Trapped with him

Reyna’s POV)

The room felt too small.

I paced back and forth, my bare feet making no sound against the cold stone floor. My pulse thudded in my ears, a constant reminder that I was still here—still stuck in this nightmare.

Draven.

The name alone sent a shiver down my spine. My body felt strange, like it was on high alert, every nerve standing at attention. I hated how aware I was of him—of his touch, his voice, the way his golden eyes seemed to pierce through me.

I clenched my fists, shaking my head. I needed to get out of here.

Then, the door creaked open.

I froze.

He stepped inside like he owned the entire world, like he owned me.

I wanted to move, to back away, but my legs wouldn’t work. My breath caught in my throat as his gaze settled on me—sharp, unreadable.

"Sit."

His voice was deep, calm, but something about it made my stomach twist. It wasn’t a request.

I swallowed hard, lifting my chin. “No.”

His lips curved—not quite a smile, but something that sent chills down my spine.

"No?"

He took a step forward. I took a step back.

"Then why are you trembling?"

I wasn’t. Was I?

I crossed my arms, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I don’t take orders from you."

He moved closer, so close I could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the way his pupils dilated ever so slightly. My breath came out in uneven gasps, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it.

"I’ve watched you for years, Reyna."

His words made my stomach drop.

Watched me?

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

"And now," he murmured, "you’re mine."

I stumbled back. "You—you’re insane."

"No, little one." His voice was silk and steel, wrapping around me, making it hard to breathe. "I am not insane. I am a vampire."

The air left my lungs.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible. Vampires weren’t real.

Except…

Except I’d seen him. I’d seen what he did.

The bodies. The blood. The way he moved—too fast, too strong.

A choked sound escaped me as my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the bed, my hands gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Let me go," I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Draven crouched in front of me, watching me with those haunting eyes. "No."

Tears burned at the back of my throat. "Why?"

"Because you are mine."

Something deep inside me shivered at the way he said it. My body reacted in a way I didn’t understand—heat curling under my skin, my breath coming quicker.

I hated it.

I hated him.

I needed to get out of here.

I forced myself to move, to think. If he wasn’t going to let me go, I’d have to find a way out myself.

I took a slow breath, forcing my voice to steady. "I need some air."

Draven’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’re planning to run."

I stiffened.

How did he—?

His lips twitched. "Go ahead, little one. Try."

I bolted.

I didn’t think. I just ran.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I reached the door—almost there—

But I wasn’t fast enough.

A cold hand closed around my wrist.

Before I could react, I was yanked back, spun around—pinned against the wall.

My breath hitched. Not just from the suddenness of it, but from him.

From how close he was.

His body was pressed against mine, firm and unyielding. His golden eyes burned into mine, his grip strong but not painful.

"Try that again," he murmured, "and see what happens."

I swallowed, my throat dry.

"P-please," I whispered. "Just let me go."

Something flickered across his face—something unreadable.

Then, his hand moved.

A single finger traced down my throat, slow, deliberate.

I shuddered, my body betraying me.

"I told you," he murmured, his voice like velvet, "I will never hurt you."

His fingers brushed over the place where my pulse thundered beneath my skin.

"But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever let you go."

His breath ghosted over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that I couldn’t suppress. Too close. Too warm. Too much. Every inch of me was screaming to fight, to shove him away, but my traitorous body refused to move. His fingers barely touched me, yet it felt like a brand—like he was marking me without ever laying a claim. My chest rose and fell in shallow, frantic breaths, my pulse a wild, unsteady thing against the press of his fingers. He could feel it. I knew he could. The way his lips parted slightly, the way his pupils darkened—it was like he was drinking in my reaction, savoring it.

"Your heart races every time I touch you," he murmured, dragging his knuckles along my collarbone, slow and deliberate. "Is it fear, Reyna? Or is it something else?"

I hated him. Hated the way his voice curled around my name like a promise. Hated that my body didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil, but instead—reacted. Heat bloomed beneath my skin, a flush creeping up my throat, shame mixing with something darker, something I refused to name. This was wrong. It had to be wrong. But Draven’s smirk told me he already knew the truth. Knew it before I did.

"Let me go," I whispered again, but this time, my voice didn’t carry the same conviction.

His lips barely moved, but I swore I felt them graze the shell of my ear as he murmured, "Never."

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me that he was in control. That he could keep me here, pressed against this wall, against him, for as long as he wanted. My breath hitched as he dragged his fingers lower, tracing the edge of my wrist where my pulse thumped wildly. Like he was memorizing me. Like he was savoring the way I trembled beneath his touch.

“You keep saying you want to leave,” he mused, his voice a lazy drawl, like this was nothing more than a game to him. “Yet your body tells me something different.”

My stomach twisted. “You’re wrong.”

His smirk deepened. “Am I?”

Before I could answer, he dipped his head, his nose grazing the curve of my jaw. My entire body locked up. His scent wrapped around me—cedarwood, smoke, something dark and intoxicating. I hated that I noticed. Hated that my knees nearly buckled.

“Tell me,” he murmured against my skin, his lips so close that I could feel the heat of them, “if I kissed you right now… would you fight me?”

I gasped, my fingers curling into fists, nails biting into my palms. I should have said yes. I should have screamed it. But my throat was dry, my breath uneven, and Draven—he was waiting. Watching. He already knew the answer.

And gods help me… maybe I did too.