POV: Elara
The mansion was even more imposing from the inside. Darius—he'd finally given me his name, though he'd offered no explanation for his behavior—led me through a maze of corridors that seemed designed to disorient. Everything was expensive, elegant and cold. Like him.
My sneakers squeaked against marble floors that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Paintings that belonged in museums hung on the walls, their subjects seeming to watch me with knowing eyes. And everywhere, that sense of barely contained power that seemed to emanate from the man walking beside me.
"Your room," he said, stopping before a door that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.
"My room?" I tried to keep the hysteria out of my voice. "As in, the place where you're going to lock me up?"
His pale blue eyes met mine, and I saw amusement there. Actual amusement, as if my terror was entertaining.
"The lock is for your protection, not your imprisonment," he said. "There are... others... in this house who might not be as hospitable as I am."
Hospitable. Right. Kidnapping was apparently his version of Southern charm.
He opened the door, and despite my situation, I couldn't help but gasp. The room was beautiful—all cream silk and warm wood, with a window that looked out over gardens bathed in moonlight. A four-poster bed dominated the space, piled high with pillows that probably cost more than my car. It was the kind of room I'd dreamed about as a kid, when I'd fantasized about being a princess in a fairy tale.
Too bad the reality came with a psychotic captor instead of a charming prince.
"I trust you'll find everything you need," Darius said, leaning against the doorframe with predatory grace. "Clothes in the wardrobe, toiletries in the bathroom. Dinner will be brought up at eight."
"What if I'm not hungry?"
"You'll eat." The command in his voice made my spine straighten automatically. "You need to keep your strength up."
"For what?"
His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "For whatever comes next."
Before I could ask what that meant, he stepped back and pulled the door shut. The click of the lock was soft but final.
I was alone.
For a moment, I just stood there, trying to process what had happened. Three hours ago, I'd been driving home from a job interview, my biggest worry whether I'd remembered to update my references. Now I was locked in a stranger's mansion, held captive by a man who looked at me like I was either a puzzle to solve or prey to devour.
The smart thing would be to panic. To scream and cry and throw myself at the door until someone came to check on me. But something held me back—not fear, exactly, but a strange certainty that hysterics wouldn't help. Darius struck me as the type who would find feminine tears either boring or arousing and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of either reaction.
Instead, I explored.
The bathroom was a marble paradise with a shower big enough for three people and a bathtub that could double as a swimming pool. The walk-in closet was stocked with clothes in exactly my size—designer pieces that still had tags attached. As if he'd been expecting me.
That thought sent chills down my spine. How long had he been planning this? And why me?
I moved to the window, testing the lock. It opened easily, but when I looked down, my heart sank. Three stories up, with no convenient ivy or fire escape in sight. Even if I could somehow climb down, I'd seen the fence. And there had been others in the woods—I'd heard them moving, following me as I ran.
A soft knock interrupted my escape planning.
"Come in," I called, then realized how stupid that sounded. I was locked in.
The door opened to reveal a young woman carrying a silver tray. She was beautiful in an ethereal way, with platinum blonde hair and violet eyes that seemed too large for her delicate face. But there was something off about her, something that made my skin prickle with the same awareness I'd felt in the forest.
"Your dinner, miss," she said, setting the tray on a small table by the window. Her voice was soft, musical, but carried an undercurrent that raised goosebumps on my arms.
"Thank you..." I waited for her to give me her name.
"Luna." She straightened, smoothing her hands over her crisp uniform. "I'm to assist you with anything you might need."
"What I need is to leave."
Luna's laugh was like silver bells, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm afraid that's not possible, miss. Master Darius has been very clear about your... status."
Master Darius. The way she said it, with a combination of fear and reverence, made my stomach clench.
"What exactly is my status?"
"You're his guest." But the way she said 'guest' made it clear that it was a euphemism for something far less pleasant.
"And if I don't want to be his guest anymore?"
Luna tilted her head, studying me with those unsettling violet eyes. "That would be... unwise. Master Darius doesn't like to be disappointed."
"What happens when he's disappointed?"
For a moment, Luna's composed mask slipped and I saw something raw and terrified in her expression. Then it was gone, replaced by that same serene smile.
"Eat your dinner, miss. You'll need your strength."
The same words Darius had used. I was beginning to think it was some kind of house motto.
After Luna left, I stared at the tray. The food looked incredible—some kind of gourmet chicken dish with vegetables I couldn't name and a sauce that smelled like heaven. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
But what if it was drugged? What if eating it meant accepting some kind of twisted hospitality that would bind me to this place?
I was still debating when I heard voices in the corridor outside my door. Male voices, speaking in low, urgent tones.
"—can't seriously be considering—"
"It's not your place to question my decisions, Marcus."
Darius. I crept closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.
"She's human," the other voice—Marcus—continued. "The council will never—"
"The council will accept what I give them. Nothing more, nothing less."
"And if she's not the one? If the prophecy—"
"Then I'll deal with the consequences. But I won't let her leave. Not now."
"She'll fight you. Humans always do, at first."
"Let her fight." There was dark amusement in Darius's voice. "It will make her surrender all the sweeter."
Their footsteps moved away, leaving me alone with the echo of those words. Prophecy. Council. And that last part about fighting and surrender that made my blood run hot and cold simultaneously.
I moved back to the window, staring out at the moonlit gardens. Whatever was happening here, whatever Darius wanted with me, it was bigger than simple kidnapping. I was caught up in something I didn't understand, with people who weren't entirely human—I was sure of that now.
The question was: what was I going to do about it?
As if summoned by my thoughts, a figure emerged from the shadows below my window. Darius, still in that perfectly pressed suit, walking through his garden like he owned the night itself. As I watched, he stopped directly beneath my window and looked up.
Even from three stories away, I could feel the weight of his gaze. Could see the predatory satisfaction in his posture.
He'd known I was watching. Had wanted me to see him.
Had wanted me to know that no matter where I went in this house, he would always be aware of me.
Our eyes met across the distance, and his lips curved in that sharp smile. Then he lifted his hand in a mockery of a wave and disappeared back into the shadows.
I jerked back from the window, my heart hammering. But the damage was done. The message had been received loud and clear.
I was his now, whether I wanted to be or not.
The only question was what he planned to do with me.