The Wrong Kind of Silence
768 Words
Elle POV
Something was wrong.
More wrong than the fortress.
More wrong than Blake’s curse.
More wrong than being bound and blind.
It wasn’t a sound.
Or a smell.
Or a presence.
It was something deeper—
a pressure in my chest,
a tightening behind my ribs,
as if danger itself had begun breathing somewhere very close.
I didn’t know where Blake was.
He had left hours ago, his aura fading down the corridor like receding thunder. Jason had stood outside the door for a while… then even he drifted away.
Leaving silence.
And the silence changed.
The fortress was never loud, but now…
the air felt tight.
Stretched.
Pulled.
Like a storm waiting beyond the stone walls.
Something in me—some instinct older than memory—whispered:
You are being hunted.
I sat still, listening.
The restraints around my wrist chimed faintly with each breath.
Then—
A cold prickle washed down my spine.
Not physical.
Not from the room.
A warning.
My wolf—wherever she slept inside me—felt it first.
I swallowed hard and moved my free hand slowly, silently, back toward the restraint on my other wrist. The material was stiff, but I’d gotten one hand loose before. I could do it again.
Had to.
My fingers trembled as I felt for the buckle.
Think. Breathe. Move.
I twisted gently.
Pain shot through my wrist, but the leather shifted.
A millimeter.
Not enough.
I froze when I heard something—
Not footsteps.
Not voices.
Just a faint whisper of air, like the fortress exhaled under pressure.
Danger.
Close.
I tried again, gripping the leather and pulling harder. The skin of my wrist scraped raw.
Please… move…
Another millimeter.
Another shift.
My heart thundered.
A drip of cold sweat slid down my spine.
I didn’t know who or what was coming, but every heartbeat screamed:
Run. Hide. Survive.
I braced my foot against the stone wall behind me, pulling harder. The leather cut into my skin, warm wetness blooming under my fingers.
Another shift.
Another.
Then—
The strap slipped free.
My other hand was free.
A shaky breath escaped me.
I yanked the chain toward me, trying to loosen the tension around the collar enough to maneuver. My fingers shook violently, but I forced myself to focus.
If Blake returned now, he would know I’d tried to escape.
If whoever else was coming arrived instead…
I didn’t want to imagine what they would do.
A soft vibration buzzed through the collar.
A warning.
Blake’s magic sensing movement.
Alerting him that I was trying to tamper with the restraints.
But he didn’t come.
He wasn’t close enough.
Which meant the danger wasn’t him.
Another cold wave rolled through the room, so sharp it felt like a hand gripping the back of my neck.
Fear pressed against my ribs, so heavy I could barely breathe.
Someone was looking for me.
I didn’t know how I knew—
I just did.
Some instinct whispered that whatever approached didn’t want to punish me.
They wanted to claim me.
Or kill me.
I pushed myself to my knees, moving slowly across the stone floor, fingers searching blindly for a corner, a crack, anything that could hide me.
Nothing.
Just open floor.
Cold walls.
Chains.
Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance—
not Blake’s rhythm.
Sharper.
Lighter.
Purposeful.
Getting closer.
Terror sent a spike through my chest.
I pressed myself flat against the wall, curling my free arm protectively around my body, trying to make myself small, invisible.
My throat tightened.
“Bl—”
I almost said his name.
Caught myself.
If it wasn’t him…
calling out could get me killed.
I swallowed the sound.
Footsteps paused outside the fortress walls—
a presence I couldn’t see
but felt
like a blade at my throat.
Someone had found us.
Not Blake.
Not Jason.
Someone coming for me.
And all I had was one free hand
and a collar that vibrated with rising alarm.
My fingers scraped desperately at the last of my restraints.
I needed out.
Now.
Before whoever was outside found the door.
A low, distant rumble echoed through the fortress stone—
dragon magic flaring.
Not Blake’s.
My breath stalled.
Whoever was out there…
They weren’t here to save me.
They were here because they needed me.
Or because they needed me gone.
I dug my nails into the leather strap, pulling until my wrist burned, whispering to myself through trembling lips:
“Come on… come on… please…”
Because if I didn’t break free—
I wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.
- Writer
