Overhearing
743 Words
Elle POV
I didn’t know how long Blake had been gone.
Minutes.
Hours.
Time in the fortress felt like a living thing—stretching, shrinking, twisting around my nerves.
I sat as still as I could, listening for anything. My hands were still bound to the collar, but I kept my shoulders relaxed, pretending to be calm.
The footsteps outside weren’t Blake’s.
Jason.
He whispered to someone—another guard, or maybe to himself.
“…the prince is losing control. His eyes nearly shifted fully last time. If he can’t manage the curse soon…”
The other voice was low, tense.
“…he’ll tear the girl apart without meaning to.”
My breath snagged.
Tear.
Apart.
Jason hissed, “Quiet. If he hears you—”
Footsteps.
A slam.
Voices cut off.
I froze, barely breathing.
Tear apart.
Lose control.
Was that what Blake feared?
Or what he wanted?
The door swung open abruptly.
Even blind, I felt the temperature drop.
Not cold.
Wrong.
Unstable.
“Blake?” I whispered.
No answer.
Just breathing—deep, ragged.
Not the composed, measured prince.
The curse.
He moved closer, the floor trembling softly under each step. Leather creaked. Metal shifted. His aura—if that’s what it was—pressed against my skin like pressure from the inside.
Then his voice, hoarse and fraying:
“Little wolf…”
A shiver ran through me.
He wasn’t fully himself.
I tried to pull back, but he was already at my side. Fingers brushed my shoulder—too warm, trembling slightly.
“Did anyone come in here?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered.
A lie.
He inhaled sharply—almost a growl. “Fear.”
I jerked. “I—I'm not—”
“You are afraid.” His breath hovered near my ear. “Of me.”
I didn’t answer.
He turned my face toward him. The restraints bit into my wrists. His hand slid down the chain, testing it, pulling it tighter to make sure I couldn’t move.
He wasn’t doing it angrily.
He was doing it instinctively.
His curse wanted control.
Suddenly he tightened the chain at my collar, pulling my wrists higher. Leather tightened around my elbows, forcing my arms closer to my chest, my body more restricted.
“Blake—”
“I have to,” he rasped. “If I don’t restrain you more, I might…”
His voice broke off.
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
His curse surged—I felt the tension in his grip, the heat radiating from his skin, the tremor shuddering through him as if holding back something violent.
Then—
His hands touched my sides.
Slow.
Searching.
Desperate.
Not gentle.
Not cruel.
Just… driven by something bigger than him.
The sensation sent a confusing jolt through me—part fear, part something I didn’t want to name.
A small sound escaped me.
He inhaled sharply, fingers freezing momentarily.
“I shouldn’t,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t touch you at all when it’s like this.”
But he did.
Not in hunger.
Not in rage.
In desperation.
His grip tightened as though grounding himself with the feel of me—my ribs, my upper arms, my waist—anywhere he could hold without hurting.
His forehead pressed lightly to my shoulder, breath hot, shaky.
“I need to leave,” he choked out. “Before I do something I can’t undo.”
Then—
he was gone.
The door slammed.
Locks clanked into place.
Silence swallowed the fortress again.
My mind spun.
Not desire.
Not comfort.
Fear.
Not just of him—
but of what he might become.
I tested the restraints immediately.
My right wrist—
a small miracle—
slipped slightly.
The leather had loosened during his frantic adjustments.
Slowly… carefully…
I twisted.
My skin scraped.
My bones ached.
Then—
My hand slipped free.
A breathy sound escaped me—half shock, half relief.
I froze, listening.
No footsteps.
No breath near the door.
Slowly, silently, I moved my free hand to my collar, feeling for buckles, locks, anything.
But the collar was dragon-made.
Magic-latched.
Impossible to undo without the key.
Still…
One hand free was hope.
I wiped the dampness from my eyes.
Fear sharpened into something else.
Determination.
He said I would never be free.
He said I couldn’t escape.
But for the first time since he claimed me…
I knew he was wrong.
- Writer
