay for it.
A slow smirk curves his lips, his thumb grazing my jawline in a touch so light it makes my skin prickle.
"Oh, my sweet little Faye…" His voice is a whisper of silk, a promise and a warning all in one.
Surely this cannot be right. No way all this is happening because of me rolling my eyes, speaking back-me acting normal. Should i just apologise and get it over. Will he let me leave?
As my thoughts are threatening to run a way with trying its utmost to kill me with madness-he watches with those obsidian black eyes.
Surely this cannot be right.
There is no way all of this—being kidnapped, locked away in a freezing dungeon, staring into the abyss of a man’s inhuman eyes—is happening because of me.
Because I rolled my eyes. Because I spoke back. Because I acted like a normal person, unaware that I had apparently offended the gods themselves.
Is that really all it takes to provoke his wrath?
The absurdity of it gnaws at me, making my pulse race with frustration. But beneath that anger, another thought lurks—a quieter, more insidious whisper.
Should I just apologize?
Would that be enough? Would those words set me free?
Would he let me go if I simply swallowed my pride and told him what he wanted to hear?
The thought of bending to his will, of surrendering to whatever twisted power he holds over me, makes something inside me burn.
But isn’t that better than this?
Better than freezing to death in a dark, forsaken cell, waiting for whatever cruel fate he has planned?
My mind spins, my thoughts a relentless storm threatening to spiral into madness. And all the while, he watches.
Unmoving.
Silent.
Those obsidian-black eyes locked onto me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, as if he can see every frantic thought racing through my mind.
As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
And he’s waiting.
For me to break.
For me to surrender.
For me to beg.
I clench my fists, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.
I will not give him the satisfaction.
Not yet.
Not until I understand why the hell I’m really here.
- Writer
