Private Tales The Price of Defiance

[Sadie]

Waking was much harder than it had been to fall into the depths of sleep that claimed her like an endless sea. Her body ached from the impact on the stone when Nikolai had shoved her away. Her limbs were stiff from just how long she'd been curled up on the sofa, nestled tightly in the blankets. Her wrist had stopped bleeding for long enough and no longer threatened to tear open with slight movement. The warmth of the sunroom still surrounded her, its golden glow tinted silver from the moonlight.

How long had I slept? She wondered, thoughts returning sluggishly as though she were still tangled in the web of exhaustion, as though it wasn't ready to let go. The sun had been rising when she'd collapsed here, succumbing to exhaustion and the abrupt cessation of adrenaline through her veins. But now the stars filtered through the stained glass dome. It was softer and painted the room in colors of dusk.

Had it been the whole day? She wondered as she stood. Her stomach twisted, a sharp pain of hunger making its presence noted, demanding anything to sate it. She pressed a hand to her abdomen as she shifted and let the blanket fall from her shoulders into a pile on the floor. Her clothes were filthy, blood-stained. The sight sent a shiver up her spine. At least she had stopped bleeding, though.

That was a plus, even if her wrist still throbbed.

Her stomach growled loudly, insistent. It hadn't even been that irritatingly needy when she had been willingly starving herself just to avoid Nikolai's 'kindness'.

She took slow, cautious steps across the room, bare feet whispering along the cold stone floor. She searched every alcove, every hidden nook, even the gods-damned bookshelves for something- anything- to eat. Of course there was nothing. He was an Ail'thain. He probably didn't need to eat when he could feed off the blood of misbehaving children. Wasn't that the ancient story she'd once seen? Of course, she had never been told such a fairytale. She hadn't had anyone to threaten her for not eating her vegetables or for not doing chores.

This wasn't a place for survival like Sadie had wished the moment she locked herself inside. It was only a place for beauty. The fountain at the center trickled softly, filling the space with its melody, but the thought of drinking only reminded her of how much she needed something in her stomach. Now. But that meant she would have to leave.

And his words echoed in her mind, making her blood run cold. Go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Lock the fucking door.

For how long did he expect her to hide away? Until she withered away to nothing from starvation? Possibly.

She had done as he asked. She had locked the door and shoved a chair against it. It was the safest place she had access to, but now she was awake and her body demanded more than just safety.

Her gaze flicked to the door. Cautiously, she approached and stepped up onto the chair she had wedged in front of it. Balancing herself carefully, she pulled herself up onto her tip toes to reach the small window at the top of the door and peered through.

It was empty.

Sadie exhaled a shaky breath, fingers gripping the doorframe as she lowered herself. There was no sign of him, no sign of the shadowy tendrils, the violet eyes that watched her even in her nightmares. The predator who had shoved her away with trembling hands, fear in his violet eyes, was not there.

Quietly, she dragged the chair a few feet from the door and unlocked it. She tried to open it slowly, but what she had not seen was the man sitting with his back pressed up against it who forced the door open as he fell backwards into the room.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Sadie scrambled to put distance between them again, shoving the door against him to try and force him out. Like the giant fucking door wedge he was, it was no surprise when the door did not budge.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai blinked up at her, sprawled unceremoniously on his back. Her fright was almost endearing, but as she shoved the door back against him with more force than strictly necessary, his eyes narrowed. "Ow. Rude." A sharp huff left him, and he grimaced as he sat himself up, one hand bracing against the door to keep it open.

"You done?" His voice was flat, unimpressed, as he pulled himself to his feet and rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness from spending too many hours against the cold stone.

The flickering light caught on the dried blood still staining his clothes, streaking across his skin in dark patches where his wounds had long since closed. He hadn’t bothered cleaning up—hadn’t cared enough to, but now the scent of blood was overwhelming. His gaze drifted over her, his expression darkening slightly.

Her wrist. The blanket on the floor, marred with that telltale deep red stain.

His lips parted slightly before he exhaled sharply, an irate sigh tumbling from his lips as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—that she had near bled herself dry to save him, or that she looked so fragile now because of it.

"Come on. You need food. And a bath." His voice had lost its earlier cockiness, the smug arrogance that usually laced every word. This time, he was serious. He met her eyes, searching for something in them—an argument, probably, or maybe just some sign that she understood the gravity of what she had done.

 

[Sadie]

"Depends." Sadie shoved the door at him again. "Are you done trying to shove my head through stone? Are you done shouting at me for saving your life?" She scowled, but let go of the door as he pulled himself up. She didn't miss the way his eyes scanned the room, lingering a little too long on the stained blanket.

Come on. You need food. And a bath.

Sadie arched a brow at him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. His voice was firm, missing the usual sharp edge of arrogance that usually mirrored a smirk on his face. The way he looked now made her stomach twist. She refused to maintain the eye contact, dragging her eyes back to him. Dried blood covered his skin, his clothes- rather what was left of them. Whatever had attacked him had shredded a decent amount of them.

"You're one to talk." She murmured, her voice quieter than she had intended. "You're not the pinnacle of cleanliness yourself, you know. You look like you crawled out of a grave."

She wasn't sure what she expected out of him or what she wanted him to say- maybe a sharp remark or a reminder that she was, once again, nothing but some insignificant toy for him. But instead, he just stood there, watching her. It was somehow more uncomfortable than anything else she had experienced over the past month.

But Sadie simply nodded once and spoke, mostly to herself. "Fine. I'll clean up. I'll eat." She paused and looked him over again, frowning. "But you should, too. Hard to have an appetite when you smell like a sewer."

She didn't wait for his response, she was already moving past him. "Try not to drown. I'd hate to save you again and have you break my neck as a thank you." She muttered quietly.

 

[Nikolai]

A muscle feathered in his jaw as she spoke, his irritation simmering beneath the surface, tangled with something he refused to name. Guilt? No. He had no reason to feel guilty. Not for her. Not for any of this.

“Well the fuck aware,” he muttered, voice edged with something sharper than usual. Thanks to you. His gaze flicked once more to the blood staining her sleeve, to the darkened patch on the blanket. “But I smell like my blood, and you smell like yours.” The words were quieter, his tone unreadable, though his fingers twitched at his sides.

She moved past him, muttering some parting quip about saving his life again, but before he could stop himself, his hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, firm enough to halt her. A sharp breath dragged into his lungs, but it did nothing to steady the twisting heat inside him.

"My life was never in danger," he bit out, though in honesty, it was the closest he’d felt to it. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “What you did was fucking reckless.” His voice was lower now, rougher, the words cutting. “You put your own life in danger twice. And twice, I had to fucking save you.” He exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flicked to the wound on her wrist, still healing, still raw.

His stomach turned.

A beat passed. Then another.

He swallowed hard before releasing her, his fingers lingering for the barest second longer than necessary before he stepped back. His violet gaze met hers, unreadable, but something in them had darkened. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a warning. It was a command, one that sat heavily between them, thick with unspoken meaning.

He turned before she could respond, before he could say anything else he might regret. His voice was quieter now, almost distant. “Take the room at the top of the stairs.”

He called back to her, striding down the hall, leaving only the echo of his footsteps behind him.

 

[Sadie]

She would never get the last word, it seemed. Sadie stood in the hall, staring at the space he had been standing in long after his footsteps had faded into silence. Her wrist still tingled where he had grabbed it, but it wasn't pain that lingered. His words echoed in her head, their weight refusing to allow them to leave.

Don't ever do anything like that again.

It wasn't sharp-edge of arrogance or mockery that laced his words. It wasn't even pure anger. It was something else. She had seen it in his eyes as he turned away from her.

Fear.

Her stomach twisted again, no longer from hunger. She was sick with the guilt she still tried to ignore. What the hell had he to be scared of? Was he scared of her dying or was it what she had done that had him looking so...conflicted?

Sadie exhaled shakily and forced herself to stop standing in the hallway like a petrified child, forced her body to move back to the foyer and up the stairs. She climbed slowly, her mind full and body heavy with the weight of what she had done.

The door creaked quietly as she pushed it open. Warmth and light flooded her senses. The scent of something sweet and foreign blooming filled the air. She froze just inside the doorway, gasping quietly. It was beautiful- obviously designed by the same brilliant mind that had crafted the sunroom. Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains that did little to cover enormous windows covering one end of the room.

Flowers filled the space- some climbing along the walls, others overflowing from vases lining shelves, nightstands and windowsills. They came in colors Sadie had never seen in blooms- vivid shades of red, blue, yells, and purples. Their petals stretched up and away from the wintery scene outside as though they knew they did not belong here, like they had been plucked from a world beyond theirs.

Summer, that was what it reminded her of. It was nothing like the ice-cold, sharp beauty of the Winter Court. In here there, even in the night, there was warmth and color and life- too much life for this place. And yet, beneath it all was a sadness Sadie couldn't quite shake. Pressing at the edges of the room and woven into the air like a ghost, it felt like something had been lost.

The flowers should have withered. The warmth, even provided by candles, felt borrowed and fleeting. Sadie wondered why he had given her this room, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know an answer. Her fingers trailed over the edge of the bed. Silk, blue and gold, was soft and inviting. Much like everything else in the room, but it only made her feel more out of place.

She quickly swiped at the dried blood that flaked off of her and onto the sheet. Right, bath first. Then exploring. A door tucked off into the corner caught her attention. The bathing chamber. It was beautiful in the same way the bedroom was- soft, warm, and far too alive for the Winter Court and Nikolai.

She ran the water until the air was thick with steam and the scent of citrus filled the space. She stepped up to the large tub and peeled away her ruined clothes with slow, aching movements. She wouldn't allow herself to think as she stepped into the bath and sunk down into its warmth. Gods. She could feel the world exhale as heat licked over her skin, soothing and stinging all at once.

Fingers found soap on the small ledge beside her and she worked it over her skin, scrubbing away the filth, the blood and scent of iron that still lingered in her hair and over her skin. By the time she finally finished, her body had loosened and exhaustion wormed its way back in. The warmth was a lull that encouraged her to rest, but she couldn't yet.

Begrudgingly, she wrapped herself in a towel after dragging herself out of what may have been the most pleasant torture session thus far.

She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The girl staring back looked...different. Tired. Too skinny. Shadows clung beneath her eyes. The scar on her wrist was a painful shade of pink that looked so out of place on skin which had not seen the sun in weeks. She swallowed hard and turned away.

Of course she had no clothing here, why would she? Nikolai seemed rather content to allow her to rot to her eventual death in whatever he had carried her in wearing. But her clothes were soiled beyond repair and the room had an armoire full of loose fitting, abnormally soft dresses that were, most importantly, not covered in blood.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai raked a hand through his damp waves, his fingers trembling slightly as he exhaled, slow and measured. He had bathed in water so cold it left his skin raw, scrubbing away every trace of blood, every scent that clung to him. The ruins of his clothing were nothing more than charred remnants in the hearth. But none of it had done a damn thing to rid him of her.

That cut on her wrist, that she'd opened for him..That taste.

It haunted him, lingered on his tongue like a curse, like a drug he had spent centuries trying to rid from his veins. He could still feel the pulse beneath her skin, the heat of her skin against his mouth. Ilithoré.

The word curled in his mind, wrapped around his thoughts like a serpent, tightening with every slow beat of his heart. He hadn't truly appreciated how appropriate that name was for her until last night. Beautiful, vicious. Poison.

His jaw clenched as he paced, still half-dressed, his bare feet whispering against the stone floors. He needed a distraction, anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the scent of her, the sound of her breath hitching—caught somewhere between fear and something else, something darker.

He should have killed her.

Instead, he was preparing her food.

A sharp, humourless laugh escaped him, barely a breath as he gathered a small tray. Bread, cheese, fruit, something warm and sweet to drink. She had eaten so little since arriving, wasting away out of spite. The scent of her blood had been proof enough that she couldn’t afford to lose any more of it.

It was absurd, this impulse. A waste of time, of energy, of effort. But still, he moved, methodical and slow, ensuring everything was placed with precision before lifting the tray and heading up the stairs.

The ornate door loomed before him, his mother’s old room, the one he hadn’t stepped foot in for years. It was strange, leaving her there, in a space so untouched by the darkness that had consumed most of his home. But perhaps that was why he had done it. She'd slept soundly in the sun room, for the first time since she'd arrived here. Why the fuck did he care how she slept?!

He hesitated only briefly before knocking once, a single rap against the wood before setting the tray on the small table outside. His fingers lingered over the handle, as though considering opening the door, stepping inside.

But he didn’t. Instead, he turned and walked away, silent as the shadows that followed in his wake.

 

[Sadie]

The fabrics were so, so soft, she noted, fingers trailing over the contents of the armoire. Everything was fine and delicate, much more expensive than anything she'd ever owned and anything she ever would own. Silk and velvets in shades she would never have considered to utilize in clothing, materials she had no business wearing. Fortunately, because of her wings, they would not suffer the fate of being forced onto her frame with the exception of one garment that caught her eye.

Simple and light. It was a nightdress, soft as a whisper. She dropped her towel and stepped into it, quietly groaning over how fucking soft it was. Nothing at all like the scratchy material she usually wore. It fell above her knees, modest in comparison to what else lurked in the armoire. Most importantly, however, it dipped low in the back. Low and loose enough to stretch and accommodate her wings without drowning her in fabric.

The room held a large mirror against the far wall, its frame carved with intricate vines and flowers. All of it was gilded in gold. She hesitated a moment before stepping closer, her reflection swallowing her whole.

She looked fragile.

Hollow.

Her skin had never been kissed by the sun and yet it somehow looked faded and pale. Shadows hung under her eyes like a permanent dark stain. Her collarbones pressed sharply against her skin and, like her shoulders and her spine, were too pronounced. The nightdress had made it more obvious than she had realized- how much weight she had lost due to her own stubbornness. Her body had turned to nothing more than sharp edges and empty space.

The sight of her wound- still pink and angry twisted something deep inside her. She lifted a hand to it, brushing her fingers against the ridge of the scar. She had spent a month barely surviving, refusing to save herself. It showed so clearly.

A sharp knock at the door startled her, her heart lurched. She spun towards the source of the noise and froze. Silence. Nothing but silence.

She moved towards the door and placed an ear against it, listening for a moment before cracking it open and peering into the hallway. There, on a small table just beside the bedroom door, sat a tray of food. Bread, cheese, fruit. Tea. Her stomach growled, angry and insistent.

But then, she heard him. His steps were quiet, muffled by the shadows, but she recognized them now. She stepped out, bare feet meeting the ice cold stone floor, and pressed forward until she caught sight of him descending the stairs. His shoulders were tense, pace measured and steady, as if he meant to disappear. As if he was avoiding her.

For a moment she only hovered and watched. She could sit in the room and eat alone. She could let him go. Or she could follow. Something inside her shifted, something she didn't quite understand. Before she could think, before she could second guess herself, her feet were already moving. She followed.

"Hey." He seemed to ignore her at first, but she would not accept that. "I said hey!" She picked up her pace to catch up. "Thank you for the bread and cheese, but I don't suppose you have anything with protein? Meat?" She supposed beggars couldn't be choosers, but he'd already given her a bedroom- with a bed, and without an Ail'thain lurking day and night. She could push her luck a little further.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai exhaled sharply through his nose, his steps slowing but not stopping as she called after him. He had hoped to slip away unnoticed, before she could find another way to get under his skin. But, of course, she followed, the sound of her bare feet against the stone soft, but insistent.

I said hey!

His shoulders tensed, and he came to a gradual stop, tilting his head slightly as if debating whether or not to acknowledge her at all. Then, slowly, he turned, violet eyes flicking over her form in the dim candlelight.

And for a moment, he said nothing.

She was smaller than he remembered. The defiant fire in her gaze remained, but her body—thin, frail, all sharp edges and hollow spaces—had begun to betray her. It hadn’t been this obvious before, not beneath the tunic she'd worn. But now, dressed in that slip of fabric, the reality of her stubborn starvation was impossible to ignore.

His jaw clenched.

This is what she did to herself.

She had refused food. She had wasted away out of spite. And now she had the audacity to stand before him and ask for more? At least she'd said thank you...

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he studied her, as if trying to decide whether her request was another act of defiance or something else entirely.

"Picky for someone who’s been starving herself." His voice was quieter than usual, lacking the usual edge of amusement or cruelty. He crossed his arms, his fingers drumming idly against his bicep before he let out a quiet huff. "Fine. Meat, then. Anything else, your highness?"

His words were laced with sarcasm, but his body was already turning, already moving toward the kitchens, a light smirk on his lips.

 

[Sadie]

Sadie swallowed hard as he turned, a lump forming in her throat and fingers curling at her sides. The way he looked at her- really looked at her- made her skin prickle. It was like he was trying to peel back every layer she had carefully constructed to protect herself. As if he was seeing something she didn't want to acknowledge. She hated it.

Hated the way his gaze dragged over her frame so obviously, not with hunger or interest. No. He was inspecting her, something sharper in her eyes that made her chest tighten. Whatever he saw, he did not seem pleased. But she knew what he saw when he looked at her. She'd seen it too. A husk of herself staring back in the mirror only minutes ago.

Still, she lifted her chin and refused to shrink beneath the weight of his scrutiny.

She wanted to lie and tell him she wasn't starving herself, but she could not force the words from her mouth. What he had said was true although she didn't want to believe it. She'd had excuses in the few times he questioned her over the month. Loss of appetite. Too stressed. Too tired. All true, but flimsy compared to the truth that she would rather have died than be trapped here forever.

His words still stung and she had no counter, so she would pretend to let them roll off of her.

"Just meat." She ignored his sarcasm, though her lips twitched slightly despite her hatred towards him. "Unless, of course, you are offering to cook an entire feast for your guest. Is that what I am now? No longer a prisoner you keep holed up in your room, but a guest? If so, your highness might just have some more requests. Your name, finally?"

She immediately regretted letting words so...casual...slip out and tried desperately to stop them from lingering.

"Never mind that thought, actually. I don't trust someone who drinks blood to cook much of anything for me. Just show me to the kitchen and I'll do it myself." Did the Ail'thain even eat? She wondered. None of her research had pointed to the possibility, now that she thought about it. Then again, Eluin had only given her access to letters exchanged between Ail'thain. She'd never been given access to information like their origin, history, or the more...anatomical and physiological aspects of his kind.

Still, despite her protests, Nikolai was already headed towards the kitchens. For some reason, she followed.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai barely spared her a glance as he walked, his steps unhurried, his posture exuding effortless indifference. "That all very much depends on you. You can act like a prisoner or a guest. I don’t particularly care." His voice was smooth, unaffected, but there was a weight to his words, a quiet warning.

Then she mentioned blood, and his steps halted so abruptly that she nearly ran into him. His entire body went rigid as he turned on her, eyes darkening with something sharp, something vicious. The air around them thickened, charged with something dangerous, something hungry.

"I don’t do that." The words left him in a low snarl, his voice almost unrecognizable. "I don’t need blood. I choose not to. If I had wanted to, I would have. And that choice would have been out of your hands."

His sneer cut through the air like a blade, his shadows writhing against the walls as if they were as agitated as he was.

It wasn’t just her words that set him off. It was the taste of her blood still lingering in his memory, the way it had burned through him, the way it had changed him. He had spent centuries resisting, forcing control over the hunger that had once defined him, the hunger that had nearly destroyed him.

And then she had offered it to him. That was the worst part. She had done it willingly.

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists before he forced himself to release a slow, controlled breath. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders, casting off whatever had seized him in those few brief moments. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its usual cool, lazy cadence, though there was still something tight beneath it.

"You might have read a thousand books, Ilithore, but don’t pretend you have any idea what I am." His eyes burned into hers, violet and unyielding. "Because you don’t."

And then, just as suddenly, he turned and continued walking, leading her toward the kitchens as if the moment had never happened.

 

[Sadie]

Frustration was a violent thing, hot and sharp, burning away whatever little restraint she had left. Nikolai should have realized by now that forcing her emotions into extremes would not bode well for either of them.

She stopped in her tracks, watching his retreating form and the effortless way he simply just moved on. As if the air between them hadn't thickened with something volatile and dangerous. As if she hadn't felt the crackling energy of his own shadows lashing against the walls, his fury a living thing coiled beneath his skin.

Her fists were balled at her sides, her heart still pounded from the way he had turned on her, voice dipping into something raw and dangerous. And yet, here he was, slipping right back into that usual indifference. Like he hadn't just bristled at the mere mention of blood. Like, for the first time in a month, she hadn't seen the first real thing beneath all of his cold and infuriating arrogance.

Sadie should have let it go. But, she didn't.

"If you don't care so much, why do you refuse to tell me your name?" Her voice came out much sharper than she had intended, cutting through the silence that settled by the time they had entered the kitchen. But he didn't stop whatever it was he was doing. Gathering ingredients? Whatever. Of course he didn't stop.

"Every time I ask you, you sidestep." She pressed, taking a step forward towards the counter top. "You act like it doesn't matter, like I don't matter, and yet you refuse to give me this one, simple thing I have asked for for well over a month."

Nothing. No response.

He faced away from her, back shifting as he moved about.

"I think you are afraid." That did it. Torches flickered nearby, casting twisting shadows that coiled and writhed with something restless. Sadie swallowed, but she refused to back down. "I think you are afraid of me. That is what it seems like."

She continued, her voice losing its edge as the shadows stilled completely. "You have made your threats. You have shown me your shadows and your teeth. You have made it clear how much power you have over me, how insignificant and pathetic you think I am," She took another step closer, measured and slow. Cautious.

"And yet, this...this tiny thing...You keep it locked away like it might undo you. I told you my name. I let you destroy my life. I let you force me to...create...conjure...I don't even know what you forced me to do. But I did it. And you still refuse to give me anything to call you by. Is that so hard for you?"

She could hear her own ragged breath in the silence that followed, her pulse pounding as she waited for a response. He didn't. Not at first.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai had been keeping himself together by the thinnest of threads. Barely. Every breath he took was laboured, every second he spent in her presence was agony, his senses assaulted by everything her.

The scent of citrus from her bath still clung to her skin, but it did nothing to mask the scent of her blood—the ghost of it lingered in the air, warm, metallic, intoxicating. It coiled around him, seeped into his lungs, and fuck, he could still taste it. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth as if he could still pull remnants of it from the memory alone. It had been hours since he drank from her, but it wasn’t leaving. It was never going to leave.

His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his skin as she pushed him, her words relentless, prodding at a wound he could not let her see.

Her voice was a constant, nagging thing, cutting through the haze that filled his skull. Accusing him. Insulting him. As if she had any fucking idea what she was talking about. As if she could possibly comprehend what he was fighting to keep buried beneath the surface.

She had no idea how fucking fragile this moment was.
No idea how close he was to breaking.
And then she kept going.

'I think you are afraid of me.'

His jaw clenched, his muscles coiling tight.

No. He was not afraid of her.
He was afraid of himself.

The sound of her pulse thrummed in his ears like a war drum. He could hear every subtle hitch in her breath, every movement of her body, every shiver of frustration crawling up her spine. The steady thump of her heartbeat was like a fucking beacon, taunting him. And she was standing too close. Her scent, her warmth, her blood, it was all too much.

He snapped. The movement was sudden, violent.

In less than a second, he was on her, his hands slamming against the counter at either side of her, caging her with his own body. His hands curled against the edge of the stone, grip so tight the surface cracked beneath his fingers. The shadows in the room pulsed, responding to his fury, thickening, darkening, stretching toward her like they might devour her whole.

His violet eyes burned.

"If I thought you insignificant and pathetic, you wouldn't still be here." His voice was low, dangerous, words vibrating with restrained rage.

"You are still here because you are a conundrum. A problem I have yet to solve."

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her skin. She wanted to accuse him of cowardice? Of fear? She wanted to push and push and push?

"You should be very, very careful about what you ask for, Ilith."

A beat of silence, his nostrils flaring as he dragged in a breath through his nose, his entire body rigid. He forced himself to straighten, and pull away.

His hand raked through his damp waves, fingers tightening at the back of his neck as he exhaled sharply. He did not have to explain himself to her. He owed her nothing. His name? His name did not matter.

"Pick one." His voice was quieter now, rough and raw around the edges. "Call me whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care." he rumbled, sliding a plate of raw venison toward her.

"There. Meat."

 

[Sadie]

Sadie flinched when he turned on her, her wings pulled in tight to make herself as small as possible in his cage. The room stirred with a flurry of power, his alone. Hers was something she could not control, could not force out at will. Still she held still, making it plainly obvious that she was scared of him.

You are still here because you are a conundrum. A problem I have yet to solve. You should be very, very careful about what you ask for, Ilith.

Point made.

She took a deep breath only when he stepped away. "I figured a your name would be nicer than the ones I have given you in my head. Your temperament leads me to believe you would choke me to death if I said any one of them aloud." She muttered as he revealed...Meat.

Sadie stared at the plate.

Then at him.

Then, back at the plate.

A thick slab of raw venison, dark and glistening under the light. Blood pooled at its edges, staining the ceramic dish. Its metallic scent curled into the air. Sadie looked back up at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. None came, of course.

"You..." Sadie glanced back at the slab. "You brought me raw meat." Her voice was flat, deadpan. Sure this was a joke. A power play? Another way to remind her of how little she knew about him, about what he was, about anything now that a whole realm of madness was opening up in her life. Her stomach growled angrily and she didn't know if she should be amused or furious. "You do realize that I cannot eat this, right?"

She gestured to the plate, willing her voice to hold itself even, even when her pulse still hammered from the way he'd snapped at her. "Mortals don't consume their food like this." She sighed. "I didn't realize I had to specify that I meant cooked meat." She let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I didn't think I had to."

She studied his face a moment longer and then it clicked. Oh. Oh.

Her lips parted, realization sinking into her bones. Something uneasy, disturbed, curled in her gut. "This is how you eat?" Her voice was quieter, her frustration draining just slightly. He said he didn't need it- blood. But it was fae blood, that he didn't need. Because he had found another way to sustain himself without hunting her kind.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai had wanted to laugh at her reaction, at the way her gaze flickered between him and the plate, utterly dumbfounded. But he was still too raw, too on edge from the fire she had so carelessly stoked inside him. Instead, he only tilted his head, watching the slow unraveling of her thoughts as realisation finally slithered in.

She had pushed him, demanded things from him she had no right to demand, and now she was looking at him like she understood something. Like she had just uncovered a piece of him she hadn’t meant to find. Her voice had softened, but it didn’t matter. He hated that tone—hated whatever pity or understanding might have been creeping in.

Gods, she was exhausting.

"No - I brought you bread, and cheese, and fruit..You requested the meat." he frowned. "What? You want me to cook for you now?" His jaw clenched. "You can eat it this way.. You just insist on charring it first." His voice was clipped, sharp. His patience was thinning again.

Violet eyes held hers, unwavering, daring her to look away. There was something in his expression, something unreadable but razor-edged, like he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to be disgusted, to recoil. To remind him what he was, the way so many had before.

"You're a female." His gaze flickered pointedly to the stove—an ancient thing, untouched for centuries and useless in this house. "I'm sure you can figure it out... Or don't. I don't care."

The words left him in a quiet rasp, but there was a weight to them, a finality. He would not entertain her curiosity any further. He turned away from her, already done with the conversation.

 

[Sadie]

It was back, that slow, simmering anger that flowed through her veins, thick, insistent, and absolutely suffocating. Sadie stared at the raw meat, then at the ancient stove, then back at him. "We cook it because we will get sick if we don't. Have you forgotten that in your thousands of years of life?" She muttered. Not that it mattered, though. His back was already turned.

He was done. She was worth no more of his time nor his attention now that he'd decided to shut the door in her face. It was the last straw.

You're a female. I'm sure you can figure it out.

Like that had meant anything. She was a prisoner, a captive. Had he now expected her to flutter her lashes, curtsy for him, and cook her own meal because that was the role she had been born into? She didn't even have the luxury of a fucking stove where she lived. Meat was rare, but usually cured when she could afford it. She had no time to wait for that with how her stomach protested every single second it was left empty.

She should have snapped at him and let loose the words that burned at the tip of her tongue. What the fuck was his actual problem? Why was he such a testy dickhead?

But, she kept quiet. Sadie was too tired to argue. Too done as well. So she shut up. She didn't ask again. She didn't so much as look at him as she reached down, grabbed the plate and picked up the thick, raw slice of venison between her fingers.

It was slimy, gods it was so fucking slimy. She fought the nausea creeping up her throat and before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she bit into it. Blood burst across her tongue, rich and metallic. The meat was cold and gummy as she forced herself to chew. Her stomach rebelled instantly, her throat tightening against the instinct to gag.

She refused to stop, though. Sadie took another bite. And then another. She let the sounds of her chewing, a wet and disgusting squelch of raw flesh, fill the silence between them. Nikolai wanted to throw this in her face, to watch her beg, to remind her of what he was and what she wasn't. He could stand there and listen to the sounds of her choking this down.

And if she wretched it all up later when her stomach lost this war?

Well he was the one stuck with her, so he could enjoy every goddamn second of it.

 

[Nikolai]

The sound was absolutely. Fucking. Vile. A wet, sticky squelch that sent an unnatural shudder through him, made his skin crawl like he was being subjected to some kind of divine punishment. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

Nikolai turned his head slightly, violet eyes narrowing. She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t waiting for his reaction, wasn’t asking for his help anymore. No, she had decided to prove a point, had decided that whatever battle they were waging between them was worth this level of fucking insanity.

His irritation boiled over into something darker.

With a sharp movement, he stormed across the kitchen, snatching up one of the wooden chairs at the table and smashing it down onto the stone floor. The impact echoed through the room, wood splintering apart in a violent burst. He wasn’t done. His hand shot out, grasping another chair and ripping it apart with nothing but brute strength, his patience and control splintering along with the wood. Pieces clattered across the floor as he threw the remnants onto the growing pile in the center of the kitchen.

Still, he said nothing.

Kneeling, a flick of his wrist summoned flame, a sharp burst of heat that consumed the dry wood in an instant. The fire crackled hungrily, twisting into a steady blaze that cast flickering gold across the stone.

He marched to pluck a fire poker from the wall, then, without hesitation, he strode toward her, violence in his eyes.

Sadie barely had time to react before he ripped the meat from her hands, ignoring the smear of blood that smeared across his fingers as he skewered it onto the fire poker. The movement was swift, precise, full of an unspoken warning. He barely spared her a glance before throwing the meat into the fire, letting the flames lick at the flesh, sizzling, blackening, cooking.

Only then did he finally speak.

"Are you fucking happy?" His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the sharp, controlled anger lacing each word.

His gaze flicked down at her bloodstained lips, at the colour still smeared against the corner of her mouth, and his fingers twitched as he forced himself to look away.

 

[Sadie]

Sadie did her best to ignore the violent destruction unfolding just feet away form her. Splintering of wood. A sharp, sudden roaring of flames swallowing up the wreckage of what once were chairs. Raw and unhinged fury radiated off of Nikolai in thick, suffocating waves. Shame. She had planned on sitting in one of those chairs once Nikolai left her alone.

She ignored the way her stomach clenched violently, protesting the chunks of raw meat she forced down her throat. Nausea curled at the edges of her senses, making her skin prickle in a cold sweat.

She ignored him. Right up until the moment he ripped the meat she had been tearing with her teeth right out of her hands. His fingers brushed against her bloodstained ones before he skewered the meat onto a fire poker and jammed it into the flames. They hissed and snapped as the meat met fire. Fat sizzled, blackening. Charred flesh filled the air, thick and smoky.

It was a welcome relief from the metallic tang that still coated her tongue. She should have brought the tea down with her.

Her stomach churned again. Her mouth watered- not from hunger.

Finally, she turned to look at him.

His face looked carved in stone in the way that flames cast dancing shadows over him. Sharp lines of tension coiled around him so tightly, she thought he might snap if she so much as breathed the wrong way. His violet eyes burned as he forced them from her face, fingers twitching at her sides like he wanted to rip something apart.

She knew she should have been afraid. Her body had been screaming that she should fear him from the moment he stepped inside Eluin's archive. She should have regretted pushing him so far, just because she was curious about him. A mythological being come to life, who wouldn't be curious?

Instead, she felt something far more reckless with each inch she pushed forward, prodding the angry bear.

She licked the edge of her lip, clearing the blood. It was slow and deliberate and followed by her flashing a grin- sharp and taunting with traces of red blood staining her teeth.

Are you fucking happy?

She held his gaze, her head tilting to the side slightly. Flickering fire caught the purple in her own eyes.

"Thank you." Her voice was steady, even as her stomach twisted with the promise of her inevitable regret. Even as a faint sickly green tinge crept over her skin. She did not waver. She simply turned her attention back to the fire, watching the meat cook. "Thank you for so graciously preparing a meal for me. I can handle it from here."

She hoped he took the hint and leave before she would hurl up the contents of her stomach on his floor.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as she licked the blood from her lips, flashing that bloody, taunting grin like she enjoyed testing the limits of his patience. It was reckless, foolish, infuriating and yet still somewhat fascinating. His chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, the only outward indication of the war raging beneath his skin.

That little flash of her teeth, stained red, shouldn’t have bothered him, shouldn’t have sent a whisper of something dark curling in his mind. But it did.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the intensity of his gaze unwavering as he leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest, watching the crystal clear effort it was taking for her to keep her meal down. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, as the fire crackled and filled the room with the scent of cooking meat, smoke filling the room fast...

Then, ever so slightly, his lips curled.

"Feeling alright?" His voice was laced with something darkly amused, his brow arching as he tilted his head. His gaze flicked over her face, sharp and searching, watching the way her skin had taken on a faint, sickly green tinge.

"You look like you might be sick." His frown deepened, mock concern dripping from every word.

 

[Sadie]

Her expression was forced into something cold and unreadable as nausea tried to claw its way up her throat. The fire crackled beside her as the scent of cooking meat thickened in the air. All she could focus on was the way he watched her- how his violet eyes flickered over her face in that sharp and assessing way, waiting for her to crack.

But Sadie tried her best to refuse.

Feeling alright?

She breathed through the wave of nausea, steady and slow, ignoring the way her stomach twisted painfully as it plotted its revenge against her for being such a stubborn idiot. Her fingers on one hand curled against the skin of her thigh, nails biting into it as if the pain could carry her through and give her some control.

You look like you might be sick.

Fucking bastard and his stupid feigned concern.

Sadie forced a smirk, though it felt harder to force. Heavier, duller. Bound by birth with an inability to lie, she couldn't deny him. But she could steady her voice and raise her chin. "I am just waiting for the meat to cook. Though I'm sure you are disappointed." She pushed back the queasiness that coiled in her gut. "I know you must be dying to enjoy the sound of me retching all over your filthy floor."

She glanced down at the stone and frowned. "I get that you don't have much use for this room, but you could sweep every once in a while. No need to live like an animal."

Her gaze flicked back to the fire where thick smoke rolled towards the ceiling, threatening to fill the air. It would need putting out soon. He might survive inhaling smoke, but she was mortal. Regardless, she would wait until he was gone. There was no way she would beg him to put out the fire after his display of insanity, ripping apart his own furniture instead of using the stove.

"I can handle it from here," She said. It was a quiet challenge. A dismissal for him. "When I'm done, I'll douse the fire myself."

Her focus turned back to the fire, but she didn't need to look at him to know that he was still standing there. Still watching. Still waiting for her to break. If he gave it another few minutes, he might witness it. Until then, Sadie clenched and unclenched her jaw, forcing the nausea down while she turned the meat over on the fire poker. Her hands trembled slightly, mere moments away from proving him right.

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai didn't move, didn't so much as shift as he watched the pitiful battle unfold behind her defiant expression. He could hear the way her heart pounded—too fast, too erratic—as she forced her body to obey her sheer will alone. He could scent the acrid tang of nausea clinging to her skin like a second layer. It was amusing, really, how hard she tried to win whatever game she thought they were playing, as she clung so tightly to her pride.

"What, and leave you when you appear out of sorts?" His voice was honeyed mockery, thick with amusement. "You could pass out, or trip and fall into the fire there… What sort of host would I be to leave you alone with such dangers?"

His smirk curled wickedly as he stretched and set his elbows on the counter behind him, his ankles crossed, utterly at ease while she waged war with herself.

"Although…" He let the word linger, just to draw out her agony a moment longer. "I suppose if you were to collapse, I could always bring you back to my bed, as I so graciously did once before. You did seem quite comfortable, after all." His lips parted, and he exhaled a mock sigh. "You may have slept through it, but I assure you, you looked positively peaceful."

He huffed a quiet laugh, something dark and knowing, before straightening from the counter. "No, no… I think I’ll stay a little longer. Just in case." His voice dipped lower, velvet-soft and smug. "It would be such a shame if you were to burn yourself, wouldn’t it, Ilith?"

 

[Sadie]

Sadie exhaled slowly, fingers wrapped tightly around the fire poker. Another wave of nausea rolled through her, relentless and punishing her for her stubbornness. How stupid could she be? Her stomach seemed to enjoy reminding her of the raw meat as it twisted and roiled. She deserved this torture.

What kind of host would I be to leave you alone with such dangers?

But Nikolai's voice slithered through the air, thick with amusement, mocking. He was absolutely savoring every second of her suffering. "Putting me out of my misery would make you an exponentially better host than you've been so far." She muttered under her breathing, low enough that he might ignore it. Though, she knew he wouldn't if he could find a way to make her suffer more.

His smirk deepened, teeth sharp enough to cut. She could already sense the next cruel, insufferable thing forming on his venomous tongue before he even said it.

I suppose if you were to collapse, I could always bring you back to my bed, as I so graciously did once before.

Sadie froze, the fire crackling loudly beside her. The room was stifling with its heat that only made her sweat more than the nausea had made her.

You may have slept through it, but I assure you, you looked positively peaceful.

Something snapped inside her, frayed and raw. It was his fault that she had passed out in the first place. Whatever he did, triggered something in her to create...whatever it was. A monster- one that had never existed until he decided to intrude on her peace and work. Until he had pushed her so hard that there was nothing she could do except let it out.

Turning on him, nausea forgotten, her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the fire poker that they now began to ache. "There is no way in any hell, in this existence or next, that I would ever go near that bed again." She bit out, her voice low and venomous. He was doing this on purpose, but for what reason? Did he want to unleash more poisonous creatures in his home that seemed intent on attacking him, of all people? "Not even if you dragged my unconscious body back. Though I must wonder if that's how you typically bring a female in this place." The end was said more to the fire than Nikolai.

But they had barely left her mouth before her stomach lurched in a violent protest. A sharp and vicious wave of nausea surged through her and Sadie barely had enough time to drop the fire poker before she doubled over, gagging. Heat flared over her skin as the rest of her body rebelled.

She managed to turn her back to him, choking as a heaving gasp tore from her throat. Bile surged up, burning hot and bitter as it found its way out and splattered onto the stone floor. Her body shuddered, wracked with relentless convulsions as she emptied her stomach, raw meat making its return spectacularly. Sadie gasped for air between the retches, her throat burning. After a moment she swallowed hard and straightened, despite the tremor in her limbs. She refused to look at him, but she could still feel him watching her- looming, amused, maybe even satisfied.

"Still enjoying the show?" Her voice was raw, breathless, but she still managed to force out a bitter and humorous laugh. "Maybe now you will clean these filthy floors."

 

[Nikolai]

Nikolai had anticipated this outcome long before she had. He had smelled it in the sweat beading along her brow, heard it in the way her breath had turned shallow and uneven, seen it in the way her hands trembled ever so slightly as she gripped the fire poker like a lifeline. He had waited for it, patiently, almost bored, until her own pride forced her to its inevitable conclusion.

So when she turned, barely able to bite out another insult before her stomach finally waged its final rebellion, he merely watched.

His expression didn’t shift as she doubled over, her body convulsing with wretched heaves, emptying itself of her idiocy onto the stone floor. The sound was unpleasant, wet and raw, each gag a sharp punctuation to her utter failure. The acrid stench filled the air, mixing with the charred scent of cooking venison, and yet still—he did not look away.

Her frail, shaking form, hunched and vulnerable, held none of the fire she so desperately tried to wield against him. For all her bravado, all her taunts, she was still a fragile, pathetic thing. A defiant, sharp-tongued wretch of a girl who still thought she had a say in what happened to her.

The thought amused him.

He could feel her shame, her breathlessness, the remnants of her sickly heat still clinging to her skin as she refused to meet his gaze. But she felt him. Of that, he was certain.

'Still enjoying the show? ... Maybe now you will clean these filthy floors.'

At that, he did smirk. Slowly. Lazily. His head tilted, lips curling, the amusement in his expression dark and unkind.

"Oh, no, Ilith," he murmured, his voice deep and low, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. He turned, striding toward the doorway, his pace slow and deliberate. "You can clean up your own mess. And if you must know I---"

The air shifted. Nikolai’s expression, so often taunting and insufferable, went deathly still. Colour drained from his face as his head tilted slightly, listening—sensing. Something. Someone.

In an instant, the fire was snuffed out, his shadows surging forth like living ink, swallowing the flames and plunging the room into a thick, smothering silence. The acrid scent of charred wood and seared meat clung to the air, masking hers. It would have to be enough.

His gaze snapped to her, sharp and urgent. "If you listen to nothing else I ever say—stay here. Stay hidden." His voice was low, measured, but edged with something she had never heard from him before.

Fear.

“There are far worse monsters than me, Ilith. Monsters I cannot protect you from. Do not come out until I come get you." he warned.

Then, the voice came.

"Niiikolai…"

It wasn’t just a sound—it was the air, seeping into the walls, into his bones. It slithered through the manor, curling around every surface, thick and cloying like poisoned honey. The syllables stretched and layered, whispers upon whispers, echoing in on themselves until they weren’t just words, but a presence—a thing pressing down on his lungs.

Nikolai inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing as though something unseen had hooked into him, pulling.

"Where are you, my love? Why do you keep me waiting?"

His breath stilled, his jaw clenched against some unseen force. For the first time since she had met him, he looked powerless.

His eyes flicked to hers, just for a second, something unreadable flashing behind that violet gaze—then the shadows took him, swallowing him whole. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the dark.

 

[Sadie]

For a breath, one fragile and fleeting second, Sadie could do nothing but stare at the empty space where he had stood before vanishing into the shadows.

Nikolai...

The name- his name- clung to her mind like a brand, searing and undeniable. It should have meant nothing after weeks and weeks of begging, it was just another piece of an impossible puzzle she had no desire to solve. But it did mean something. And the way the female's voice had said it- my love- it unraveled something tight and unrecognizable. Something that hurt.

She swallowed hard, trying to shake the nerves of seeing him like that, trying to obey his orders. He had told her to stay, to remain hidden until he came back for her. That was what she needed to focus on. Not the fear she had seen on his face for the first time. Not the way his voice, so often laced with amusement or cruelty, had turned raw and urgent. Not the way she beckoned him like a siren. Not the way he listened. Especially not the way he looked at her just before he vanished.

Her stomach twisted again, a fresh wave of sickness clawing up her throat. She hoped when Nikolai returned, if he returned, that he would be proud she didn't vomit all over the cold stone floor again, but rather a pot with little more than a dead plant inside. Her body convulsed for a few short minutes, raw meat coming back up and burning all the way. Her wings twitched uselessly as she gasped through the tremors wracking her small frame.

She had to move. She had to go.

Shaking, she pushed herself up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she stumbled out of the kitchen, headed towards the bedroom she'd been given. Something felt wrong. Gods, the entire house felt wrong now, like it was watching, waiting for something. Every breath felt too loud. Every flutter of her wings, monumental. Every step was a risk, but she made it to the hallway, legs weak beneath her as she pressed forward.

But then she heard it. Voices.

They came from a study, low and weaving. Too quiet to make out clearly, but clear enough to hear the saccharine melody of her voice as she addressed Nikolai. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as her fingers curled against the wall. She didn't want to know who was speaking. She didn't want to hear the words passed between them. It ached.

Sadie forced her feet to move, hurrying up the stairs as quickly and silently as she could, her pulse a wild and frantic drum in her ears. The second she made it inside, she locked the door quietly checked the latch until she was sure it couldn't give. And then, she hid.

She shoved herself into the tightest space she could find under the bed, her wings crammed painfully against her back. She curled her body inward into a fetal position, pressing her forehead to her knees and squeezing her eyes shut. I am fine. She repeated in her mind, willing her breaths to steady. I just have to stay here. I have to wait. I. Am. Fine.

And she had to pretend that hearing her voice hadn't made something deep inside Sadie splinter.

 

[Nikolai]

The moment Nikolai stepped into the study, the air thickened, laced with something cloying and inescapable. Morrwyn did not simply arrive—she occupied, her presence pressing against the very walls, making the space hers by virtue of existence alone.

She lounged, draped over his chair like a queen upon her throne, the dark silk of her gown pooling around her in lazy waves. Crimson eyes lifted, burning embers in the dim candlelight, and the faintest tilt of her head betrayed her amusement.

"There you are… Have I interrupted something more important?" Her voice was spun from shadow and silk, smooth, laced with knowing. She inhaled, her delicate nose wrinkling ever so slightly. Smoke. Animal blood. It clung to him, attempting to mask what lay beneath.

"Of course n—"

"Come here." she interrupted, crooking her finger at him.

The command cut through him like a blade through silk, soft but inevitable. "Haven't you missed me.." She did not ask if he had missed her—she stated it as fact, as if his longing were as natural as the pull of the tides. As if he could be capable of anything but missing her.

She unfolded herself from the chair with effortless grace, stepping forward until she reached the edge of his desk, where she perched lightly, elegant fingers reaching for him. Nikolai moved as she bid, as he always did.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him in closer, her head tilting as she breathed him in, the sharp gleam of her teeth flashing as she exhaled. “How disappointing.” The words were laced with mockery, though her hands still smoothed over him, dragging through his damp curls. “You reek of filth. Smoke. Blood. But underneath it all…”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze darkening as she leaned in, her breath a whisper against his throat. “There you are.”

She was searching, sifting through the scents, peeling back the layers of what lingered on his skin to find him beneath it all.

Her fingers trailed through his hair, her slender brow furrowing as her eyes searched his face. "What is wrong, my love? Are you not pleased to see me?"

Nikolai did not hesitate, though the effort it took to force his lips into a familiar smirk was far greater than it should have been. "Always, My Queen." His voice was low, a reverent rumble, polished into something pleasing for her.

Morrwyn hummed, watching him closely, as if she could unravel his mind with a glance. Then, her head tipped to the side, baring the elegant curve of her throat, an unspoken invitation, a reminder of what was expected. One finger trailed over the porcelain skin there, the movement deliberate, a silent beckoning.

“Please me.”

It was not a request.

And so, as he always did, Nikolai obeyed.

 

[Sadie]

She wanted to stop hearing. She wanted to unmake the last few minutes, to crawl deep inside herself and vanish from existing. She needed to scrub the sound of her voice, smooth and soft, from her ears. To erase the name she had only just learned. To forget the way he looked at her before vanishing. But she couldn't.

Even hidden beneath her bed, knees curled all the way to her chest with her wings aching to move, she heard her. She felt her. The weight of her presence filled every inch of the house, pressing in, filtering through the cracks in the floors and walls like thick smoke. And Nikolai...He moved within it. Within her. Like he belonged to her.

The thought slithered through her like poison. Burning and bitter. She had mistaken him for weeks, thinking him untouchable, cruel, unknowable. But she knew him. Too well. She spoke his name like it was hers to own and he answered to her, as if he believed it too.

And now- Gods. Now, she was moaning. The sound echoed through the empty house, through her bones, curling around her like hands of shadow. She clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to will herself to block it all out. To unhear the way he answered to her.

Her stomach twisted violently. For a moment, she wondered if it was more of the raw meat coming back up. She pressed a hand over her mouth, but it did nothing to stop the wave of nausea coming up her throat. There was barely enough time to pull herself from her hiding spot, to sprint into the adjacent bathing room and close the door behind her, before she was heaving. Her body betrayed her as she gagged. Bitter, hot and humiliating. But she couldn't stop it.

It was the sound of them. It was knowing. The fact that she felt something about any of it. Something ugly and wrong and unexplainable. Feelings she had no right to feel.

She was nothing. She was a prisoner. A mortal with a pathetic mortal lifespan. A girl with a mundane job and no friends and barely enough of anything to keep herself alive.

But she was a creature to be trained, to be tamed, and to be used. He had taken her from one cage and put her in another. And yet, something in her ached, deep and dull and wretched at the way she owned him.

The way he let her.

She bit down on a towel, muffling her uneven breaths, forcing herself to still. She forced herself to try and remain as small and insignificant as she felt in the corner of the room. She was mortified to feel the way she did. She couldn't afford to care that he had feelings. Feelings that he could show to someone else. Feelings that weren't just the cruel and snide remarks he'd spent the better part of a month instilling in Sadie.

She pulled herself in tight. She would do what he told her to do. Stay hidden. Wait. She would forget it all. It would not matter. Even as her heart pounded like it already did matter.