Nyra
The next morning – or what passed for morning in a dungeon where time crawled like mold – the first thing I heard was bootsteps. Not the nervous shuffle of guards either. These were much meaner and purposeful.
Gregory, my skeletal roommate, had been very chatty during the night, warning me that this day would come. I appreciated the heads-up, though I suspected the rattle of his jawbone against the floor wasn't meant as prophecy.
The boots stopped outside my cell.
"Well, Lucy," I said before even looking up, lounging against the wall with my arms folded. "Come to tuck me in? How thoughtful."
A low growl reverberated through the corridor, and then Lucien's voice- cold, cutting. "Do not call me that."
I tilted my head lazily. "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Hm. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Very approachable for someone with such a murderous reputation."
His hand shot through the bars with inhuman speed, fisting in the front of my torn shirt. He yanked me forward so violently my knees smacked the edge of the bench. Suddenly his dark gray eyes were a breath away, burning with fury.
"Say it again," he snarled.
I grinned. "Lucy."
For one glorious second, I thought he might actually rip me through the bars like a rag doll. And maybe he would have... if not for the flicker. That strange pull in his eyes, that heartbeat's hesitation where predator collided with instinct.
His wolf.
His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. Then, with a growl that scraped the walls, he shoved me back. I landed on the bench, laughter bubbling from my throat.
"Oh, this is fun," I said, rubbing the red marks on my collarbone where his grip had burned. "We should make it a daily game. I call you Lucy, you almost kill me. Builds character really."
He straightened to his full, terrible height, cloak brushing the filthy floor. "You mistake my restraint for mercy. I assure you, it is not."
"Restraint, huh?" I tapped a finger to my lips. "You had me by the throat and didn't finish the job. Sounds like mercy to me."
His eyes flashed, but he didn't bite. Not verbally, anyway. Instead, he unlocked the cell.
The guards at the end of the hall shouted in protest. "Alpha! She's dangerous-"
"Leave us," Lucien snapped. His voice was the sound of steel cutting bone. They left very quickly.
The door swung open, and he stepped inside.
I rose slowly, deliberately letting the chains at my wrists clink. "What's this? A private audience? Careful, Lucy, people will start to talk."
In a blur, his hand was at my throat, slamming me back against the damp stone wall. My head cracked against it, stars bursting behind my eyes.
"You think this is a game?" His voice was soft, deadly.
I wheezed a laugh. "Of course. What else would it be? I'm in chains, you're brooding... next thing I know you'll monologue about your tragic backstory."
His grip tightened. My air thinned. Shadows flickered instinctively at my feet, rising like smoke, licking across the wall behind him.
His gaze darted to them, and his lip curled in disgust. "Abomination."
Something in that word- it wasn't just insult. It was memory. His hand faltered. For an instant, his eyes went distant, unfocused.
And I saw it – just a flicker. Blood. Fire. A boy, maybe ten years old, crouched in the ruins of a home. His mother's body sprawled across the floor, throat torn. The boy's hands trembling as he lifted her head... then a figure looming, fangs dripping, laughter echoing-
I blinked. The vision vanished as abruptly as it came.
That was his wolf shoving it at me, wasn't it?
Interesting.
"You saw something," I rasped, smirking even as black spots danced in my vision. "Your eyes went all glassy. Thinking about mommy dearest? Or was it daddy who didn't tuck you in enough?"
His growl was so deep it vibrated through my ribs. His hand squeezed once- hard enough I thought he really would snap my neck.
But he didn't.
Instead, with a snarl of disgust, he flung me to the ground. I landed hard, coughing, shadows writhing around me like serpents tasting the air.
He backed away a few steps, arms crossed, gaze cool and sharp. "You mock because you're afraid."
"Or maybe," I countered, tilting my head, "I mock because your dungeon decor is tragically boring. Gregory and I were just discussing it, actually. He thinks you should add curtains. Something in red. Very dramatic."
Lucien didn't so much as blink. The man had the emotional range of a particularly judgy gargoyle.
"I learned you killed three of my men," he said evenly.
I shrugged, chains rattling. "They started it."
"You ripped out a throat."
"Details."
"You tore another in half."
"Okay, that one was on me. He called me a bloodsucking mutt. I have standards."
He cocked his head like he was weighing me in his mind and trying to decide whether I was more weapon than woman.
"You speak as though your life isn't in my hands," he said.
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my knees, shadows coiling lazily around my ankles. "That's because I don't believe it is. If you wanted me dead, I'd be headless already. Instead, here I am... sitting in your tiny little cage while you come down here to… what, exactly? Stare? Growl at me? Pretend you don't like being called Lucy?"
His jaw flexed. "Do not call me that."
"Oh, but it suits you," I said sweetly. "Big scary Alpha with a name that sounds like it belongs to a girl in a bonnet arranging flowers. Lucy. Dainty. Precious."
The shadows liked it when I poked him – they stirred higher, slithering up the bars as though eager for a fight. Lucien's gaze flicked to them but, infuriatingly, he didn't move back.
"You shouldn't exist," he said finally. His voice was low, quiet enough that for a moment, I wasn't sure he meant for me to hear.
"Funny," I replied, "I've been hearing that all my life. Got anything new, or are we just recycling greatest hits tonight?"
His eyes locked on mine, storm-gray and unblinking. "Do you even know what you are?"
"Half this, half that, extra sprinkle of something spooky," I said, wiggling my fingers so the shadows writhed like snakes. "The usual nightmare fuel."
"Do not mock me."
"Oh, but it's my only joy," I purred, curling onto my side. The shadows thickened, stretching out along the floor like dark fingers. One of them brushed his boot before flicking back, as if burned. Even they seemed curious about him.
Lucien's nostrils flared. His wolf was close – I could feel it. A shiver ran through the dungeon like pressure before a storm.
He crouched suddenly, his face inches from mine, his tone almost conversational. "You want to know why I stopped your execution?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because death would be too easy. I will break you first. Then, when you beg me for the blade, maybe I'll grant it."
Shadows coiled tighter, drawn to the venom in his words. For the first time in a long time, a chill slipped down my spine. Not fear... something sharper. More like anticipation.
I smiled anyway, because that was all I had left. "Good luck, Lucy. You'll find I don't break easy."
His lips curved but not kindly. "We'll see."
"You will stay here until I decide otherwise," he said. His cloak swirled as he turned, bootsteps already echoing back down the hall.
"Wait!" I called after him. "What if I need room service? Or a chamber pot? Or... oh, I don't know... a mirror so I can appreciate my bone structure while I rot down here?"
He didn't answer.
Coward.
I slumped back against the wall, glaring at Gregory. "Don't look at me like that. He started it."
Gregory, as always, was judgmental.
But beneath my smirk, beneath the banter, the truth slithered close:
I was completely engulfed in enemy territory.
I lay there, throat burning, blood humming with power I barely understood.
His wolf wouldn't let him kill me.
But Lucien Dreadmoor, the man? Oh, he was going to try.
And I couldn't wait.