POV Natalie
Day two of this nightmare, and I’m pretty sure I’m dying. Not dramatically—just slowly, like a battery running down. Haven’t eaten anything substantial since they dragged me into this medieval torture chamber. Water’s been… inconsistent. And by inconsistent, I mean they’ve been using it as a weapon.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Avery’s face when they took me. The way she screamed my name like it was being torn from her throat. But that was days ago, and she hasn’t come.
Maybe she’s smart. Maybe she’s realized I’m not worth starting a war over. Maybe she’s back to her normal life, completing her mission with some other bloodsucker who won’t complicate her political future.
The thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Björn’s voice makes my skin crawl. He’s been visiting regularly, alternating between psychological torture and the regular kind. Today he looks especially pleased with himself, which probably means my day’s about to get infinitely worse.
“Let me guess,” I croak, because my voice is basically shot from all the screaming. “More story time about your murdered wives?”
“Actually, I have good news.” He settles into the chair he’s positioned specifically for these little chats. “The wedding’s been arranged.”
My blood turns to ice. “What wedding?”
“Avery’s wedding. To me. Three days from now.” His smile is pure poison. “She thinks it’ll save you, the stupid little wolf. Isn’t that precious?”
The words hit me like a physical blow. She’s actually doing it. Actually sacrificing herself for someone who was supposed to be her enemy.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? She marched into her father’s office two days ago and announced her intention to marry me. Very dramatic, very romantic. Very pointless.”
No. No, no, no. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to forget about me, move on, live her life. Not throw it away for someone who probably doesn’t deserve it.
“The beautiful part,” Björn continues, “is that she thinks you’ll be freed once we’re married. Like I’m some kind of honorable villain who keeps his word.”
“You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“Obviously. But not until after the ceremony. I want her to watch. Want her to understand exactly what her noble sacrifice accomplished.”
Something inside me snaps. Not breaks—snaps. Like a rubber band stretched too far, too fast.
The rage hits like a tidal wave. Pure, undiluted fury that tastes like copper and burns like acid. Every ounce of pain, every moment of humiliation, every second of hopelessness crystallizes into this single, perfect moment of absolute violence.
I lunge.
The silver chains burn, but I don’t care. Pain is just information, and right now the only information I need is how to tear this bastard’s throat out with my bare hands.
He wasn’t expecting it. For all his planning and psychological manipulation, he didn’t account for the kind of desperate strength that comes from having absolutely nothing left to lose.
My fist connects with his jaw hard enough to crack bone. He goes down, and I’m on him before he can recover, chain-wrapped hands seeking soft tissue and vital organs.
“You fucking—”
His claws rake across my face, opening gashes that immediately start bleeding. But I’ve got momentum and fifty-three years of pent-up rage on my side.
The chair crashes as we go down together. He’s stronger, but I’m beyond caring about tactical advantages. I just want to hurt him. Want to make him pay for every threat, every touch, every moment of terror he’s put me through.
Somehow, in the chaos of violence and screaming and the kind of brutal honesty that only comes from trying to murder someone with your bare hands, the chain around my left wrist snaps.
Then my right.
I roll away from him, blood streaming down my face, silver burns covering my arms, but free. Actually fucking free.
Björn’s on the ground, clutching his ribs, blood trickling from his mouth. “You little—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I’m already moving, already running, already pushing through the door and into the corridor beyond.
The compound’s a maze, but I don’t care. I just run, following instinct and desperation and the faint scent of forest air that means freedom.
Behind me, alarms start going off. Shouts. The sound of pursuit.
But I’m already gone, crashing through the trees, heading toward the only person who ever made me feel like I was worth saving.