Chapter 6 Chapter 6: The Voice in the Dark

Elowen POV.

They escorted me out of the room and down the long corridors toward the main hall where the bonding ceremony would take place. I walked slowly, my hands clasped tightly together.

He would be there now. I would see him face to face. Alpha Theron Blackwood. My husband. My executioner.

But I walked with my head held a little higher than before. I was alive. And I intended to stay that way for as long as possible.

I stood at the entrance of the room, my hand trembling on the heavy wooden door. The maids had left me here, saying only that the Alpha wished to see me before the formal ceremony.

As I stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in.

Immediately, the light vanished. The room was plunged into deep, suffocating darkness. There were no candles lit, no moonbeams coming through the windows. It was so black that I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face. I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat, every instinct screaming at me to run back out.

He is here, I knew it instantly. I could feel it. The air was heavy, charged with a pressure that made my skin prickle. This was the presence of an Alpha, powerful and ancient.

I strained my eyes, trying to make out any shape, any shadow, but there was nothing. Just endless black.

Is he looking at me? Can he see me even though I cannot see him?

Fear coiled tightly in my stomach. This was it. This was the moment. He was probably standing right there, waiting to touch me, waiting for the curse to take effect.

Suddenly, a sound broke the silence.

It wasn't a footstep. It was a voice.

Deep. Low. Resonating right through my chest like the vibration of a large drum. It was cold, raspy, and carried the weight of years and authority. A true baritone that sounded older, harder, and infinitely more dangerous than any man I had ever heard.

"So… you are the one they sent."

The voice came from the darkness ahead, somewhere to my right. It wasn't shouting, yet it filled the entire room. It was calm, but there was no warmth in it. Only ice.

I shrank back instinctively, pressing my back against the door, my heart racing like a trapped bird.

That is him.

That is Alpha Theron.

He sounded exactly as old as he was. Forty-five years of life, of battle, of loneliness had carved every word into something sharp and heavy.

I wanted to answer, but my throat felt blocked. I could only stand there, shaking in the dark, waiting for the end.

"Speak," the voice commanded, low and dangerous. "Are you mute?"

I jumped, the sound vibrating through my very bones. I swallowed hard, forcing my vocal cords to work.

"N-no… My Lord," I stammered, my voice sounding tiny and fragile in the vast darkness. "I… I am Elowen."

Silence returned, heavy and oppressive. I could hear my own ragged breathing, and the faint sound of his—slow, steady, calm. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't afraid. He was just waiting.

"Elowen," he repeated the name, testing it. It sounded strange coming from that deep, aged voice. "Cyrillus’s daughter."

There was a hint of… something in his tone. Disgust? Or just boredom?

"I am told you are here to be my bride," he said slowly. "Do you know what that means, little one?"

The endearment sounded anything but sweet. It sounded like a predator talking to its prey.

Little one. He was right. I was young, I was small, and I was nothing compared to him.

"I… I know the terms, My Lord," I whispered, clutching my skirt so tight my knuckles turned white. "I am here to seal the treaty."

"Hmph."

The sound he made was sharp and cynical.

"You know nothing," he stated flatly. "You are young. Nineteen, are you not? A child playing dress-up."

He paused, and I heard the faint sound of friction, followed by a small click.

Fwissh.

A tiny flame sparked to life, held by an unseen hand. It wasn't a candle or a lamp. It was the lighter igniting the end of a thin, dark cylinder.

The ember glowed bright red, pulsing as he took a long, deep drag.

For a moment, the tiny fire illuminated his face.

I gasped, my eyes widening in terror and awe.

I saw sharp, strong features, a jawline covered in stubble, and eyes that were dark and piercing. He was huge, broad-shouldered, looking every bit his forty-five years—mature, hardened, and dangerous. The smoke curled up from his lips, swirling in the dark air, smelling of tobacco and ash.

He exhaled slowly, a thick cloud drifting toward the ceiling, hiding his face again in shadows, leaving only that glowing red spot moving slightly.

"They sent you because they want you dead," he said bluntly, his voice slightly raspy from the smoke, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "They sent a lamb to the wolf because they are tired of feeding you."

I flinched as if he had struck me. Because it was the truth. The ugly, naked truth that I had tried so hard to ignore.

"I…" Tears pricked my eyes again, but I refused to let them fall in front of him. "I am willing to do my duty, Alpha."

There was another long pause. I heard him take another drag, the ember glowing brighter.

"Duty," he scoffed softly. "A pretty word for suicide."

He started walking forward. The red dot moved steadily closer, stopping just inches away from me. 

I could feel the heat radiating from that small fire, and I could smell him—old leather, smoke, and pure Alpha power.

"Let us see how long you last," he whispered, his voice like gravel and smoke. "Welcome to your new life, Elowen. Or perhaps… your death."

This is it, my mind screamed. He is going to touch me now. He is going to put his hand on me, and I will die right here.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the end, waiting for the pain or the darkness to take me.

But then, I felt something else.

A sudden, sharp movement of air.

I felt his hand swing past my face. Not to strike me, not to caress me, but to reach for the door handle right beside my head.

"The ceremony is in an hour," he growled, his voice low and smoky, right next to my ear. "Do not keep me waiting, little bride."

The door swung open.

Cold air rushed in from the hallway. And then, just like that, he was gone.

I opened my eyes, gasping for air, watching his broad, dark silhouette disappear into the shadows of the corridor. He didn't look back. He left me standing there, alive, but trembling uncontrollably.

But as I watched him leave, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

On the back of his hand, visible for just a second in the faint light from the hall, there was a mark. Black veins spreading out like spiderwebs, creeping up his wrist, looking like death itself.

It was the mark.

It was real. It was on him. And soon… very soon, he would have to touch me.