BEASTLY INFERNO

CHAPTER FIVE

The words echoed in my mind, a chilling mantra that refused to fade. YOU’RE dead to me. YOU’RE DEAD to me. YOU’RE DEAD TO ME. I jolted awake, gasping for air, my body tense as I tried to shake off the nightmare that clung to me like a suffocating fog.

I quickly scanned my surroundings. This wasn’t Ellie’s bedroom. This wasn’t where I’d gone to sleep. Panic surged through me, the unfamiliar room feeling like a trap. The bed was huge, the walls adorned with dark, expensive-looking décor that made me feel even more out of place. The sensation of something heavy weighed on me—dread, confusion, and the faintest hint of fear.

Where was Tristan?

I shot out of bed, my heart hammering in my chest, but my limbs felt slow and heavy. I was still wearing the nightgown, but underneath… I was completely exposed. I glanced around the room again, the unsettling silence pressing down on me. My bag was tossed carelessly into the corner, and I rushed over, quickly grabbing a pair of green pants. My hands fumbled as I searched for my bra, but just as I was about to grab it, the door creaked open.

My breath caught in my throat, and I froze. Tristan stepped into the room, his eyes locking onto mine with a cold, unreadable intensity. His gaze flicked down to me briefly, and I felt a wave of heat rush to my cheeks, but I said nothing. He said nothing either.

He walked toward me, holding out my phone. His expression was impassive, but there was an unmistakable command in his eyes.

“Call them,” he said, his voice low and firm, and I had no choice but to take the phone from him.

I hesitated before dialing my mom’s number. The line rang twice before she picked up, her familiar voice offering me the smallest shred of comfort.

Neroli, hunny, how are you? Is Ellie’s family treating you well?” she asked, her voice soft and reassuring.

Tears welled in my eyes. I swallowed, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

“I-it’s great, Mom,” I managed, forcing the words out, even as my heart twisted in my chest. I glanced at Tristan, who was standing silently across from me, his piercing gaze locked onto me, watching every word I spoke.

“Ellie’s family has been very welcoming,” I forced out, barely recognizing the lie in my voice. Tristan’s eyes narrowed slightly, and I saw the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes.

“Enjoy your vacation, Mom. I love you both,” I whispered, trying to push back the tears. I could feel the crushing weight of this moment, like my entire life was slipping away, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Love you too, hunny,” she said, and the line went silent as the call ended.

Tristan took the phone from my hands without a word, his expression unreadable. He turned without another glance at me and led me toward the dining area, his hand gripping my arm like a cold shackle.

I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through me. His touch… it felt possessive, commanding, and it terrified me. He pulled out a chair roughly, and I sank into it without protest, too tired to argue, too lost to care.

“Wait here,” he muttered, before turning and walking away. I was left alone in the sterile silence of the house, the faint hum of the world outside only deepening the isolation I felt.

I sat in the chair, my mind still reeling from the phone call, and stared blankly at the table. My stomach churned with a mixture of guilt and fear. The room felt suffocating, the weight of my situation pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.

Tristan was silent as he returned, but this time, he was carrying two plates. One, he set down in front of me—bacon, eggs, toast. The scent of the food filled the air, and for a moment, I almost forgot where I was, my body instinctively yearning for something familiar, something normal.

But then, with a quiet motion, he set down his own plate—raw, bloody meat. The stark contrast made my stomach twist again. He didn’t even glance at it before sitting down, his gaze fixed on me.

“You eat,” he said simply, his voice low, as if expecting no resistance.

I hesitated, my eyes flicking between the food on my plate and the slab of meat on his. The bacon and eggs looked so… normal. So human. So unlike the strange, alien world I had just been thrust into.

I pushed the plate away with trembling hands. I couldn’t eat it. I couldn’t.

Tristan didn’t say anything at first. He just picked up his own meat and tore into it, the sound of his teeth sinking into the raw flesh sending a shudder through me. The way he devoured it, with such ease and satisfaction, made my stomach turn.

He paused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “This is what I told you, Neroli. I’m not like other men. You’ll learn that.” His voice was almost gentle, but there was an edge to it that made my skin prickle.

“I don’t—” I started, but my voice faltered.

“I don’t care for cooked food,” he continued, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’ll learn to do the same. It’s not just about survival—it’s about power. And you, Neroli, are part of that. You’re my mate.” He leaned forward, his words low and dangerous. “You will learn what it means to be mine.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine, fear mixing with a strange, unsettling sense of curiosity. I had no idea what kind of world I had stepped into, but the deeper I went, the harder it became to escape.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning me once more, before he took another bite of the raw meat, his gaze still sharp, still calculating. My stomach roiled at the sight, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

I took a deep breath and picked at the bacon on my plate, my stomach in knots. The bacon didn’t taste like home anymore. It felt foreign—almost as foreign as the man sitting across from me, devouring raw flesh with a quiet, unsettling ease.

In that moment, I realized: I wasn’t just stuck here. I was becoming part of this world. Whether I wanted to or not.

pushed the bacon around on my plate, feeling its grease stick to my fork as my mind spun. How had I gotten here? How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?

Tristan’s eyes were fixed on me, his gaze unreadable as he continued to eat. The silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but every time I opened my mouth, the words stuck, a lump of fear lodged in my throat.

Finally, he set down his plate, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His eyes never left me as he stood up and made his way toward the door.

“Come,” he said, his voice low, almost soft, but there was no room for argument in it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he set down his plate, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He stood up without saying a word, and I instinctively followed him with my eyes as he walked toward the door.

After breakfast, Tristan gestured toward the hallway, his voice commanding but not unkind. “Go wash up,” he said, his eyes briefly softening as if there was a hint of concern beneath the cold exterior.

I didn’t hesitate this time. Despite the discomfort swirling in my chest, I needed the space, the solitude, even if it was just for a few minutes. I stood up, not sparing him another glance, and made my way toward the bathroom. The cool tiles beneath my feet sent a shiver up my spine, but I pushed it aside.

I quickly undressed, stepping under the stream of warm water, letting it cascade over me, trying to wash away the exhaustion that had settled deep in my bones. I scrubbed my body and face, my thoughts racing as I tried to regain some semblance of control. But it was hard to find peace in the quiet of the bathroom. The memory of the raw meat, the strange command in Tristan’s voice, and the lingering tension gnawed at me.

Once I finished, I wrapped a towel around my body and another around my hair, taking a deep breath before stepping back into the room. Tristan was waiting, his gaze steady but expectant.

“We’re leaving soon,” he said, his tone brokering no room for hesitation.

I nodded, still feeling the weight of everything that had transpired. Without another word, I dressed quickly in something simple, just wanting to move on, to do something, anything, to keep my mind from spiraling.

When we were both ready, Tristan led me out of the house, his presence looming beside me like a constant reminder of the new reality I was trying to navigate.

We walked toward his car, and within minutes, we were driving through winding roads that I couldn’t recognize. The scenery blurred by, each passing moment making my heart beat faster. Where was he taking me now?

Finally, after what felt like hours, we arrived at a vast, imposing house. It looked like something out of a fairytale — or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. Large, dark windows reflected the early morning light, and the air around it felt thick with an almost palpable energy.

Tristan parked the car and turned to me, his expression unreadable. “This is the Pack House,” he said, his voice lower than usual. “You’ll meet Heather, the Luna, and Dimitri, the Alpha.”

My stomach twisted. The word “Luna” had a strange, powerful ring to it, but the thought of meeting more people from this bizarre world made me uneasy. I wanted to scream, to run, but I swallowed the urge down. Instead, I followed him into the house, my steps heavy with uncertainty.

The moment we entered, I was struck by the size and grandeur of the place. The walls were adorned with dark wood, and the atmosphere was both intimidating and majestic. In the center of the room, a couple sat at a large wooden table. The man, Dimitri, was tall and broad, his dark eyes sharp with authority. The woman, Heather, was striking, with an easy grace that contrasted with the tension in the room.

“Tristan,” Dimitri greeted him with a nod, his voice rich and commanding. He looked over at me, and his gaze was sharp. “And this must be Neroli.”

Heather smiled warmly, standing from her seat. “Welcome, Neroli,” she said, her tone genuine but cautious. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I nodded awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to the overwhelming energy in the room. My nerves were fraying, but I knew there was no turning back now.

Tristan’s hand rested lightly on my shoulder, a silent assurance that made me feel more trapped than safe.

“Sit,” Dimitri said, motioning to the chairs around the table.

We did as we were told, and the conversation that followed was far from what I expected. They spoke in riddles about packs, the moon, and changes that seemed to be coming. None of it made sense, but I listened intently, trying to piece it all together, while still feeling like an outsider.

As the conversation continued, I could feel Tristan’s gaze on me, steady and unwavering. His presence in the room, the way he carried himself, it was all so powerful, so commanding. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be scared or impressed.

One thing was certain, though — this world, this “pack” was more than I had ever imagined.