Chapter 6: Quinn

The sound of the door unlocking is soft, but I feel it like a gunshot. Not because it’s loud. It isn’t. It’s slow, like whoever is on the other side wants me to know he’s coming. That kind of confidence isn’t just arrogant, it’s dangerous. And there’s only one man in this fortress who moves like that.

I pull the blanket tighter around my body, even though the gown I’m still wearing barely qualifies as fabric. It doesn’t offer warmth or modesty or armor, but it’s what I’ve got, and right now I need anything that makes me feel less exposed.

My bare foot grazes the cold stone floor, the chain clinking softly with the movement. The cuff hasn’t loosened. Not even a little. Whatever illusion of safety I might’ve clung to during the night dissolves instantly as the heavy door swings open.

He fills the frame before he even takes a step. Kieran Volkov doesn’t just enter a room, he owns it the second his shadow touches the threshold. His shoulders are squared, face impassive, expression carved from ice.

No shirt, again, because of course not. The tattoos across his chest and arms look darker in the early morning light, shadows dancing across muscle and ink like they’re alive. His eyes catch mine immediately, and they don’t waver.

There’s no softness. No humor. Just focus. Like I’m prey, and he’s already decided how I die.

My mouth is dry before he even speaks.

“You’re awake,” he says flatly. Not a question. Just a fact. His voice is deep, edged with warning. There’s something colder about it than yesterday.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” I say, trying to sit a little straighter on the edge of the bed, my voice dry with nerves I try and fail to mask. “This mattress is made of nightmares and unresolved trauma.”

His gaze doesn’t flicker. “You’re still making jokes.”

I shrug, forcing a thin smile I don’t feel. “It’s kind of my thing. Coping mechanism, sarcasm, bad decisions—take your pick.”

He takes a slow step forward. The door closes behind him with a heavy click that makes my stomach twist. The air shifts immediately. He doesn’t even have to say anything. I feel it. The tension crackling between us like the room’s holding its breath. He’s close enough now that I can smell the sharp scent of his skin; smoke, cedar, and something feral.

He stops at the foot of the bed, his eyes dropping briefly to the chain still locking me in place before sliding back up to mine.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he says quietly. Too quietly. That kind of quiet is more dangerous than shouting.

I swallow, my throat tight. “Good. Because I haven’t lied.”

“You haven’t told the truth, either.”

I let out a short laugh, sharp and too loud. “Maybe that’s because I don’t know what the truth is right now. I woke up in a body that’s not mine, in a dress I would never wear. So forgive me if I’m not giving clear answers while my reality melts around me.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. “You know things you shouldn’t. You say things no outsider should know. You speak like someone who’s been watching us for years. You’re either a spy,” he says slowly, voice low and laced with something like venom, “or a witch. But if it turns out you’re both, I’ll gut you with my own hands.”

“Yeah?” I shoot back, voice tighter than I want it to be. “Well, I’d suggest you wait until I’m unchained. Unless you’re into murdering defenseless women who wake up smelling like your destiny.”

The growl that rumbles from his chest is not human. It’s low and guttural, the sound of something ancient and vicious rearing just beneath his skin. His fingers curl slightly, as if restraining the urge to tear something apart. He takes another step, and I instinctively move back, the chain jerking tight on my ankle.

“Where are you from?” he asks again, this time more dangerous. “Tell me what pack. What coven. What fucking realm you belong to.”

“I already told you, I don’t know,” I snap, even though my heart is hammering in my chest. “I don’t have a pack. I’m not from here. I’m not from any of this.”

“Then how did you get inside my territory?” he asks, voice harder now. “No scent trail. No guards alerted. No border breach. You fell from nowhere, during sentencing, and the first thing I knew was that the air smelled like fire and fate and you.”

I suck in a breath, trying to hold my ground, even though it feels like the walls are closing in. “I don’t know how I got here, Kieran. I swear to God. I was at my desk writing, and then everything went white. Next thing I know, I’m face down on your damn stone floor with a migraine and cleavage that could kill a man.”

His eyes darken, and he steps in so close I can feel the heat of his body, the power rolling off him like a second skin. “You will not mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you,” I say, my voice shaking despite myself. “I’m surviving you.”

He grabs the chain, yanks it hard, and I fall forward with a gasp, barely catching myself on my hands. He crouches then, crouches right in front of me like a wolf about to lunge, his eyes locked on mine.

“You’re lucky I haven’t killed you,” he says softly, voice like razors wrapped in silk. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because of that bond. But don’t mistake it for safety. Don’t think for one second that it protects you from me. You are mine only because I haven’t decided what you really are yet.”

My breath comes fast. Too fast. “And when you do?”

His eyes flicker, red burning like coals. “Then I’ll decide what parts of you I want to keep.”

He stands, and for a second I can’t move. My pulse is in my ears. My fingers tremble where they grip the edge of the mattress. My throat burns with the weight of everything I can’t say.

He moves to the door, hand on the handle, but he doesn’t look back. “You have until nightfall to figure out who you are,” he says. “After that… we stop pretending I’m patient.”

The door closes behind him with a sound that feels final.

I stay exactly where I am, heart racing, staring at the place he stood.

And for the first time since I got here, I’m not just confused.

I’m terrified.