Chapter 2 up
“Take off your clothes.”
The order fell into the room without anger, without raised volume—so calm that my knees nearly gave way beneath me.
I stood frozen in the center of the stone chamber. The fireplace burned low, its embers breathing softly, shadows crawling along the walls. In that shifting light, Aethern’s silhouette appeared even larger, more unreachable, as though he were not entirely real but something carved from dominance and fire.
This was not a bedroom.
It was a cell disguised as luxury, crafted to make its occupant forget they were still a captive.
“I will not repeat myself,” he said.
My hands moved before my thoughts could catch up. The first button came undone. Then the second. The third. Each small motion felt like a confession—that I was still alive, and because of that, still subject to command. When the gown slipped from my shoulders and pooled at my feet, I felt exposed in a way that went far beyond bare skin.
I was fragile.
Too fragile to stand before a creature like him.
He did not touch me.
That was far worse.
Aethern began to circle me slowly, his steps unhurried, deliberate, like a predator that already knew its prey would not flee. His presence pressed in from every direction, his Alpha aura wrapping around my senses until my Omega instincts screamed for me to kneel again, to bow my head, to beg.
I clenched my hands at my sides and held myself upright.
If I surrendered now, I knew I would never stand again.
“You know,” he said at last, his voice calm, almost conversational, “Omegas usually cry at this point.”
“I’m not a typical Omega,” I replied.
Silence fell.
Not empty silence—but the kind that sharpened the air, heavy and dangerous.
He stopped directly in front of me. His hand lifted, and my breath caught painfully in my chest. But his fingers halted mere inches from my skin, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him without contact.
“True,” he said quietly. “That is why you are still alive.”
I didn’t know whether that was meant as a compliment or a threat.
He stepped back and lowered himself into a large chair near the hearth, crossing one leg over the other. Firelight danced across his features as he studied me like an unsolved riddle—one he had not yet decided was worth answering.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I hesitated. “Where?”
“On the floor.”
I obeyed.
The cold stone pressed against my thighs, grounding and humiliating all at once. The position forced me lower than him in every possible sense. He wanted me to remember my place.
“Tell me about your clan,” he said.
I swallowed. “There is nothing worth telling.”
“There is nothing uninteresting about betrayal.”
The word tightened something in my chest.
“They gave you to me because they were afraid,” he continued, as though reading the truth straight from my bones. “Not because you are useless. But because something about you is wrong.”
“What is wrong with me?” I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it.
He leaned forward slightly. “I don’t know yet.”
That answer frightened me more than any insult ever could.
Time moved strangely within that room. There were no windows, no clock to mark the hours. Only him. Only me. Only the silence growing thicker with every breath. I began to understand that this night was not about my body.
It was about my will.
About how long I could endure before I broke.
“You haven’t begged,” he observed after a long while.
“What would be the point?”
“Usually, it is the point of living.”
I stared into the fire. “If living means kneeling forever, then maybe dying is more honest.”
For the first time, something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Not mockery.
Caution.
“Do not speak of death as though you understand it,” he said coldly. “I have watched Omegas beg to die—then beg to live five seconds later.”
“I’m not them.”
“Everyone thinks that,” he replied.
He stood, and once again the room seemed to shrink around his presence. I didn’t move. If this was the end, I would face it without running.
Instead, Aethern removed his inner coat and tossed it toward me.
“Put it on,” he said.
I caught it reflexively, startled. The garment was heavy, warm, carrying his scent—metal, fire, and something indefinable. Protection. Or a mark.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I haven’t decided yet,” he answered. “And until I do, what is mine will not be damaged.”
That word—mine—should have shattered me.
Strangely, it didn’t.
He turned toward the inner door of the sleeping chamber, pausing without looking back. “You will sleep here.”
“On the floor?” I asked.
“No.” His voice was flat. “On the bed.”
My heart pounded violently. “And you?”
“I do not sleep,” he said. “I stand watch.”
It shouldn’t have been comforting.
Yet somehow, it was better than being alone.
I lay stiffly on the edge of the bed, my body tense, every sense alert. I heard his movements in the outer room—the soft placement of his sword, the fire being lowered. There was no touch. No further command. Only his presence—constant, heavy, unavoidable.
In the darkness, a realization caught in my throat.
This was not an ordinary prison.
It was a cage built for something he did not yet understand—and perhaps was not yet ready to release.
I closed my eyes, clutching his coat like a final anchor.
If this was a night without prayers…
Then I would survive without asking for mercy.