Karmella's P.O.V
A key turned in the lock and the handle jiggled.
But I didn't flinch.
I watched through half-lidded eyes as the door creaked open and soft boots padded across the floor. The scent of herbs and iron trailed in, followed by the crisp, clean smell of a healer.
He was alone.
Good.
Maybe that meant no guards yet. No beatings.
Not yet.
He approached cautiously, a metal tray in hand. His posture was calm, practiced—like someone used to working around wild animals. His gaze flicked to my opened eyes, and he paused.
"You're awake," he said gently, as if he might startle me.
I didn't answer. My throat was still too raw. And I didn't, I couldn't trust him.
He set the tray down beside the bed and reached slowly for my arm, where the silver had burned through layers of skin.
"I'm Dr. Esryn. I need to check the wounds, just—"
His fingers brushed my wrist.
I snapped. I'm not sure why but panic completely overwhelmed me in a blink of an eye.
A scream tore from my throat—loud, cracked, primal—and I jerked away with more strength than he had expected, especially while chained in silver.
"No—don't—don't touch me!"
The tray clattered to the floor.
My whole body convulsed, limbs pulling against the restraints in blind panic. The cuffs sliced deeper into the already damaged flesh, but I didn't notice.
Didn't care.
Dr. Esryn raised both hands in retreat. "I'm not going to hurt you—listen to me, please—"
But I couldn't hear him.
My breath came in ragged gasps, my vision tunneled. All I could see were hands—grabbing, forcing, dragging me back into the dark. Back to my father.
I thrashed violently around ripping open old wounds. I could feel the blood slick against my skin. Yet my fear consumed me more than the pain ever could. I couldn't go back, I wouldn't. I would die before I ever stood in Victor's presence again.
That's when he stepped in.
The room dropped ten degrees the moment he entered. His power sucked the air from the chamber like a vacuum.
The silver-studded door slammed behind him.
I froze.
Everything inside me went still, like an animal recognizing the presence of a predator it couldn't outrun.
He said nothing at first.
Just stared. His emerald eyes locked me into place, as if he could see into my very soul itself.
Dr. Esryn cleared his throat and stepped aside. "She woke up just a few minutes ago. The restraints are aggravating the burns, but she—she won't let me treat them."
He didn't respond.
His eyes were locked onto mine.
I was pressed back into the mattress, shoulders shaking, arms stretched at awkward angles from the chains. My lips were cracked and sore. But my eyes...
They were wide and defiant.
Terrified.
But not broken.
My eyes always gave me away.
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, until he stood at the foot of the bed.
"Name," he said.
I didn't answer.
"Where did you come from?"
Still nothing, unable to part my lips.
He watched me like one would study a caged animal—not out of pity, but cold interest.
"I don't have patience for games, rogue."
My jaw trembled, but I said nothing.
"Speak," he commanded, voice low and edged with authority that could bend trees and bone alike. And I felt every bit of its weight.
But instead of a reply, I closed my eyes.
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
And deep within my chest…I briefly felt that same warm feeling I had felt in my dream.
It was faint. Internal. But present.
I both felt and heard the man's deep growl as it bounced off the walls around us.
Peeking from under my eyelashes I glanced at him.
His expression hardened.
"Keep her restrained," he said, turning to the doctor. "I want her strong enough to speak, not to fight. Clean the wounds, but use sedation if necessary. No visitors. No soft hands. No food. No water."
The doctor nodded, quiet and what looked to be almost reluctance. But I'm sure my eyes were just playing tricks on me.
He lingered at the door one last time, cold eyes meeting mine.
I know he didn't understand what I was.
He didn't understand why I wouldn't speak.
How could he understand, how could anybody.
The following days made me feel right back at home. Like I was under Victor's thumb yet again. My body ached with every breath I took. Swallowing became nearly impossible with how dry my mouth and throat were, I was no longer even producing saliva. Delirium was setting in. Nobody spoke to me. And the man with emerald eyes , he came in every night taunting me. He would come in alone carrying a single plate of warm food. Causing the smell to engulf the small space between us. My stomach turned in pain, hunger chewing away at my insides. He would ask me a single question. What was my name?
Yet I never answered.
Even though Victor was no longer around I came to realize that he was still with me. It's not that I necessarily didn't want to speak but speaking always got me in trouble. Whether it's what they wanted to hear or not. I was almost certain that death would await me the moment my lips parted.
I could tell by the third day that the man's patience was growing thin. I saw it in his eyes. Yet not one finger had been laid on me. Except for the healers working to bring me back from the brink of death.
I wondered sometimes if they would put all this work into me just to kill me without a second thought. I knew I should be scared of the man, fear him like all the others around him seem to do. I knew he was an alpha, I could feel his aurora brush against me every time he was around. Pressing in on me. Suffocating me. But I did not yield, I did not flinch. If he were to bring death to me, I had a feeling that he would at least be swift about it. I hoped he would.
Would it be worth it if I told him my name? I could beg for a quick death. But what if he wanted to send me back? What if I spoke my name, where I came from, and how I came to be upon his lands? Whether he believed me or not. What if he demanded I'd be returned. He might even bring Victor himself here. To collect me. If that's the case I knew my short-lived escape would be the last one I'd would ever have.