Escape

Reyna’s POV

Something wakes me up.

I don’t know what it is at first, just this weird prickling down my spine, like someone’s watching me. My heart is pounding, and my breath feels too loud in the silence.

Then I hear it.

A voice. Deep, smooth, possessive.

"Mine."

My body goes rigid.

I sit up so fast my head spins, my fingers clutching the blankets. The room is empty, but the air feels charged, like something is still here.

I swallow hard, my pulse racing.

I don’t know why, but my wrist tingles, the one where those strange symbols had appeared.

I rub at it, trying to make the feeling go away.

This is insane. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

And I know exactly who to blame.

Draven.

I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet hit the cold stone floor, and I shiver. The castle is always so cold, like the air itself refuses to hold warmth.

I don’t care.

I need to find him.

I need answers.

The hallway outside my room is dark, lit only by a few torches on the walls. The flames flicker, casting weird shadows on the stone.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I realize that immediately.

The castle is huge, and every hallway looks the same—tall stone walls, heavy wooden doors, eerie silence.

I keep walking, my arms crossed over my chest, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched. The shadows seem deeper here, stretching like clawed fingers along the floor.

I pass a window and stop dead.

The outside world is nothing but darkness. The sky is black, no stars, no moon. Just an endless void.

A chill races through me.

Where the hell am I?

I shake it off and keep moving. My heartbeat thuds in my ears, my breathing shallow.

Then I hear voices.

I freeze, pressing myself against the wall.

Two guards stand near a doorway, talking in low voices. They don’t notice me, and I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I catch one word.

Draven.

A shiver runs through me, but this time… it’s not just fear.

It’s something else.

I shake my head hard. No. No way.

I push past them, deeper into the castle.

I don’t know how, but I find him.

The room is massive, with a high ceiling and a giant fireplace that makes the shadows dance.

And there he is.

Draven.

Standing by the fire, one hand resting on the mantel, the other holding a glass of dark red liquid.

I don’t want to think about what it is.

He doesn’t turn right away, but I know he knows I’m here.

His hair is slightly messy, the dark strands falling just enough to soften his sharp, perfectly sculpted face. His suit is black—he’s always in black—but the collar of his shirt is slightly open, revealing just a glimpse of pale skin and a hard, chiseled collarbone.

I clench my fists. Why does he look like that?

It’s annoying.

And worse—worse than anything—my body reacts.

A flutter in my stomach. A heat curling low.

No. Nope. Not happening.

I shove the feeling down and glare at him.

“You,” I snap. “Stay out of my head.”

Finally, he looks at me.

His red eyes flick over me, slow, unreadable. Like he’s assessing something.

Then he smirks.

And my stomach flips.

“I wasn’t,” he says lazily.

Liar.

I storm toward him, my bare feet silent against the stone floor. “I don’t believe you. I keep hearing your voice—”

“You assume too much,” he interrupts smoothly.

His voice is dangerous—deep, slow, like silk over a blade.

I stop too close.

His scent hits me—something dark and intoxicating, like smoke and spice and something uniquely him.

I swallow hard, my throat dry.

He’s watching me now, his gaze sharp, focused. Like he’s trying to figure me out.

Then—too fast—he moves.

One second he’s by the fire. The next, he’s in front of me.

I suck in a breath, stepping back on instinct, but his hand shoots out.

Gripping my chin.

A sharp, dominant hold.

Not painful.

But firm.

His fingers are cool, but his touch sends fire racing through me.

I hate that I feel small in front of him.

That my body reacts even though I don’t want it to.

His red eyes flicker.

“You like picking fights, don’t you?” His voice is softer now, almost amused.

I glare. “You like controlling people, don’t you?”

His low chuckle makes my stomach tighten.

“Only the ones who belong to me.”

His thumb brushes my jaw lightly, and my knees nearly buckle.

I shove him away, my breath ragged. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Draven watches me with a slow smile, one that makes my skin heat.

“For now.”

I hate the way he says it, like he’s already won.

Like he knows something I don’t.

So I do the only thing I can.

I grab the closest thing—a book from the table—and hurl it at his head.

He catches it.

Without even looking.

I swear under my breath and storm away.

He calls after me, his voice infuriatingly calm.

“Go to bed, little one. You’re already tired of fighting me.”

I slam the door to my room so hard the walls shake.

My chest heaves, my hands trembling.

I hate him.

I hate that he thinks he can control me. That he thinks he can just own me.

And I hate even more that some part of me—some stupid, weak part—reacts to him.

I refuse to let him win.

I need to get out of here.

I glance at the window.

It’s a sheer drop. Cliffs below. No way out.

But there has to be another way.

I move quickly, grabbing a cloak from the chair and wrapping it around my shoulders. The castle has been a prison, and I don’t even know why I’m here.

Why is he keeping me?

Why won’t he let me leave?

And worst of all…

Why don’t I feel as scared as I should?

That thought terrifies me more than anything.

I need to go.

I push open the door and slip into the shadows.

I don’t care how big this castle is.

I don’t care how dangerous it is outside.

I am not staying here.