Like embers banked carefully instead of allowed to rage.
This place isn’t a prison.
It’s a forge.
And I am standing naked in the heart of it.
Feral doesn’t begin to cover what happens next.
“What the fuck,” I hiss, still feeling too exposed in the sheet I’m wearing.
So, I snatch the nearest thing—a heavy black blanket—and wrapping that around my shoulders like armor.
I clutch it tight, as if it might actually protect me from whatever insanity brought me here.
My pulse is racing.
My skin is hot, and not just from the stone beneath my feet.
“Okay, I don’t know what’s happening. But I’m still me. Still Delia Esposito. And I still like pistachio muffins with cream cheese, ham and bagel sandwiches, and orange is still my favorite color,” I whisper to ground myself.
I spin, scanning the room.
There’s an enormous door, and it looks heavy. Locked.
So, no obvious exits.
A massive hearth dominates one wall, embers glowing low and steady, as if they never truly go out.
And then—there’s movement.
A shape detaches from the shadows near the far wall.
I freeze.
He steps forward slowly, deliberately, firelight catching the sharp planes of his body.
It’s him.
I am Thorne.
My kidnapper.
He’s been standing there the whole time. Watching.
My stomach drops.
“You—” My voice comes out tight. “You saw me.”
Thorne doesn’t deny it.
His gaze drags over me with unapologetic hunger, slow and assessing, like he’s cataloging something foreign. Precious. Or maybe both.
“Yes,” he says simply.
Heat floods my face.
Rage follows close behind.
