CHAPTER 72: TOUCH OF THE WICKED

My eyes opened to unfamiliar walls.

For several moments I didn’t know where I was. My lashes fluttered against the dim lamplight, and everything swam in and out of focus as if I were staring through water.

The sheets beneath me were soft, too soft, the quilt stitched with delicate flowers that seemed to blur into one another. The air was thick with perfume.

Floral, cloying, suffocating—and it only made the ache in my throat sharper.

Somewhere nearby, I heard water pouring, the steady rush muffled by a door that had been left ajar. Steam drifted from the crack, curling faintly into the air, carrying with it the faint smell of soap and warm stone.

I pushed myself upright with trembling arms.

The room was clean, elegant even, but foreign. Polished wooden walls gleamed under the lamplight, carved beams accenting the ceiling. A vase of lilies sat on the dresser, their sweet perfume drowning the air.

The curtains had been drawn tightly across the single window, sealing the room from whatever faint daylight the cavern outside could give.

This wasn’t my bedroom in the Alpha’s castle. No iron chandeliers, no cold stone, no faint draft under the door.

This room was prettier, gentler, yet it filled me with dread all the same.

Memory struck me. The crowd, the music, the heat suffocating me.

My chest tight as I stumbled. A man offering to help. His face had been blurred, my vision failing, and then... nothing.

I had blacked out.

My pulse quickened as panic gripped me.

My body still felt heavy, too hot, my skin burning from the inside out.

My throat was dry, parched as if I hadn’t drunk water in days, and the fire spread lower, curling deep in my belly in a way that made me feel sick.

I gripped the edge of the sheets until my knuckles whitened, trying to will my body into stillness.

The bathroom door creaked open.

I froze.

An unfamiliar man stepped out, steam curling around his frame as he tightened the sash of his robe. Droplets of water clung to his dark hair, sliding down across his jaw, his bare chest faintly glistening.

His face was clear to me now, sharp lines softened by the smug smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes swept over me like he’d been waiting for me to wake.

"Where am I?" My voice came out hoarse, cracking from thirst. "Why did you bring me here?"

He chuckled, low and indulgent, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.

"Relax," he said smoothly. "You’re safe. I’m here to have fun with you—just as you want."

His words made my blood run cold.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head as much as my foggy mind allowed. "That’s not what I want."

I tried to rise from the bed. My legs buckled under me instantly, heat surging so violently I nearly tore at my own dress. The fabric clung to my fevered skin like chains, every seam unbearable.

My body screamed to peel it off, to strip myself bare, but I forced my nails to dig into my palms instead.

"Leika,"

I rasped in my mind, calling to my wolf. Please... help me.

No answer.

The silence was deafening. It was as if she had been smothered, her voice too far away for me to hear. The absence made my panic worse, a hollow ache spreading beneath my ribs.

The man approached slowly, amusement sparking in his eyes.

"Come now," he said, voice honeyed with mockery. "It’s obvious why you’re here. To spend a little time with a handsome man such as myself."

"Stay away," I managed, pushing myself back across the sheets.

"Oh?" He laughed and it was a filthy sound. "It seems you are playing hard to get. No worries, I like that."

"Fuck you."

"We’ll get to that. Of course, isn’t that why you are in the great House of Ambrosia? To get fucked?"

"N-no..."

No!

He tilted his head, the smirk deepening. "Your lips say no, but your body..." His gaze raked down me, lingering where my hands trembled against the sheets. "...your body tells me yes."

Revulsion shot through me, cutting briefly through the haze.

"You’re wrong," I spat, though my voice trembled and betrayed the fear lodged in my throat. "You don’t know what I want."

His laughter was quiet, chilling, as if he relished the sound of my denial. He moved closer, climbing onto the bed with the easy arrogance of someone who had done this before.

His weight shifted the mattress, pressing me deeper into the quilt, trapping me in place.

"I don’t need to know," he said smoothly, his pale teeth glinting in the dim lamplight. "I can see it."

I shoved at him when his hand brushed the hem of my dress, desperation fueling the weak push. But my arms felt heavy, as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me.

My body burned and betrayed me, sluggish and uncooperative. He hardly moved at all.

His playful smirk twisted into something darker, hungrier, and his eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of power. His fingers curled into the fabric at my hip, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every inch of control he was taking.

"Don’t fight it," he murmured, his breath hot against my cheek, carrying the faint scent of wine and soap. "You’ll only tire yourself out."

Terror surged, raw and blinding, my body shaking as adrenaline fought against the haze clouding me.

My throat tightened, and suddenly it was hard to breathe, every inhale shallow and frantic.

This scenario felt too familiar.

Memories slammed into me unbidden... the helplessness of being trapped, the weight of someone’s body pressing me down, the gnawing dread that no one would come to save me.

The ghost of old scars clawed at me, and for a heartbeat I couldn’t separate past from present.

I clawed at his arm, nails digging deep until they scored angry red lines into his skin.

He hissed, jerking at the sting, but instead of recoiling, he pressed harder, his hand pinning me more firmly to the mattress.

His body loomed above mine, casting the room into shadow, and my heart thundered so violently it hurt. Each beat was a drum of panic, loud enough I swore he could hear it.

My breath shattered into sobbing gasps. I thrashed beneath him, legs kicking, fists beating weakly against his shoulders, but the fever in my body dulled everything, leaving my strength pitiful against his.

His grin widened with each failed attempt, the darkness in his gaze tightening around me like a snare.

"NO!" I cried, my voice breaking, raw and desperate, ripping through the silence of the room like a blade.

And then the air itself ruptured.

A force slammed into the room, violent and cold, the shadows in the corners tearing free like living things.

They surged across the walls in black waves, crashing into the man with a strength that was otherwordly.

He was hurled across the room, his body colliding with the wall hard enough to crack wood.

The shadows coiled around him, thick and viperous, pinning him in place. They writhed with a will of their own, pressing in tighter, as if they meant to crush the life from his chest.