Chapter 4

The next morning, or what I guessed was morning, since the windows were permanently tinted, I was woken by the sound of a tray being placed on the edge of the bed.

Raw meat. And berries. And a tiny glass of something thick and red.

Blood?

I shoved it away.

The maid, or guard, or whatever she was, said nothing. She just stood at the doorway in a blood-red dress, staring like she wanted to be anywhere else.

“You’re scared of him,” I said quietly.

She didn’t deny it. “Everyone is.”

“But you work for him.”

“We survive him.”

That hit me like a slap.

I waited until she left, then paced the room. My fingers tugged at the velvet choker again and again. But I couldn’t get it off. The clasp was hidden, or magical, or maybe it didn’t even have one. Maybe it sensed when I wanted to rebel.

And tightened.

There were no windows in the penthouse that actually opened. Just floor-to-ceiling glass that mocked the idea of escape. I checked every vent, every drawer, every cabinet. Nothing useful. No phone. No signal. No way out.

But then… music.

Faint.

From another room.

A piano.

And a voice.

His voice.

I crept toward the sound, heart hammering.

The hallway led to a music room, massive, circular, padded in soundproof black foam. Vexx sat at a sleek grand piano, shirtless, his back to me, tattoos curling down his spine like inked shadows.

He was playing.

Not well.

His fingers were too stiff, too careful. But it was… Clair de Lune.

Again.

I watched in silence until he stopped. His hands dropped onto the keys, defeated.

“I used to play,” he said without turning. “Before I knew what war tasted like.”

I stayed in the doorway. “You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Music isn’t sentimental. It’s survival. For you. For me. For the wolves.”

I stepped in slowly. “Why does it affect you like that?”

He didn’t answer.

So I tried something.

I walked to the bench, sat beside him, and without permission, played the first notes of the melody myself.

He didn’t stop me.

But I felt the shift in him immediately.

His muscles tensed.

His breath hitched.

And then his hand shot out, gripping the side of the piano again.

“Don’t,” he growled.

“You said sing.”

“I said try,” he snapped. “I didn’t say touch me.”

I stopped playing.

The tension between us was electric now. The kind that makes your skin itch and your thoughts turn feral.

“Why do you shake when I sing?” I asked, quietly.

He stared down at his hands. “Because my wolf… doesn’t want to dominate you. He wants to kneel.”

My lips parted.

“What?”

He stood abruptly, like the truth had made him too vulnerable.

“I can’t afford weakness, Kessia. Not in front of the pack. Not in front of my enemies. But you...” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “You undo me.”

I stood too, stepping closer. “You chained me to a piano. You leashed me like a dog. And now you want me to feel sorry for you?”

His eyes met mine. “No. I want you to understand.”

“Understand what? That you’re some tragic monster?”

“No,” he said, his voice darkening again. “That you’re the only thing keeping that monster from killing everything he sees.”

My breath caught.

He stepped closer.

“Every Alpha has a weakness,” he said. “A scent, a voice, a bond. Yours is my migraine.”

I frowned. “What?”

He touched his temple. “Chronic. Deep. Ripping through the skull. Years. Nothing helps. But you? One note from your throat and it’s gone.”

I stared at him, stunned.

He grabbed my wrist gently. “So tell me, little siren. If I can’t survive without your voice… are you my prisoner?”

I yanked away.

But something in me had shifted.

And I knew he saw it.

He turned away again, like he was done, like he’d said too much.

But I wasn’t done.

“You say you own me,” I said, voice soft. “But you can’t even control yourself around me.”

He paused.

Then, over his shoulder:

“Exactly.”

The door opened with a soft hiss.

Two enforcers stepped into the music room. Dressed in black, identical. Sharp shoulders. Wolf eyes. Their presence sucked the air from the space like a vacuum.

One of them gave a small nod to Vexx. “They’re ready.”

Vexx didn’t even look at them. His back remained to us as he stared out the tall window, hands still resting on the piano keys like he was clinging to the one part of himself that hadn’t turned to iron yet.

He stood slowly. Every movement of his body was deliberate, calculated, animal.

“Walk with me,” he said without looking at me.

I didn’t move. “What happens if I say no?”

He finally turned to face me. “Then I’ll carry you.”

I rolled my eyes but started walking. I knew what I was, leashed or not, I was still a showpiece. A weapon in a velvet ribbon. And now he wanted to parade me like a trophy in front of his pack.

As we moved through the marble halls of his penthouse tower, Vexx didn’t say a word. The two guards flanked us like shadows, silent and twitching with wolf tension.

The elevator was waiting.

This time when the doors slid open, the floor wasn’t obsidian. It was stone. Real stone, scarred, worn, ancient-looking. And the air inside the elevator reeked of musk and sweat and wet fur.

Vexx pressed his palm against a hidden panel. A series of numbers lit up in blood-red LED.

B2.

The elevator dropped.

Fast.

My stomach fluttered, not just from speed but from something deeper. Fear mixed with anticipation. Whatever was waiting below us… it wasn’t normal. I felt it in my bones.

The elevator finally stopped with a low thud.

The doors opened.

And the first thing I saw… was eyes.

Dozens of them.