Chapter 3: The Floor That Doesn’t Exist
1470 Words
The alarms didn’t sound human.
They wailed low and violent, vibrating through bone and steel, drowning out every rational thought. Red lights flooded the corridors beyond the boardroom glass, painting the world in warning.
Solomon moved instantly.
He lifted me effortlessly into his arms, my body light against his strength, and turned toward a section of the wall that looked—at first glance—solid.
“Hold on,” he commanded.
I didn’t have the strength to argue.
He pressed his palm against the wall. The glass shimmered, rippling like water, then slid open to reveal a narrow corridor swallowed in shadow.
A restricted floor.
A floor that didn’t exist on any blueprint.
The door sealed behind us with a final hiss, muting the alarms to a distant echo. The air changed immediately—cooler, denser, laced with something metallic and ancient.
My pulse pounded erratically as Solomon carried me down the corridor. Every step sent a wave of heat through my veins, reacting violently to his proximity.
Too close.
Too much.
“You’re safe,” he said firmly, though his jaw was clenched. “No one enters this floor without my blood authorization.”
Blood.
The word made my vision blur.
He stopped inside a dimly lit room and set me gently onto a couch. The walls were reinforced steel. No windows. No cameras.
A bunker.
Solomon straightened, scanning me with sharp focus.
“Talk,” he said. “Now.”
I pressed my palms against my knees, trying to ground myself. “The vampire—Lucien—he wasn’t wrong.”
“I know.”
My breath caught. “You know?”
“I know you’re not human,” Solomon said evenly. “I also know you’re not vampire.”
Silence stretched.
“Whatever you are,” he continued, stepping closer, “they sensed it. And they won’t stop.”
I swallowed. “Then you should let me go.”
His eyes darkened dangerously. “That’s not happening.”
“Solomon—”
He flinched.
Just slightly.
I noticed.
“You don’t get to use my name,” he said coldly. “Not yet.”
Yet.
The word lingered.
I nodded, biting back a response as another wave of heat surged through me. My control frayed further, power pressing against my skin like it wanted out.
Solomon noticed.
“Sit still,” he ordered.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
My vision doubled. A sharp pain tore through my chest, followed by a rush of hunger so intense it made my throat ache.
Solomon stiffened.
“Hunger,” he murmured. “That’s vampire.”
“I don’t feed,” I gasped. “I never have.”
“Then your body is reacting to stress,” he said grimly. “And to me.”
The words hit harder than the alarms.
“To you?”
The silence between us thickened.
Solomon’s gaze lingered on me longer than necessary, as if he were fighting an internal war I couldn’t see. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring faintly—another detail most humans would never notice.
But I wasn’t most humans.
“You feel it too,” I said quietly.
His eyes snapped to mine. “Feel what?”
“The pressure,” I replied. “Like the air is… pulling.”
For a moment, I thought he would deny it.
Instead, he turned away sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “This floor is shielded,” he said. “No supernatural influence gets in. No bond can form here.”
Bond.
The word made my pulse stutter.
“I didn’t say bond,” I whispered.
He froze.
Slowly, Solomon looked back at me, his expression dark with something dangerously close to realization.
“You shouldn’t know that word,” he said.
“I don’t,” I lied. “Not really.”
Another lie. Not entirely.
Fragments stirred in my memory—whispers, warnings, blood-soaked dreams I’d never understood. My body responded to him in ways logic couldn’t explain, like it recognized him long before my mind ever could.
Solomon took a step closer, then stopped himself, fists clenching at his sides.
“This is not possible,” he muttered. “I would have known.”
“Known what?” I asked.
“That you existed.”
The way he said it made my chest ache.
A low sound vibrated through the room—not from any machine, but from him. A restrained growl, thick with authority and something rawer beneath it.
My breath hitched.
“Stay where you are,” Solomon said tightly.
“I’m not moving.”
“Good.”
Another step closer.
The air between us pulsed, invisible but heavy. My skin warmed again, power responding instinctively, reaching toward him like it was drawn by gravity.
Solomon cursed under his breath.
“You’re reacting to me,” he said. “That shouldn’t happen unless—”
He stopped himself.
Unless what?
“Unless your bloodline is far more dangerous than the Council realizes,” he finished instead.
I didn’t believe him.
Neither did he.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he removed his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves again. Dark veins pulsed faintly beneath his skin, power coiled tight and controlled.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I shook my head weakly. “Don’t.”
“Do it.”
I obeyed.
The moment I did, the room shifted.
I felt him—not physically, but deeper—his presence brushing against my senses like a dominant force asserting territory. My breathing stuttered, heart racing in response.
This was wrong.
This was dangerous.
Solomon cursed under his breath.
“What are you doing?” I asked, voice trembling.
“Suppressing,” he replied. “Your power is resonating with mine. If it spikes, every supernatural within ten miles will feel it.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered.
“I know.”
Again.
There it was—that quiet certainty.
I opened my eyes despite myself.
Solomon was closer now, far too close. His pupils were blown wide, breath shallow, control visibly strained.
For a terrifying second, his gaze dropped to my throat.
I felt it—the pull. Sharp. Magnetic.
He jerked back abruptly, turning away.
“No,” he growled. “This is not happening.”
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pressed a button on the wall. A concealed door slid open, revealing a small medical bay.
“Lie down,” he said. “Now.”
I obeyed.
Cold metal met my back as he scanned me with unfamiliar instruments. His movements were precise, controlled—but tension radiated from him in waves.
“You’ve been suppressing this for a long time,” he said quietly. “Too long.”
“I had no choice.”
“That’s not true,” he said. “Someone made sure you believed that.”
My chest tightened. “What does that mean?”
“It means you were hidden,” Solomon said. “Protected. Or contained.”
The words chilled me.
Before I could respond, Elias burst into the room, eyes glowing faintly.
“Alpha,” he said urgently. “The Council has sealed the perimeter. They’re demanding the hybrid.”
Hybrid.
The word echoed again, louder this time.
Solomon’s aura flared, the lights flickering violently.
“They don’t get to make demands,” he said coldly.
Elias hesitated. “Sir… the pack is uneasy. They feel… something.”
Solomon glanced at me.
I felt it too.
A pull.
Not hunger. Not fear.
Something deeper.
Older.
Fated.
“I’ll handle it,” Solomon said.
Elias nodded and withdrew, sealing the door behind him.
Solomon turned back to me slowly, his expression unreadable.
“From this moment on,” he said, “you do exactly as I say.”
“Why?” I asked.
His gaze locked onto mine, intense enough to steal my breath.
“Because whatever you are,” he said, voice low and dangerous,
“you just became the most valuable—and most hunted—being in this city.”
The building shook suddenly, a violent impact reverberating through the floor.
Solomon’s head snapped up.
“They’ve breached the outer seals,” he muttered.
I sat up sharply. “They’re here.”
“Yes,” he said, eyes blazing. “And they won’t leave without blood.”
He stepped closer to me, towering, protective, terrifying.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
The lights cut out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
In the black, something inside me finally snapped.
Power surged violently through my veins, tearing free of restraint.
And in the instant Solomon felt it—
He froze.
His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with shock and denial.
“No,” he said.
“Impossible…”
- Writer
