"Please—please," I begged, I let out a choked sob. I scrambled backward, I felt my hands scraping on broken glass from a picture frame. "Please, don't kill me. Take my wallet. It's in my room. Just take it and go.
What do you even say to someone who's going to kill you? Take my wallet? My laptop? Anything. Just take it. The cold detachment look he had in his eyes told me he wasn't here for my forty-three dollars.
He took another step, and I grew new, more visceral fear. He was not just a Robber.
"My roommate... she'll be home any second," I lied, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Your roommate is gone," he said, with finality in his voice. "She won't be coming back."
The certainty in his tone froze the blood in my veins. Oh God, Lena.
I had to get out. NOW!!. I lunged sideways, trying to dart around him toward the kitchen, toward a knife, a back door, anything. He moved with an impossible speed, No one moved that fast. No one human, at least.
The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls were closing in. His arm shot out, blocking me before I even made it two steps. Forcing me back into the center of the ruined living room.
"Get away from me!" I screamed, my voice sounded more shrill and pathetic fillinh in the torn-up space. "Back off! Just back off!"
I had dropped my Phone, I spotted it near the toppled bookshelf. I made a desperate dive for it, closing my fingers around it's edges. I fumbled, pulling it up, jamming my thumb on the screen.
Nothing. The screen was black. A long, jagged crack ran across it. It was broken.
"No, no, no..." I whispered, shaking it as if that would help.
He stood there and watched me. His presence was a silent monument to my panic. He didn't look triumphant as I felt he would. He looked... impatient.
"The door," I gasped, remembering it wouldn't open. I threw myself at it again, yanking the handle, pushing with all my weight.the lock was jammed, like someone had shoved something into it from the outside. It didn't budge a millimeter.
I was trapped. In my own apartment. With HIM!!.
I turned as my back was pressing against the unmovable door, tears of pure, undiluted terror were now streaming down my face. He was standing there, just watching me break.
"What do you want from me?" I cried.
He finally took the last few steps, stopping so close I could feel the heat coming off his body, could smell that wild, stormy scent that clung to him. He looked down at me, his gaze holding mine, and he said the words that shattered any last hope that this was a normal nightmare.
"I'm not going to kill you, Riley," he said, his voice low and unnervingly calm. "That would be a waste. And I'm not going to assault you. You're not a toy."
He leaned in slightly, his voice was dropping lower to an almost whisper, it felt more commanding than if he had shouted at me or threatened me with a gun.
"You are my key. And you're coming with me. If you stay here, the things that are coming for you will do both of those things. Slowly. Now, are you going to walk out of here, or am I going to carry you?"
Of all the Crime Documentaries I have ever watched this is the sickest one…
What the hell was he talking about? A key? The only key here was the one they'd use to lock him up when this was over.
"I'm not going anywhere," I repeated, My back was pressed so hard against the door I could feel the wood grain through my shirt. "Please leave."
He didn't move. He just watched me, a murderer with all the time in the world.
"Your ancestors made a bargain, Lyra."
"Stop calling me that!" I snapped, the unfamiliar name feeling like a violation.
"A life debt," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "Sworn in blood and magic. Your blood. My family's power. You are the last of your line. The Keyholder."
If I could muster the emotional strength I would have laughed hysterically.It was all so ridiculous, so insane. "A life debt? Keyholder? What is this, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign? You're not an elf. This is my apartment. My life!"
For the first time, a Flicker of genuine impatience crossed his face. "I am not an elf. I am an Alpha. The Alpha of a lineage your family has served for five generations."
The word landed with a thud. Alpha. It wasn't a gaming term the way he said it. It was a title. A fact. It carried a weight that seemed to press down on the air in the room.
"My... my ancestors..." I stammered, the resistance in me was faltering under the sheer, bizarre certainty in his voice.
"Were bound to mine," he finished, his voice dropping to a low, resonant tumble that felt like it was vibrating in my own bones. "They served. They protected. And in return, we sheltered them. It was an oath. One that does not break just because you are ignorant of it."
He took a single, deliberate step forward. The distance between us felt suddenly charged, dangerous.
"Tell me what?" I whispered, the question torn from me.
He was close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in his storm-gray eyes. His voice was barely a whisper, but it filled the entire broken space of my home.
"Tell you that your vacation from reality is over. Tell you that you belong to me. And tell you that you are coming with me now, because the creatures that did this," he gestured at the destruction around us, "are not as patient as I am."
He didn't wait for my answer. His hand closed around my wrist, not with brutality, but with an absolute, final authority.
"I'm not asking," he said, his hand gripped my wrist.
"Let go of me!" I screamed, yanking back with all my strength. It was like trying to pull my hand from something strong, A force. Pure sharp panic lanced through me. I twisted, I kicked, my heel kickingwith his shin with a solid thud.
He didn't even grunt.
Instead, he went perfectly still. His eyes locked on mine, and the air in the room grew heavy, charged with a strange energy.
"Enough," he said.
It wasn't a yell. It was a command. A single word, low and resonant, that didn't just hit my ears—it slammed directly into my brain.
And something... answered.
It's warmth bloomed on my collarbone, a sudden, shocking heat. I glanced down, my heart hammering against my ribs. There, on my skin, just above the neckline of my shirt,was a silvery, intricate pattern was etching itself into existence. It looked like lace, but it had hurt so much.
What are you doing to me? I tried to say, but the words couldn't leave my mouth.
The warmth spread through my chest, leaving a bizarre, artificial calm. It felt... good. Soothing. Like a heavy, warm blanket being draped over my panic, smothering it. My muscles started to relax against my will. My frantic breathing began to slow.
No. No, fight it!
I focused everything I had on my hatred, on my fear, on the need to get away. I tried to pull my arm back again.
The warmth on my collarbone vanished, replaced by a searing, cold fire. The silvery scar blazed like a live wire.
It's pain was sharp and deep,as it lanced through my skull. The migraines felt ten times a Thousand. It was accompanied by a wave of profound, soul-crushing dread. It felt like I had just committed an unspeakable sin. The feeling was so heavy, so wrong, that a sob was torn from my lips. It wasn't just pain; it was a punishment designed for my very soul.
My vision became blurry. The resistance drained out of me completely, not from surrender, but from a debilitating, psychic agony that told me, in a language deeper than words, that I had done something bad. That I was bad for resisting.
I went limp, my legs started buckling. The only thing holding me up was his grip on my arm.
Tears of pure, helpless frustration and pain streamed down my face.He had reached into my mind and twisted the very instinct to fight into a crime.
He looked down at me, his expression was unchanged. "The bond does not like to be tested. Now. Are you ready to walk, or does the lesson need to be more... thorough?"
He said it calmly.And that was the most terrifying part of all.