The Shadow’s movements were unnervingly calm, his hand steady as he drove the knife into the man’s jugular withunrelenting force. The sound of the blade piercing flesh, followed by the horrific spray of blood, nauseated me. Warm droplets splattered across my skin and my glasses. A raw sob escaped my throat, and I gagged as the coppery scent of blood clogged my senses.
The guard’s lifeless body slumped to the floor. My vision blurred, the room spinning as nausea and fear battled for dominance. The Shadow straightened and tossed the bloodied knife onto the table.
“You’ve made quite the impression tonight, Vivian,” he said, his tone light but laced with menace. “I hope you’re beginning to understand the cost of failure in my world.”
My body gave out, and I gripped the edge of the table.
The Shadow towered over the carnage he had wrought, as calm and collected as if he’d merely spilled a glass of wine. His gaze flicked toward me, sharp and assessing, as if cataloging every tremble in my body, every tear staining my cheeks. His lips curled into a smirk, and the sight of it made my stomach churn violently.
My legs buckled, the adrenaline dissipating and leaving me lightheaded. My knees hit the floor with a dull thud as I slid off my chair, and my breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. The world spun, blood-slicked images burning behind my eyelids.
The Shadow sighed in exasperation. He moved toward me, his movements swift and purposeful.
I tried to shrink away as The Shadow loomed over me, but there was nowhere to go. His strong hands gripped my arms, pulling me upright as if I weighed nothing. My body betrayed me, instinctively leaning into him for support. I hated it, hated the warmth of his hold, the steadiness of his strength. He swept me into his arms and cradled me against his chest like I was fragile.
“You’re starting to make a habit of this,” he murmured sardonically as he carried me out of the blood-soaked dining hall.
“Don’t touch me,” I rasped, though my words held no weight. My voice was weak and shaky, and I hated that he could hear it. I hated that my words didn’t match my actions as I relaxed into his hold.
His cold eyes flicked down to meet mine. “And let you crawl to your room? Don’t be foolish, Vivian darling.”
I clenched my jaw, determined not to let the comfort of his embrace worm its way under my skin. But I couldn’t ignore it, no matter how unwelcome it was. The scent of him—clean, sharp, and faintly smoky—surrounded me, an infuriating contrast to the iron tang of blood still clinging to my dress and face.
“You think I’ll thank you for this?” I hissed, forcing myself to focus on the anger boiling beneath my skin. It was easier than acknowledging that my body had stopped trembling in his arms.
“I don’t need your gratitude. Your life is mine to carry, mine to discard, and mine to protect. What you think of my methods is irrelevant. I don’t care if you hate me. I prefer it, actually.”
His words were a slap, sharp and biting, but I refused to let them land. “If you’re looking for a sense of control, why don’t you go back and bathe in the blood of those poor bastards instead?”
His lips twitched, though whether in amusement or irritation, I couldn’t tell. “Do you know what your problem is, Vivian?” he asked as we reached the staircase leading to my room. “You confuse defiance with strength. They’re not the same.” His warm breath danced against my skin, and I had to fight against the desire to lean into it. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“And you confuse cruelty with power,” I shot back. My heart hammered against my ribcage as his gaze darkened, a flash of something dangerous dancing in his eyes.
He said nothing as he carried me up the stairs. My body was betraying me again, sinking into his hold even as my mind screamed against it. I forced my eyes to focus on the blood splattered across my dress, on the gruesome reminder of who this man was and what he was capable of.
When we reached my room, he kicked the door open and stepped inside, setting me down on the edge of the bed with surprising gentleness. I scrambled back, putting as much space between us as I could manage.
He lingered for a moment, his gaze sweeping over me with that same unnerving intensity. “You should rest,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, though it carried no less authority.
“I’ll rest when you’re rotting in a ditch somewhere,” I bit out, though the venom in my tone felt hollow.
His smirk returned, slow and predatory. “Sweet dreams, my bride,” he said mockingly.
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I was alone again, my chest heaving as I fought to steady my breathing. The room felt colder now, and the silence pressed in around me.
I glanced down at my bloodstained dress, bile rising in my throat. The Shadow’s touch still lingered like an unwelcome phantom on my skin. I hated him. I hated that he’d carried me again. And most of all, I hated that, for a fleeting moment, it had felt safe.
The room was a mausoleum,the cold creeping into my bones and refusing to let go. The hum of the magic-imbued diamond collar around my throat was the only sound—a faint, oppressive reminder of its presence. I was sprawled on the bed and staring at the ceiling, my dress stiff from the dried blood. The faint metallic scent rose with every breath, a horrid perfume that turned my stomach.
I traced the hem with trembling fingers, but my mind wasn’t on the dress. It was trapped in a never-ending loop, replaying the night’s horrors. The first guard’s head snapping back, the spray of blood painting the floor in vivid red streaks. The gurgling, the last desperate sounds of a life draining away. The second guard, his eyes pleading with me as The Shadow’s blade found his throat. The heat of his blood, splattering across my chest and face, soaking into my skin. My stomach twisted, but I didn’t move.
What was the point?
The collar, the dress, this mansion… none of it was symbols of power or opulence. They were chains, tightening with every passing moment. My life wasn’t my own, and tonight had been a brutal reminder that The Shadow held the key to it. He could decide its value, or when it ended, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist.
A soft tap against the window broke through the suffocating quiet. My heart stuttered. No one could get through that window. I’d tried to open it countless times, only to find it locked tight, fortified like everything else in this gilded prison. I sat up, my head spinning from the sudden movement.
Another tap. Then a soft creak as the impossible happened—the window slid open.
