Fated to Fall

Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Bound in Shadows and Fire

The fortress was suffocating with quiet anticipation, a tension so thick it hung in the air like smoke, curling around every corner. The candlelight flickered weakly, casting fleeting shadows across the stone walls. Virella stood alone, her eyes fixed on the heavy wooden door of Draven’s chambers, her heartbeat thundering in her chest. Tonight would change everything.

Her decision was made.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the doorframe, and for a brief moment, doubt clawed at her. Was she really going to do this?

But the weight of the situation pressed down on her—Draven’s weakening strength, the pack’s desperation, and the power that she now held in her hands. The knowledge of his curse—the mutation in his bloodline that was slipping out of control without her—pulsed through her veins.

She had no choice. She had to use it.

The quiet click of the door opening was deafening in the stillness. She could hear him. He was restless. The air felt thick, stifling, and she could almost feel the weight of his presence.

Virella stepped inside the room, her gaze immediately drawn to Draven, sprawled on the bed in the half-light, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He was in a restless sleep, caught between exhaustion and an unsettled mind. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and it stirred something deep inside her. The man who had always been larger than life, the man who had dominated everyone around him, was now completely exposed. And it was her fault.

A sharp pang of guilt gnawed at her chest. What had she done?

But she suppressed the feeling. She had to do this.

As she moved forward, Arwen entered quietly behind her. Without a word, Arwen went to Draven, her eyes steady and calm, even though her movements betrayed a hint of urgency. She began tying Draven’s hands to the bedposts—slowly, deliberately, ensuring the ropes were tight but not too harsh. Her movements were practiced, efficient. She had done this many times before.

Virella’s breath caught in her throat.

Why was she doing this?

Draven remained motionless, not yet aware of their presence. His body was relaxed in sleep, vulnerable, but the muscles of his jaw twitched with the faintest sign of tension. His chest rose and fell evenly, unaware of what was coming, unaware of her.

Virella’s heart pounded, and she couldn’t help but feel a strange rush of power—the kind that came from taking control. She didn’t just have the power to heal him. She had the power to destroy him.

The Kiss That Changed Everything

Virella approached the bed, her feet making soft impressions on the floor. She gazed down at him, her mind a whirlwind. Everything in her rebelled against the idea of being in this position, but her body moved on its own. Her hands reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his collarbone—tentative, as though afraid of what would happen next.

The moment she touched him, his eyes flickered open. They were clouded with confusion and fogged sleep, but as soon as his gaze locked onto hers, something flickered. Recognition, frustration, and need.

“Virella,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep, confusion clouding the edge of his words. “What are you doing?”

But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, she moved closer, her lips brushing lightly over his neck, lingering for a moment before she found his mouth with hers.

The kiss was slow, at first, as though they were both testing the waters. Draven was still tied, helpless against her will. But there was something in that touch that burned like wildfire—something deep and instinctive.

Her heart raced as she kissed him, the taste of him both intoxicating and bitter. He could feel it too—the heat, the tension, the undeniable connection between them. Even as she felt the power she held over him, she couldn’t ignore the spark of desire between them. It was raw, untamed, and uncontrollable.

She pulled back slightly, her breath ragged. What was this?

But Draven, still bound, moved to speak, his voice rough. “What are you doing? Why—”

Before he could finish, she pressed her lips to his again, more urgently this time, a desperate need rising within her. She kissed him as if this was the only thing that mattered—slowly, deliberately, making him feel the weight of what was happening between them.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t passion in the way she had once imagined. It was power. It was control. And for just a moment, it felt like everything.

Virella’s hands moved with purpose now, slowly undressing him, each movement deliberate, methodical. His body was bare before her, vulnerable, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Every fiber of his being screamed for dominance. But the ropes restrained him—his body unable to take control, to dominate the way he always had.

She undressed herself too, feeling the heat of his eyes on her every movement, but she never looked away. She was in control now.

Draven’s eyes were wide, hungry, but he could do nothing as she moved above him, straddling him, her body inching closer to his. Her breath was shallow, heart pounding in her chest as she hovered above him, fighting the storm of emotions that threatened to break through. He was weak, and yet this moment felt like everything.

Virella lowered herself onto him slowly, her movements deliberate, controlled, as she sank onto him inch by inch. Every nerve in her body screamed for control, for release, but she held herself back. She would take this moment—on her terms.

Draven’s breath caught, and his body responded despite his restraints, a fierce need burning beneath his skin. But he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. She had complete control.

And yet, as their bodies moved together, something unexpected happened. Draven let her lead.

He had always been the dominant one, the one who took charge. But tonight, with the ropes that bound him and the vulnerability that weighed heavily in the air, he allowed her to dictate their pace.

The tension between them, raw and primal, was palpable. Virella’s eyes flickered with something dangerous as she kissed him again—slowly, tenderly, but with a force that told him she was in charge now.

When it was done, when their bodies had stilled and the last tremors of their connection faded, Virella remained on top of him, her heart still racing. She was breathing heavily, but she didn’t move.

Draven’s chest rose and fell beneath her, his expression one of confusion, raw need, and something else she couldn’t read. He was still bound, still under her control, and yet—he had allowed it. The thought of it unsettled him, confused him, even as his body craved more.

Virella leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, whispering softly, “You may never get what you want from me. But for tonight, this is all you will have.”

Draven’s response was a breathless whisper. “You... have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Virella didn’t answer. Instead, she stood, looking down at him one last time. The ropes that bound him were no longer needed—he was hers now, in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

As she walked toward the door, she felt a strange sense of power. She was in control now. And she had done it all for her own survival.

----

The fortress was cloaked in a restless quiet, but beneath the surface, the air vibrated with an unspoken tension that neither Draven nor Virella dared to acknowledge.

Since that night—since Virella had taken control and sealed their bond with a kiss and a slow, deliberate claim—something fundamental between them had shifted. Draven felt it in his very core: a surge of strength, a rekindling of power he hadn’t thought possible. The curse that had been unraveling him, that terrible mutation threatening to consume his bloodline, was held at bay by the fragile thread they’d woven between them.

And yet, despite the undeniable power coursing between them, they avoided each other.

Draven moved through the fortress like a shadow—his usual commanding presence tempered by a restless uncertainty. His eyes, sharp and penetrating as ever, flickered with a longing he didn’t want to admit. The memory of Virella on top of him, her hands moving with fierce control, her lips pressing slowly against his skin, haunted his thoughts. The slow rise and fall of her breath, the way she had paced their union on her terms—it was burned into him.

But why?

Why had she offered herself so deliberately, so willingly? Why had she claimed him like that, when every moment before had been resistance and defiance?

His mind raced, torn between the fierce desire still blazing beneath his skin and the sharp confusion cutting through his thoughts. He had always been the dominant one—the alpha who took what he wanted, who ruled with iron will and brutal strength. Yet that night, bound and helpless, he had let her lead. He had memorized every inch of her body, every movement and sensation, but he hadn’t understood why.

And now, despite the craving that pulsed in his veins, he found himself pulling away. Avoiding her. Like distance might keep the confusion at bay.

Virella, too, paced the cold halls of the fortress, each step heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. She had given herself to Draven in a way that surprised even her. The slow, deliberate intimacy had been a weapon, yes—a way to reclaim control in a world that had taken everything from her—but beneath the defiance was something else: a raw, aching craving she refused to name.

Her mind was a storm of contradictions. She hated the hold Draven had over her, the way his presence ignited something primal in her blood. And yet, she couldn’t deny the relief in his newfound strength. The bond they shared was no longer just a chain of pain and power—it was alive, pulsing with possibility.

But she kept her distance, refusing to let him see the cracks beneath her armor. Avoiding his eyes, turning away from every moment where their gazes might meet and betray the hunger they both felt.

In the rare moments when their paths crossed, the air between them thickened. Words were unnecessary, and yet the silence was almost unbearable—charged with everything they both dared not say.

Draven’s eyes would linger on Virella’s face, searching for answers in her guarded expression. She would catch his gaze, and then quickly look away, her heart pounding with a fierce, silent battle.

He longed to reach out, to pull her close and demand understanding, to claim her with the fire that still burned within him. But fear held him back—the fear of rejection, of losing the fragile connection they had forged.

Virella, in turn, wrestled with the conflicting emotions roiling inside her. She wanted to push him away and pull him close all at once. She craved the strength that had returned to him because of her, yet she feared the price it demanded.

One evening, in the dim light of the fortress’s great hall, their worlds collided briefly. Draven stood at the edge of the room, his gaze locking with Virella’s across the space. Time seemed to slow, the noise of the hall fading into nothing.

Their eyes spoke of desire, confusion, and an aching need for connection. Virella’s breath hitched, her pulse thrumming like a war drum.

For a heartbeat, it seemed as if they might bridge the distance, as if the walls they had built around themselves would crumble.

But then, Draven looked away, jaw clenched, and stepped back into the shadows.

Virella swallowed hard, turning her gaze to the flickering candlelight, the taste of longing bitter on her tongue.

Neither of them spoke of that night again—not in words, but the memory lingered in every touch avoided, every glance cast downward. The bond between them was no longer just a ritual or a curse. It was something raw, something alive, fraught with tension and unspoken promises.

Draven’s strength was growing, yes, but so was the uncertainty in his heart. Virella’s control over the bond was undeniable, yet she remained a mystery—a goddess who wielded power with calculated grace, yet hid a storm beneath her calm exterior.

Together, they were stronger. But apart, they were lost.