Daughter Of Darkness

Chapter 3

“No!” I shout even though I don’t know who I’m fighting. Real? Dream? I push away the murkiness and force my eyes open.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Real.

The iron door of the cage swings open with a metallic groan that echoes in the dim room. My heart slams against my ribs, confusion crashing over me like a wave, my solitude shattered.

I blink again into the low light, disoriented, my body stiff from the confines, but instinct kicks in fast. The scents hit me first: the clean edge of masculinity mingled with something wilder, feral. It's Damon and Hunter. No one else moves like this, silent predators closing in.

"Keep her still," Graves orders, his tone flat, businesslike. No room for argument. The King’s assistant steps forward, uncapping the syringe with efficiency, his expression neutral as if this is just another routine.

I buck against Hunter's grip, my breath coming in short bursts–I'm not going down without a fight, not after everything–but Damon's free hand grabs my chin, forcing my head up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

"For f**k’s sake, hold still.” I try to squirm but they’ve got me locked tight. “This is for your own good, Arianette. No accidents. No complications. We can’t have you getting knocked up.”

Birth control. The realization hits like a slap. As if the cage and the collar weren’t enough, they’re marking me as property that needs managing. I snarl, trying to jerk away, but Hunter's arms lock tighter,one hand sliding to pin my wrists behind my back so hard that I whimper.

Graves approaches, the needle gleaming, and before I can protest, he swabs a spot on my upper arm with cool alcohol. “If you’re still it should only be a small prick. Like a bee sting,” he says, voice calm and soothing.

It doesn’t work, but he’s right, the sting is quick–the plunger depresses, the liquid burning as it enters my vein. I hiss through clenched teeth, muscles tensing, but it's over in seconds. Forced compliance, injected into my bloodstream.

I'm still reeling when Damon nods to Graves, who sets the syringe aside and picks up the metal gun. Hunter shifts his hold, one hand tangling in my hair to tilt my head sideways, exposing the skin behind my ear. My pulse races—tracker. I know what it is. I already had one clawed out of my skin once before.

"No," I whisper, voice breaking, but Damon's expression hardens, unmovable.

“It’s for your protection,” he says calmly, “and standard for any Baroness.”

I wiggle, remembering the bloody mess my neck was when they removed the one my uncle injected when I was so young I don’t even remember getting it. Even without the memory, I know it’s going to hurt.

"Stay still," Hunter murmurs, his breath warm against my neck–the first words he's spoken to me in what feels like forever. It's almost gentle, but his grip isn't. Graves presses the device to the spot just behind my earlobe, the cold metal sending a shiver down my spine. A click, a burst of pressure, and pain flares hot and bright, like a jolt rushing under my skin. I yelp, body jerking, but they hold me firm until it's done. A small chip, embedded, invisible, but eternal. Trackable. Owned.

They release me then, stepping back as if nothing happened. I slump against the table, hand flying to the tender spot, feeling the slightly raised bump under my skin. Tears prick my eyes, not from the pain, but from the humiliation, the finality. Damon watches mefor a moment, something unreadable in his gaze, before turning away.

"Back in the cage," he says quietly, and Hunter guides me there without a word, the door clanging shut behind me once more. Graves clears the tray and they leave me alone again, marked and medicated, the blooming bruise on my arm and the lingering pain in my neck the only proof confirming that this is not another nightmare.