In the deepest parts of the dungeons, where the air felt heavier, and whispers of old tales still lingered in the damp stone walls, Evelyn emerged from another cell at the far end. This space, almost resembling a room, had become a familiar retreat for her. Ever since her transformation, she'd found solace—or at least distraction—in visiting these secluded cells.
Her newfound existence as a vampire came with harsh realities, such as her disdainful relationship with sunlight. These visits, however, gave her purpose. Among the enigmatic beings imprisoned here, there was one who intrigued her most: the outcast Alpha Lycan. Intimidating and silent, he rarely uttered a word, yet Evelyn felt drawn to him, compelled to decipher the man who had singlehandedly survived a brutal battle against the strongest worldknown nine knights—or was it seven?
Her footsteps echoed softly as she approached the Alpha's cell. The Lycan, Darius, already knew she was coming. That faint, almost ethereal presence she carried was unmistakable. His piercing blue eyes tracked her as she drifted closer, a massive tome in her hands.
Evelyn lowered herself to the cold floor outside his cell, resting her back against the wall. She adjusted the book on her lap, fidgeting as she glanced at him, her silver eyes trying to gauge his mood.
"Good evening," she greeted, her voice light but tinged with the awkwardness that it always carried .
Darius didn't respond, his gaze unyielding and predatory. He loomed in the shadows, his chains clinking softly as he shifted.
Evelyn cleared her throat, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Should I congratulate you on your fight? I don't know if that's something you celebrate, but half the kingdom seems to be rejoicing, so… congratulations." She managed a strained, fleeting smile that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
Darius's piercing gaze flicked to the heavy book resting on her thighs as she continued, rambling in the way she often did when the silence grew too heavy. "You know, it's truly amazing how you singlehandedly took down all those—wait, should I say murdered or fought? Well, I guess it doesn't matter, because technically, you did commit murder. But you were forced, right? Were you forced?"
Her words hung in the air, unanswered. Evelyn sighed, staring into his unwavering blue eyes, feeling herself lose yet another one-sided battle.
"It doesn't matter," she said, exhaling deeply. "You're famous now, though. That's what I was trying to say. Everyone's talking about how you defeated those knights. Was it nine? No, wait—eight, because one of them—damn it, seven, because—"
"Princesses don't cuss."
Evelyn froze, her eyes wide as saucers. "What?" she gasped, barely believing her ears at the gravel voice that blessed her ears. "You just spoke." She leaned forward, her excitement bubbling over. "Oh my God, can you speak again? I have so many questions that need your answers!"
Darius didn't answer, his expression dark and unyielding as ever. Chained and bloodied from the recent punishments inflicted by the King's guards, he watched her with the same predatory intensity that always unsettled her.
"Please," Evelyn begged, inching closer to the cell. "Just one question."
Her night vision, something she'd been struggling to activate since her transformation, flickered on unbidden. The dim light of the dungeon sharpened, illuminating every detail of Darius's torn and battered body. Her breath hitched as she took in the gruesome wounds, the ragged flesh and dried blood marking his torso. Pity churned within her, softening her usually awkward demeanor.
"Why don't you use what you used in the arena to heal yourself?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Darius remained silent, his glare sharp enough to slice through steel.
"I'm just asking," Evelyn added quickly, as if to fill the oppressive quiet. Her gaze dropped back to his wounds, her mind racing. "They told me you used blood to heal. But your hands now—they're clean."
As her attention lingered on the injuries marring his abdomen, she failed to notice the subtle tension building in his massive frame. A second too late, she registered the sound of chains straining against stone.
In a flash, Darius lunged forward, the chains ripping free from the wall with a thunderous clatter. Evelyn's instincts took over, and she scrambled backward just as he reached the edge of the cell.
The Lycan's guttural growl reverberated through the dungeon, primal and menacing. Evelyn's dead heart pounded in her chest, her hands fumbling to grab her book as she stumbled to her feet. Without sparing another glance at his fearsome form, she turned and bolted, her footsteps echoing wildly as she fled the depths of the dungeon.
Behind her, Darius stood motionless at the edge of the cell, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the wall where she once sat . Slowly, he turned, his muscles flexing as he rolled his shoulders, the tension bleeding out of his powerful frame. His back was a canvas of scars, new and old, each telling a story of violence and defiance.
As he stared at the chains, a voice broke the silence—a silken, cunning voice that dripped with mockery, its tone almost feline in its slyness. "Oh, Darius, sweetheart," it purred, a low chuckle following like a shadow. "Even though you break these chains, you seem to forget the most crucial detail. Your precious Queen is in this castle, utterly unaware of who she is—or who you are. So stop this little rebellion, and just give Theron what he wants."
Darius didn't turn, his jaw tightening as the voice slithered on. "I promise," the voice continued, its tone syrupy with false sincerity, "as soon as we have what we need from your darling Queen, you'll be released. Free to live your life—if she survives the… plans I have planned for her. But that's entirely up to her, isn't it?"
Before Darius could respond, the woman's sharp, mocking laugh echoed in the chamber. She stepped closer to the cell, her purple gown trailing on the stone floor like a pool of spilled wine.
"Guards!" she called, her voice snapping like a whip.
The sound of heavy boots clattering down the dungeon stairs filled the air, the guards arriving within moments.
"Chain his feet and hands tighter this time," she commanded coldly, her expression unreadable as she cast a glance over Darius's battered form. "And bathe him. He'll be dining with the King of Lunareth and the Queen tonight, and I won't have him reeking of blood and sweat."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the guards answered in unison, stepping forward to obey.
"And once he's clean , bring him to me," she added, her lips curling in a smile that was anything but kind. "I'll heal his wounds—only to prepare him for the new ones."
With that, she turned and glided away, her gown sweeping behind her like a shroud, her presence leaving a chill in the air. The guards moved to restrain Darius once more, their chains clinking ominously as they prepared to enforce her cruel orders.
Darius remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on the retreating figure of the woman, a storm brewing behind his glacial eyes.