Taken in the night
925 Words
Elle POV
The sound woke me yet again from another sleep.
A soft click, then the scrape of metal.
His footsteps—slow, deliberate—crossed the room. The air shifted with his heat, brushing over my skin like a warning before he spoke.
“Little wolf.”
The words were quiet… too quiet.
I pushed myself upright, blind eyes blinking into the same suffocating darkness the potion had left me trapped in. “Is it night?” I whispered.
“It is,” he answered.
There was something different in his tone. Controlled. Heavy. As if an entire storm was clenched inside his chest and he refused to let a single crack show.
“Stand,” he said.
My legs trembled as I obeyed. His hand guided me by the upper arm—not harsh, not gentle. Just firm. Final.
Cold metal touched my throat.
A collar.
I flinched.
“You will wear this again.”
The click around my neck felt like a door shutting behind me.
He slid my wrists into cuffs, connecting them to the collar so my hands stayed close to my chest. The restraints bit lightly into my skin with each breath.
“Wh-why am I being restrained?” I asked.
“Because we are leaving,” he said, voice flat. “You are my doll. And dolls travel bound.”
My stomach twisted.
So that was it.
Not punishment.
Not anger.
Just… reality.
I was property, being moved like cargo.
My throat tightened, but I nodded, pretending I was still something manageable. Something obedient.
Fabric rustled. A small vial was uncorked. The sharp, sweet smell of herbs and something chemical filled the air.
“A sleep draught,” he said. “It will help you travel.”
He pressed the vial to my lips.
My heart hammered.
Obedient dolls didn’t hesitate.
So I swallowed.
The liquid burned down my throat, warm at first, then cold. My knees buckled slightly, and he caught me around the waist. His breath hit the top of my head—steady, controlled.
But the potion didn’t work fully.
My mind stayed clear. Too clear.
I let my body go slack anyway, letting my head loll against his chest.
He exhaled as if satisfied. “Good girl.”
Then—footsteps approached.
Jason’s voice.
“My prince, the path is ready. No one saw us.”
“Good,” Blake replied.
A beat of silence.
Then the words that froze my blood:
“No one must know she’s gone. And if they find out…”
The low growl in his voice was not human—
“…I will not return her. I have no intention of ever letting her go.”
My heart stopped cold.
Jason hesitated. “But her contract—”
“Her contract is irrelevant,” Blake snapped. “She will never be free.”
Never free.
My fingers twitched weakly inside their cuffs.
Jason spoke carefully. “And the betrothal? The king will demand your return.”
“I don’t care,” Blake said. “She is mine. A doll doesn’t need freedom. Only obedience.”
Their voices moved—closer, then farther—as Blake carried me.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t breathe too deeply.
I lay limp, eyes shut, pulse pounding so loudly I feared he’d hear it.
Never free.
I had thought…
Maybe he cared.
Maybe the man underneath the curse wasn’t as monstrous as the world claimed.
But now—
My blood turned to ice.
She will never be free.
That echoed through my mind as he held me against his chest, his heat burning through my cold fear.
I forced my breathing to stay slow. Even. Unaware.
He believed I was asleep.
Good.
I listened.
Boots on stone. The chill of night air. The distant flap of wings. A low roar of wind, like fire rushing through a cavern.
Then arms tightened around me—a pull, a shift in gravity.
We were flying.
Wind whipped at my hair, cold and sharp enough to sting. I curled in on myself instinctively, trying to keep warm, but fear was colder than the sky beneath us.
Blake’s arms tightened as if he sensed the tremor.
Mine.
Not a protector’s grip.
A captor’s.
I remained limp.
But my thoughts screamed.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape.
Somewhere below us—hidden in the night—there had to be forests. Rivers. Cliffs. Rogues. Anyone.
Anywhere was better than a fortress where he believed he owned me.
The wind thundered around us, fierce and endless. Blake’s chest vibrated with each powerful wingbeat of his dragon form beneath his skin.
Hours passed.
Or minutes.
Or years.
Finally—the shift of air changed.
Wind slowed.
Feet hit ground, solid and echoing.
A fortress.
Stone.
Ancient.
Silent.
Jason’s voice again. “We’re alone, my prince.”
“Good. No one must track us this far. If they try…”
A pause.
“…they won’t survive the attempt.”
My blood iced further.
Blaze’s voice—low, feral—growled inside Blake’s chest:
We keep her. Forever.
I didn’t move.
Not yet.
But fear coiled tight inside me—sharp enough to hurt.
As Blake carried me deeper into the fortress, I thought of my restraints…
my blindness…
my isolation…
And I planned.
I counted turns by sound.
Listened for doors.
For distances.
For cracks in his certainty.
Because one truth swallowed everything else:
He didn’t intend to give me freedom.
So I would have to take it myself.
Even if it killed me.
- Writer
