Armish's POV
Warmth.
Heavy, strange, suffocating warmth — like being wrapped in velvet with a hint of fever haze clinging to her skin.
Her mind floated somewhere between sleep and that weird, foggy space where dreams and memories tangle. Disjointed images flickered behind her closed eyes — fragments that didn't belong to her… yet felt painfully familiar.
Laughter.
It echoed down endless marble corridors, bright and carefree.
Children's giggles ricocheted between towering pillars.
Silken robes rustled like whispers of wind.
The faint scent of wildflowers mixed with something… ancient.
And sunlight — blindingly bright, pouring through crystal windows too grand to exist in real life.
Armish didn't recognize any of it.
But somehow, she knew those five blurred figures — their golden and silver cloaks glinting as they laughed, their faces hidden behind fog. A woman's hand extended toward her — soft, glowing fingers brushing her cheek — warmth pulsing with something far older than time itself—
Darkness slammed down.
Her eyes snapped open, breath hitching as her heart lurched in her chest.
Instant regret.
"Ugh…" Her voice sounded like she'd swallowed sandpaper.
Her throat burned. Her body ached. Every bone and muscle protested like she'd been dropkicked into next week by a raging elephant.
She tried to sit up, wobbling like a toddler learning to walk.
Okay… this wasn't her crummy little apartment.
Above her, vaulted ceilings stretched impossibly high, carved with silver vines that glittered faintly in the candlelight. Velvet curtains framed towering windows. Tapestries embroidered with glowing runes draped the walls, the symbols pulsing softly, like they were alive.
Armish's brain froze.
"Where the—?"
Her gaze snagged on a polished silver mirror beside the bed — and nearly passed out again.
"Oh hell no."
Her reflection? A walking disaster.
Her wild brown hair was a tangled nest of frizz and chaos, like she'd been wrestling porcupines in her sleep. Faint bruises marred her collarbone and the strange silk garment clinging to her small frame looked like some ancient royal pajama disaster.
She poked her face, squinting.
"Cool. I'm half-dead, bruised, wearing moon pajamas, and… apparently kidnapped by fairytale royalty?"
Panic simmered beneath the sarcasm, but her curiosity burned brighter.
With great effort, she slid off the massive bed, her bare feet sinking into plush carpets that probably cost more than her entire existence.
The silence unnerved her — heavy, suffocating. No sounds of life, not even footsteps or distant chatter.
"Fantastic. Haunted vampire castle. Love that for me."
She inched toward the door, every movement making her body scream in protest.
The hallway outside stretched long and eerily quiet, lanterns glowing faint blue along the walls. The marble floors gleamed like glass, reflecting intricate patterns of wolves and stars carved into the stone.
Armish whispered under her breath,
"Yep… vampire dungeon aesthetic confirmed. I knew binge-watching fantasy shows would get me murdered eventually."
Step by careful step, she crept along the endless corridor.
The walls loomed, etched with strange silver markings that seemed to hum as she passed. Her fingertips brushed the cold stone for stability, still dizzy, but curiosity urged her forward.
After a few turns, she stumbled upon a towering arched window — framed in polished silver, like something from a gothic fairytale.
Her breath caught.
Outside…
An entire kingdom sprawled before her eyes.
Rolling emerald forests stretched for miles, their canopies rippling like waves. Silver rivers snaked across the land. Nestled along towering castle walls, a town buzzed with distant movement — rooftops sloped with blue tiles, narrow streets weaving between quaint stone homes.
The castle itself? Unreal.
Spires sliced into the clouds, massive banners bearing unfamiliar sigils fluttered in the wind. Bridges arched between towering peaks, the whole structure gleaming under soft sunlight.
"Whoa…" she breathed, fogging the glass.
For a heartbeat, wonder drowned the panic.
But then reality snapped back.
Strange place. Weird clothes. Mystery fever. Zero idea how she got here.
She turned from the window, legs trembling like Jell-O. Her knees buckled awkwardly—
"Ah crap—!"
Armish tripped, arms flailing wildly.
She collided hard with the floor, silk robes tangling around her legs as pure instinct forced a shriek from her lungs:
"AAAAAAAAAAH—!"
The scream ricocheted down the endless corridors like an alarm bell in a cathedral.
Elsewhere…
Zarek's entire body snapped rigid.
The familiar, fragile scent of his mate hit his senses first — followed by that blood-curdling scream.
His heart seized. His wolf snarled awake beneath his skin, pacing, furious.
Without hesitation — he ran.
The marble floor cracked beneath his heavy boots as he tore through the castle, guards stumbling aside, startled by the raw panic radiating off their king.
His pulse thundered, silver eyes flashing with protective rage.
His mate. Screaming.
Nothing else mattered.
If someone had harmed her—!
No reasoning. No caution. His beast demanded action — demanded she be safe, in his arms, where no one could touch her.
And down the hall…
Flat on her back, tangled in silk, mortified beyond belief…
Armish groaned, glaring up at the ceiling.
"…I swear, this castle hates me."
Unaware that in mere seconds, her terrifying, silver-eyed mate was going to crash into her life like a damn hurricane.