Almost Free

Reyna’s POV

I was done.

I had spent days locked in this castle, under Draven’s watch, with no explanation, no answers—just his cold, unreadable eyes and commands I didn’t understand.

But tonight? Tonight, I was leaving.

My heart pounded as I stormed back into my room after talking to him. My hands curled into fists as frustration and something else—something I didn’t want to name—burned in my chest.

Draven was… terrifying. Beautiful, but terrifying.

His eyes—deep, endless red—felt like they could strip me bare. Like he could see through every single thought in my head. His face was sharp, perfect, almost unnatural. The way he moved, the way he looked at me like he was always holding something back… It made my stomach twist.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. Focus.

I went to the door and peeked out. The hallway was empty.

Good.

I slipped out, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. I didn’t know where I was going, but anywhere was better than here.

The castle was massive, stretching endlessly with dim torches flickering against the dark walls. I turned corner after corner, keeping my breath shallow, trying to feel my way to an exit.

Then I felt it.

A breeze.

My pulse leapt.

I followed the cool air until I reached a window that was slightly open.

Freedom.

I climbed onto the ledge, ignoring the way my stomach clenched as I looked down. It wasn’t that high. I could make it.

And then—I jumped.

Pain shot up my ankle when I hit the ground, but I didn’t stop.

I ran.

The castle faded behind me as I tore through the trees, breath burning in my lungs, branches snapping under my feet.

I was free.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat—until a low chuckle froze me in place.

I turned, and my stomach dropped.

Two men stood in the shadows, watching me.

Something was wrong about them.

Their skin was too pale. Their eyes—red.

Just like…

No. No, no, no.

"Well, well," one of them drawled, stepping forward. "What do we have here?"

I stumbled back, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. "Who—who are you?"

They both grinned.

Sharp. Too sharp.

The taller one lunged—too fast.

Before I could scream, cold fingers clamped around my wrist, yanking me forward.

"Shh," he cooed, tilting my chin up. "It’ll only hurt for a moment."

I struggled.

I kicked, shoved, tried to scream, but his grip was like iron.

I felt his breath against my neck.

No.

Then—

A rush of wind.

A blur of black.

A sickening crack.

The man holding me froze.

His eyes widened in shock before—before his head was gone.

Blood splattered across my face.

I couldn’t breathe.

The other man tried to move—

But Draven was faster.

He ripped his heart out.

My entire body locked up.

Draven stood there, breathing slowly, his coat billowing in the wind, his red eyes glowing in the dark.

The blood on his hands dripped onto the ground.

He turned toward me, his gaze sharp, piercing—dangerous.

My breath hitched.

"Are you hurt?"

His voice was low, steady.

But I couldn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t looking at Draven anymore.

I was looking at a monster.

Everything was a blur. My chest heaved as I gasped for breath, my limbs shaking so badly I could barely stay upright. The cold night air burned my lungs, but it wasn’t the chill that made me tremble. It was the sight before me.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, swallowing down the scream clawing at my throat. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. People didn’t just do that. They didn’t move so fast, didn’t tear through flesh like it was nothing, didn’t—

Draven turned. His crimson eyes locked onto mine.

A sharp, breathless sob escaped me, and I stumbled back. He took a step forward, slow and measured, like I was some frightened thing that might bolt. And I might have. If my legs weren’t completely useless beneath me.

"You shouldn't have run," he murmured. His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Too calm for someone who had just—just killed.

My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress, gripping it so tightly my knuckles ached. My pulse was a wild, frantic thing, my mind screaming at me to move, to fight, to—do something.

But I couldn't.

Because despite the terror, despite the blood and the bodies and the fact that I had just watched him rip through two men like they were nothing—

I still felt that same strange pull toward him.

And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

A cold hand brushed my cheek, and I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath. Not from pain—from the way his touch sent something electric down my spine.

Draven’s fingers lingered, smearing something warm against my skin. Blood. My stomach twisted. His? Theirs? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. But when I

finally forced myself to look at him, crimson eyes burning, face unreadable, I realized something even worse—he wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t shaken.

His thumb traced the curve of my jaw, slow, deliberate, as if he were memorizing the shape of me. I should have pulled away. I should have screamed. But my body betrayed me, frozen beneath the weight of his touch, the heat of his presence. The blood on his hands was still warm, staining my skin, marking me in a way that felt far too permanent.

"You’re trembling," he murmured, tilting his head. His voice was low, edged with something dark—something that sent a shiver down my spine for all the wrong reasons. "Is it fear, little one?"

I wanted to say yes.

But the way my pulse jumped, the way my breath hitched as his fingers brushed lower, tracing the hollow of my throat—we both knew the truth.

The edges of my vision blurred. My body swayed. Draven’s expression shifted—just slightly—but I didn’t get the chance to see it.

My legs gave out.

The world tilted—

And then everything went black.