My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack them open. Ramon—Kaelan—stood framed in the doorway like a storm cloud given form, his broad shoulders blocking the exit, his storm-gray eyes already blackening at the edges. He looked ready to kill. And for one frozen second, I believed he would.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Words died in my throat.
He stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with a soft, final click that echoed louder than any slam.
His gaze dropped to the shattered glass glittering across the floor like fallen stars. Then it lifted—slowly, deliberately—to me.
He crossed the room in three long strides.
Before I could form a single coherent sentence, his hand cracked across my cheek.
The slap rang out sharp and vicious. My head snapped to the side, fire exploding across my face. The metallic taste of blood bloomed on my tongue where my teeth had caught the inside of my lip.
"How dare you enter my room," he roared, voice low and trembling with fury.
Tears stung my eyes instantly, hot and traitorous. I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall in front of him. My cheek throbbed, skin already swelling, but the real pain was deeper—the humiliation, the helplessness, the raw injustice of it all.
Who does he think he is? The thought burned through me like acid. If his parents didn't hold my life in their hands—if I weren't trapped in this gilded cage with no pack, no wolf, no memory—I would have buried my fist in his face. I would have clawed his eyes out. I would have made him regret ever laying a finger on me.
I tried to step back, to put distance between us, but he caught my wrist in an iron grip.
The moment his skin touched mine, a violent spark shot up my arm—like lightning trapped under flesh. It wasn't pain. It was something worse: electric, intimate, wrong. My whole body jerked away on instinct, yanking my hand free so hard I stumbled.
He frowned, staring at his own palm like it had betrayed him.
"Won't you clean the mess you made?" he said, voice deceptively soft now.
Before I could answer, he shoved me forward—hard.
I lost my balance and went down. My palms slapped the stone floor to catch myself, but not fast enough. Sharp glass bit into my right hand. Pain flared hot and bright. I hissed through clenched teeth, lifting my hand to see blood welling from a jagged cut across my palm, dripping bright red onto the floor.
"Shall I lick it off?"
The voice was low, amused, wrong.
I whipped around.
Ramon was crouched in front of me now, eyes glowing a deep, unnatural crimson. His tongue—too long, unnaturally long—slid out slowly, deliberately, tracing the edge of his lower lip. The beast was there, staring out through his face, hungry and playful in the most horrifying way.
"Ahh!" The scream tore out of me before I could stop it.
I scrambled backward, heels slipping on glass, until my back hit the bedpost.
He laughed—not a full laugh, just a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through the room like distant thunder.
"Don't be scared, princess," he murmured, tilting his head as he crawled forward on all fours, slow and predatory. "I won't hurt you."
The smile that spread across his face was the creepiest thing I'd seen since waking up in that brothel cage—wider than human, too many teeth, eyes burning like coals. It wasn't Ramon anymore. Not fully.
"What… what are you?" I whispered, voice shaking.
My hand closed around the mop handle still leaning against the bed. I yanked it up and thrust the wooden end toward him like a spear, the soggy strings dangling uselessly.
He paused, then chuckled again—deeper this time, more amused.
"Oh, little key," he purred, crimson eyes flicking to the makeshift weapon. "You think that's going to stop me?"
He rose slowly to his full height, towering over me again. The red in his eyes dimmed slightly, but didn't vanish. His tongue retracted, normal length now, but the smile stayed—sharp, mocking.
"You broke something special to the little boy," the demon said, its voice a slow, velvet rasp that seemed to crawl under my skin. "Now he's sulking inside… hiding in the dark corners of his own mind. Poor thing. That picture was the only tether he had left to something soft. Something that wasn't me."
He took another step closer, boots deliberately grinding glass into the stone floor with each movement. The sound was small, sharp, intimate—like teeth scraping bone.
I pressed harder against the wall, palms flat against the cold stone, as if it could anchor me. My breath came in shallow bursts. "Please… don't come any closer."
He tilted his head, crimson eyes gleaming with lazy amusement. "Don't come any closer? Darling, I'm already inside the room. Inside him. And soon enough…" He spread his arms slightly, palms up, as if offering himself for inspection. "I'll be inside you too. Not in the fun way, mind you. Not yet."
My stomach lurched. "What do you want from me?"
"Want?" He laughed—low, rolling, the sound echoing unnaturally in the large chamber. "I want to know what makes you tick. What makes a wolfless, scentless, powerless little thing like you force me to pause. To listen. To pull back when every instinct screamed to rip your throat out and paint these walls with what's inside you."
He circled me now—slow, predatory, never quite touching but close enough that I could feel the unnatural heat radiating from his body.
"I've lived in this brat for years," he continued, voice almost conversational. "I've tasted his rage, his grief, his fear. I've fed on every scream he swallowed, every tear he refused to shed. And then you show up—fragile, trembling, no claws, no fangs—and suddenly I'm… curious."
He stopped directly in front of me, so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"Curious is dangerous for both of us, little key. Because curiosity makes me want to play. And I play rough."
I swallowed hard. "I'm not here to play games."
"Oh, but you already are." He leaned in until his breath ghosted across my cheek—hot, faintly sulfurous. "Every time you flinch, every time your heart races, every time you look at him like he's still worth saving… you feed me. You amuse me. And amusement is the only reason you're still breathing."
My knees trembled. I slid down the wall an inch before catching myself.
He crouched suddenly, bringing his face level with mine. The crimson in his eyes swirled like liquid fire.
"Tell me," he murmured, "what do you feel when he touches you? That little spark—that jolt that runs through both of you like lightning in a bottle. Does it scare you? Excite you? Does it make you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you're not as powerless as you think?"