Welcome to prison

Kayden's POV 

The gold bar in my hand felt like a noose.

I’d been inside the vault less than sixty seconds, long enough to fill one satchel and reach for another fistful of coins that could buy a small country. Then the door opened and every plan, every lie, every heartbeat I had left turned to ash.

She stood in the doorway, barefoot, black silk robe hanging open just enough to show the faint red lines Lyra’s nails had left on her throat minutes ago. Her hair was wild, lips swollen, eyes glowing that lethal amber. She looked like sin and judgment rolled into one.

“I am in a particularly foul mood tonight,” she said, voice low, almost bored. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t end you right here and now.”

The air was thick with her scent (jasmine, steel, and fresh sex). My pulse hammered so hard I was sure she could hear it. Begging would only make her laugh. Threats were suicide. There was only one card left to play, and it would either save my life or end it in the next five seconds.

I let the gold bar fall back into the safe with a deliberate clang. Then I met her eyes and spoke the truth that had haunted me for fifteen years.

“Because I’m the boy who poisoned your family.”

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Her pupils blew wide. The lazy amusement vanished, replaced by something ancient and feral. The temperature in the vault seemed to drop twenty degrees.

“Say that again,” she whispered.

“I was ten,” I said, voice steady even as my knees threatened to fold. “Your uncle put the vial in my hand and told me it was medicine for the princesses. I carried it to the kitchen. I watched your sisters drink it. I watched you collapse. I’ve carried that night every single day since.”

Her claws slid out, slow and deliberate, black and razor-sharp. She crossed the room in two strides, grabbed me by the throat, and slammed me against the steel wall hard enough to rattle my teeth. Her grip could have crushed my windpipe, but she didn’t. Not yet.

“You’re lying,” she hissed, face inches from mine. “I would remember the face of the boy who murdered my blood.”

“I was smaller then. Scared. Crying so hard I could barely walk straight.” I swallowed against her claws. “Look closer, Alpha Queen. You’ll smell the truth on me.”

She leaned in, nostrils flaring. The second she caught it (my scent mixed with the ghost of that night), her whole body went rigid. A tremor ran through her, so violent I felt it in her fingers.

“You,” she breathed. The word cracked like a gunshot.

Her claws tightened. I closed my eyes, ready.

But death didn’t come.

Instead she released my throat, seized my wrist in a grip of iron, and dragged me out of the vault. I stumbled after her through corridors lit by moonlight, past guards who dropped their gazes the moment they saw her face. Down stone stairs. Deeper. Colder.

She kicked open a heavy iron door and flung me inside.

The dungeon.

Chains hung from the ceiling like jewelry. A single red bulb painted everything in bloodlight. The door slammed shut behind us and locked with a sound of finality.

She circled me slowly, robe slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of a breast still marked by Lyra’s mouth. Her eyes never left mine.

“Strip,” she ordered.

I obeyed. Shirt, belt, boots (everything hit the floor until I stood naked and shivering under that crimson light).

She walked to the wall, selected a length of silver chain, and snapped it around my wrists herself. The metal burned where it touched skin; silver allergies were a bitch even for latent wolves. She hoisted the chain until my arms were stretched high above my head and my toes barely touched the ground.

Then she stepped back, tilted her head, and studied me like a butcher studies meat.

“You are going to suffer for fifteen years of my nightmares,” she said softly. “And when I’m done, I will cut your heart out and feed it to the dogs.”

I believed her.

She closed the distance, claws trailing lightly down my chest, leaving thin lines of fire. When she reached my stomach, she dropped to her knees.

I stopped breathing.

Her mouth was on me before I could think (hot, vicious, no mercy). She took me deep, tongue ruthless, teeth grazing just enough to remind me who held the power. My head fell back against the chains, a broken sound ripping out of me.

She pulled off just long enough to snarl, “You do not come until I say.”

Then she was back, sucking hard, one hand gripping the base of my cock, the other sliding between my legs to press (cruel, perfect pressure) until my legs shook and the chains rattled overhead.

I lasted maybe ninety seconds.

When I came, it was violent, blinding, the kind of release that felt like dying. She swallowed every drop, eyes locked on mine the entire time, pure triumphant hatred blazing in them.

She rose gracefully, licked her lips, and smiled for the first time all night.

It was terrifying.

“Welcome home, little poison boy,” she whispered, and walked out.

The door locked.

The red light stayed on And somewhere inside my chest, something dark and hungry woke up and answered her smile with one of its own.

I was exactly where I needed to be.  

And I was absolutely fucked.