The Voice in the Dark
970 Words
Elle POV
Every step, every scrape of my palm across stone, felt like a countdown.
Danger was coming.
Something—not Blake, not Jason—was searching.
The fortress itself felt tighter, like it was holding its breath.
Move. Now.
My fingers brushed the floor, then the wall again—cold stone, then rough brick. I followed the seams with shaking hands, heart pounding so loud I feared whoever was outside the room could hear it.
A faint vibration hummed through the collar again, a warning pulse.
I froze.
Had Blake sensed I escaped the restraints?
Would he know I left the room?
Keep going.
The distant footsteps returned—muffled by layers of stone but unmistakable.
Not Blake’s.
Not heavy enough.
Not controlled enough.
I reached a corner and felt—nothing.
Empty space.
A corridor branching off.
Good.
I slipped through it, blind and terrified, hands brushing the wall.
The fortress was quiet—too quiet—but I used memory, instinct, and sound to guide me.
Then—
A voice.
Not out loud.
Not echoing through the hall.
Inside my mind.
Little one…
I froze so hard it hurt.
The air went still around me.
The voice was soft, feminine, warm and ancient.
Your danger has passed for now… you must return to the dragon.
My breath hitched. “Who—who are you?”
No answer.
Just… calm.
I have been sleeping too long… but the danger awakened me. You must not run from him. Not yet.
I pressed a hand to my head, terrified the potion was causing hallucinations.
But no hallucination made my chest ache like this.
No hallucination made my spine tingle with recognition.
My wolf?
My wolf—
after all these years—
awakening?
I whispered shakily, “Why now?”
A sigh inside my mind.
Because the danger was close… and because he—your dragon—is losing control. You cannot be away from him for long.
I shook my head, panicked. “He’ll lock me away for escaping. He’ll chain me tighter—he might never let me out again.”
He won’t hurt you, the voice murmured.
“How do you know?”
Silence.
A soft, distant growl rippled through my mind—not Blake’s. Something older. Protective. Fierce.
Because he is ours.
My breath choked. “No. No, that’s—he said I’m just a doll. Just property.”
His mouth lies, the voice said gently. His dragon does not.
I didn’t understand.
Couldn’t understand.
But fear pushed me onward, blind and desperate.
I stumbled into a small alcove—tucked between two collapsed stones, barely wide enough for me to crouch. my shoulder brushed rough brick. I curled in on myself, hugging my knees.
Safe.
Hidden.
For now.
Footsteps thundered down the hall—these ones heavy, furious, vibrating through the walls.
Blake.
My heart stopped.
He was livid—I could feel it in the air, the heat, the way even the stone seemed to flinch.
His curse simmered like molten fire.
“Elle.”
His voice carried through the fortress.
Low.
Deadly.
On the edge of something breaking.
I held my breath.
He walked past my hiding place—slow, controlled steps masking something violent simmering underneath.
“Elle,” he said again, softer and infinitely more dangerous. “Where are you?”
I didn’t dare respond.
A moment of silence.
Then a deep inhale—sharp, predatory.
He scented the air.
My stomach twisted. Dragons tracked by scent. Even blind, even silent, even hidden—I was never really invisible to him.
His footsteps returned, turning, closing in—
You must return, the voice whispered urgently. He is close to losing himself. If he finds you like this—his wrath will turn inward. He will blame himself, lash out, and the curse will swallow him whole.
I trembled. “But he’ll—”
His fear will look like anger. His love will look like fury. But he will not harm you.
My throat tightened.
Footsteps stopped right outside my hiding spot.
He exhaled, the sound shaking.
“Elle…”
His voice cracked.
“…please answer me.”
The desperation in his tone cut through me—sharp and raw.
I swallowed, unable to fight the instinct inside me—my own or my wolf’s.
“B–Blake?” I whispered.
The air shifted violently.
Stone scraped.
Boots stomped closer.
Heat engulfed me.
He found me.
I pressed back into the wall, blindfold still on, unable to see him, only feel his aura like a storm.
Strong hands grabbed my arms—not cruel, but trembling with barely controlled panic—and pulled me from the alcove.
His breath struck my ear, hot and shaking.
“Little wolf…”
His voice was thick with something dark.
“…you should not have run.”
My heart pounded.
I felt his forehead rest against mine—unsteady, burning.
“You nearly died,” he whispered.
His fingers tightened around my wrists, holding me firmly. Not hurting. But making it very clear I wasn’t getting away again.
“You’ll be restrained more,” he said quietly. “I have no choice.”
Terror coiled in my stomach.
“But I won’t lock you away,” he added, voice softer, ragged. “Not unless you run again.”
He lifted me—effortless, desperate—and carried me back toward the room. His breath trembled against my hair.
“You scared me,” he admitted, barely audible. “I can’t—lose—you.”
It sounded like another confession meant only for the stone walls.
But I heard it.
And through the terror, through the fear of chains and confinement, something inside me—something new, something ancient—stirred.
He is ours.
- Writer
