Chapter 4

CALYX'S POV 

I'm slowly coming to consciousness, like I'm being dragged out of a dark pit. My head is pounding, my body feels heavy, and for a moment, I have no idea where I am. 

The smell of burning herbs is still stuck in my nose, mixed with something sweet and floral, like jasmine and honey. But this scent is all wrong - it's too soft, too delicate. I snap my eyes open. I'm not in that cavern anymore.

As I look up, I see a vaulted ceiling with gold patterns swirling across it, like the veins on a leaf. My eyes move down to the silk-covered walls, thick carpets, and the huge, luxurious bed I'm lying on. It's so big it could swallow me whole, with sheets softer than anything I've ever felt. 

But here's the thing - I'm chained to it. Panic sets in, and I tug at the restraints. Golden chains, which look delicate but are actually super strong, keep my wrists tied to the bedposts. 

The metal glows slightly, humming with a weird warmth, like it's alive. I'm breathing fast, trying to break free, but the chains won't budge.

I'm trapped in a beautiful, luxurious cage. The panic inside me turns to rage. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding. That monster thinks he can lock me up in silk and gold and pretend it's kindness? I'm seething. 

The sound of footsteps approaching makes my heart skip a beat. The doors swing open, and a group of women walk in. 

They're silent, their heads bowed, hands folded. They're servants, dressed in pale silks, their faces empty of emotion. Not one of them looks me in the eye.

They get to work without a word. Their hands are all over me, pulling, guiding, and stripping off what's left of my clothes. 

A warm cloth scrapes against my skin, making me flinch. I try to push them away, but it's no use. They're efficient, treating me like a doll that needs to be cleaned and dressed. 

"Stop," I croak, trying to shove them off. But the chains on my wrists burn as I try to move. "Don't touch me." They just keep working, silent and expressionless.

Hot water pours down my back, filled with the scent of roses and something sharp, herbal. I try to fight it, to push them away, but I'm too weak. 

The magic that binds me to Iskander still lingers inside me, a heavy weight that won't lift. The worst part isn't the way they're touching me, or the silence, or the way they're handling me like a puppet. 

The worst part is that it feels like they're preparing me for my own funeral. They're not dressing me to live - they're dressing me to die.They wrap me in silken robes that feel like they're made of air, dyed a deep red color that reminds me of crushed rubies. 

The fabric clings to my body, making me feel naked and vulnerable. It's like I'm wearing chains, not clothes. 

A golden collar is locked around my neck, humming with that same creepy warmth as the chains on my wrists. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

The last servant to touch me is an older woman with rough, calloused hands that are surprisingly gentle. She carefully fastens the clasps on my wrists, making sure everything is perfect. 

And then, for the first time, she looks me straight in the eye. Her eyes are dark and haunted. "You're not the first," she whispers. Her words send a shiver down my spine. What does she mean? The first what?

I furrow my brows with confusion, my questions piquing. Just as I part my lips to say something, she suddenly grasps me tightly around my wrists, her eyes literally giving warning signals for me to stay quiet. 

“The others before you…” she begins once again in a low, hushed tone. “They tried, but didn't succeed. They didn't last long” 

As she says those words, my blood turns cold. What does she mean by that? 

“Why?” I ask, my voice also a whisper. “What happened to them? Pls?” 

The woman let go of my wrists, her eyes scanning the surroundings. She then brings out a little piece of clothing she's been hiding all along. 

“All you need is in here” 

For a moment, I think she's going to give me an answer to my question but much to my suprise, she suddenly spins her heels and walks away briskly, leaving my questions hanging. 

Just as she left, the other servants began walking out of the room, leaving me all alone with my thoughts. 

What did she mean by that? The other girls? How many were before me and where the hell are the girls now? The more my thoughts race, the more agitated I become, my heart pounding Vigorously in my chest. 

Could they be dead? Or maybe something far worse must have happened to them? 

I bite down on my lower lips, almost cracking it. The hairs on my skin rise in fear and I suddenly break into a cold sweat. I'm not safe here and my life is literally hanging on a thin thread. 

I wasn’t the first, that is for sure and I have no idea if I would be the last.

*****

Buried in my thoughts, I have no idea that a lot of time has already passed.  

The chamber is eerily quiet, the only thing I can hear is the clattering of the chains I'm bound with against each other and my ragged breathing.  As I try to move my neck, I'm painfully reminded of the golden collar on my throat; I can feel its magic powers absorbing into my skin. 

Just then, the door creaked open. At first, I'm unable to make out who it is as my vision has been clouded by tears. 

I can feel the candle flames around me flicker, my muscles tense. I know whoever has come in has a dark aura. 

Clearing my vision, I see him; Iskander. 

He strides inside the chambers with poise and a commanding aura, each movement Predatory. I scan his outfit, he is clad in a dark robe laced with golden embroidery of weird designs. 

The air around him alone is suffocating and staring at him, my heart skipped a beat. He's the last person I want to set my eyes on at this moment. I'm overwhelmed by fear at just his mere presence but I struggle to keep calm, I didn't want him to see through my fear, but what truly terrified me is the way my body reacts to his intoxicating scent, it feels like a poison I'm growing addicted to. 

The last thing I want is to portray myself as weak and vulnerable in his presence. Even if the others before me didn't succeed, I must fight to stay alive. 

He strides towards the bed, his piercing gaze fixed on me. Iskander then comes to a halt just short of where my chains would let me reach. 

He is close enough that his scent; smoky, dark, laced with something sharp, literally fills my nostrils. My breath hitches, and I hate myself for it. He notices. His smirk deepens.

For what feels like an eternity, he simply scans my every move, his expression remains blank. 

I grit just teeth, glaring back at him as I try to match his aura. 

A sly smirk forms on his lips as he slowly tilts his head, then finally, he speaks up, breaking the silence. 

“You will learn” he pauses, his expression turning dark. “Definitely” 

I clench my fists, the urge to strike him across his perfect face growing within me. “And you would burn in hell!” I shriek. “Definitely!” 

A slight, almost amused grin forming on his lips. He then takes a calculated step towards me, he seems like the devil, waiting for the right time to strike. 

“You will break” he repeated his words. 

I scoff. “Never” 

And then, a deep chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded low and rich and for some unknown reason, It sounded like a blissful melody in my ears; satisfying and at the same time, threatening. 

“They all say that” he mused. “the last one begged for death” 

With that, he spins his heels and walks out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, locking I and my thoughts in. 

Just as I think he's not coming back, the door suddenly creeks open once again and he strides in. 

“Bring him in.” he orders, probably to someone outside. 

The door opens again, and a huge, ferocious werewolf steps inside, eyes glowing red. His scent makes my stomach churn, it’s not just any werewolf. It’s a torturer.

Iskander smirks. “Since you don’t break easily, let’s see how long you last tonight.”