Chapter 7: Bed

He lets out an irritated sigh. “Zakiel!” His voice cracks like a whip, resonating through the air.

The vampire materializes instantly un the door frame, as if summoned by magic. “Yes, my lord?”

“Make sure she’s fed and watered. Put her in clean clothes, then tie her to the bed,” Yilu commands, his tone sharp and final.

“Yes, my lord,” Zakiel replies without hesitation.

He kneels by the tub and presses the glass of water to my lips. I drink greedily, tears stinging my eyes. Then, with surprising tenderness, Zakiel washes me. I don't mind the feel of his cold hand on my skin. I welcome the physical touch. I'm still in my dirty underwear, and he avoids those places with great care.

“Come on, human,” he murmurs when the bathwater cools. He lifts me out and wraps me in a plush black towel. There's food waiting, but I cringe when I see it's all meat. “Is there anything other than meat?” I croak, my voice barely audible.

“Eat, Hazel,” Zakiel says firmly, offering me a piece of.. something.

I nearly cry again. But I don't. I chew slowly, savoring the taste, though it’s a cruel reminder of how long I’ve been starving.

After eating, I dress in a clean black t-shirt left for me. It’s far too big but a luxury compared to my tattered clothes. I sit down, my legs completely numd. A single tear escapes as Zakiel ties me to the massive bed.

I don't even protest.

The bed is huge, twice the size of a normal human bed, with silver soft sheets and enough pillows for five people. The clasp around my wrist is the same as the one around my neck, and it's bound too tightly into my skin. I fall backwards with a sigh of grief.

Despite the discomfort, sleep claims me before Zakiel leaves the room.

I dream about the day my father finds me. It's so real, I'm convinced he's really here. His arms are strong, his voice soothing as he promises I’m safe. It feels so vivid, so real. But the illusion shatters when a heavy presence joins me in the bed. The mattress dips, and a warm, solid weight presses against my side. My breath hitches as a large, hot hand settles on my waist, the touch both possessive and threatening.

“Fuck. You're so cold,” I hear him mumble softly.

Tingles ripple from where he touches me, but they’re not from desire. They’re a warning. He feels like danger, like death, and I don't like it.

His hand shifts, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against a broad chest. My leg is fully against his, and my forehead touches his skin.

So warm.

A shiver runs down my spine. He's touching me like he has a right to. Like I'm his to own.

My wrist is still tied to the headboard, so I can't move much, but I don't want to anyway. I can't.

His hand rests on my lower back, his fingers splaying possessively as his breath fans against my neck. I feel him looking at my face, at my hair which is everywhere, and my skin which is visible. Like he's trying to dissect me with his eyes.

“Butterfly,” he whispers, his voice a dangerous caress. He sounds exhausted. What time is it?

I smell death. I smell my worst nightmare.

I don't respond. No reaction. Not even a sigh. My body is so close to his, way too close. It's like we're sharing an intimate moment with the two of us, like we're lovers.

“You're mine. Don't forget it. You're mine to keep,” he whispers next lowly, his tone nothing but warning. It's almost a growl, like his dragon is the one speaking.

I sigh at last.

Fear sharpens my resolve, and I finally find my voice. “I hate you,” I whisper, my words laced with venom. I want to scream it at him. I want to put a knife in his heart.

His hand tightens on my lower back. For a second, I feel something sharp sting my skin, like his talons came out for a split second. “Don't ever utter those words again, little one,” he growls in my ear.

“You will love me,” he whispers next like it's a promise. His words are dark and dangerous. It's a threat.

I don't bother with a reply.

Instead, I retreat into a restless sleep, his arm an unyielding chain keeping me bound in more ways than one.

I'm going to murder him. One of these days, he's mine to kill.

I know that I'm too close to him for the entire night. My body temperature is too warm. But I've been so cold these last few days, there is a part of me which enjoys the heat too much to stay away.

When I wake, the bed is cold again, and he's gone. The monster is gone. Zakiel walks in the second I turn my glare to my bound wrist, as if he's been listening outside.

“Zakiel,” I say with a soft smile when I see his familiar red eyes. He looks down, his eyes scanning me in the too big bed, and I see his pupils dilate slightly. Even though I'm completely covered, I feel more naked than yesterday in the bath. “Hazel. You look a lot healthier this morning,” he replies as he walks over to my side of the bed. With one turn of the key, the heavy silver falls of my wrist.

There's a deep, red mark which stains my skin.

I know my neck looks the same, and I want my collar off more than anything.

“I slept for more than two hours. That helps,” I mumble, my voice hoarse. My fingers slowly massage my raw wrist.

Zakiel snorts. “Humans,” he mutters, offering me his hand. “You’re on cleaning duty again. But first, I’ve been instructed to take you outside. The King will be in flight today.”

“In his dragon form?” I ask, my eyes widening.

He nods and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “They're... big,” is all he says.

I grab Zakiel’s cold hand and bounce out of bed, a strange burst of energy coursing through my body. He doesn’t step back, and I clumsily collide with his stony chest.

“Oh, sorry,” I chuckle, my cheeks heating with a blush I can’t hide.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat too long before he recovers. “Don’t worry, milady. Let’s get you dressed,” he says smoothly, guiding me toward a small table where folded clothes wait.

I freeze when I see it.

A dress.

I frown. What the fuck?

The garment is black, sleek, and looks far too small. “What is this?” I demand, my tone sharp with disbelief.

“You’re the King’s personal slave,” Zakiel says with a calm that feels rehearsed. “You’re entitled to better clothing than the others.” His red eyes flicker to mine. “The lord Yilu mentioned your body temperature is too cold for this realm. This should help.”

I scoff, grabbing the dress and holding it up like it might bite. “Why does he care?”

“I suppose they don’t want you to die,” Zakiel replies flatly.

“No, that would be such an inconvenience,” I mutter under my breath, turning away to change.

The fabric feels strange under my fingertips—thin but surprisingly warm. I peel off the cold shirt and slip into the dress, my movements stiff with annoyance. The material clings to my body like a second skin, hugging every curve. Midnight black, with long sleeves that stretch down to cover my palms, the dress is simple yet unnervingly elegant. It flares slightly at the hips but stays snug everywhere else.

It's warm, so I'm not going to complain. After days of wearing tattered, wet clothes, this is a nice comfort. My collar sits hidden beneath the fabric, its weight pressing against my skin like a silent reminder of my place.

I reach up, undoing the messy braid in my hair and running my fingers through the strands to loosen the tangles.

When I turn back, Zakiel is staring at me.