Page 167 of Black Castle

He took me back…to the prison disguised as a palace.

A strangled sound escapes her lips and she stumbles away from the window, Kenji’s paling body, covered in blood, flashing before her eyes.

Her knees buckle, and a wretched sob tears from her throat as she sinks to the cold floor, her arms swung over herself, wrapping it tightly as if to hold the grief in before it shatters her.

She needs to go back. She needs to hold Kenji one more time, press her forehead to his, and whisper ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ until he hears her and opens his eyes. Until he recognizes the grief and loneliness in her voice and wakes up.

But she’s here. Thousands of miles away from him. She can’t hold him here. She couldn’t even see him take his last breath.

She wonders what date it is. How long has she been asleep? Is it too late? Have they already covered his face with sand? Have they put him alone in a lonely, cold, and dark grave? He’s afraid of the dark. Did they leave him alone? He gets cold easily, did they wrap him well?

Her sobs echo in the room, turning into struggling gasps as an invisible hand tightens around her neck, grief caging her, weaving into her veins and twisting into something hot and dark.

She shoots to her feet, her vision blurred with tears and fury as she runs for the door, yanking at the handle. But it’s locked. The door is locked.

“No!” she screams, pounding her fist against the polished wood with every drop of energy she has left in her. “Open the door! Let me out!”

She continues to scream and ram her fist on the door. She doesn’t care that her fingers are beginning to bruise. She doesn’t care for her knuckles that are splitting open as her blood smears the door.

She continues to knock, wail, thrash, and knock again and again. She only stops when exhaustion digs its claws into her bones, her sobs, and wails quieting into shaky and ragged gasps, the only memory left in her head being Kenji’s body.

Then, in the quiet of the moment, she hears footsteps just beyond the door, then murmurs, the sound of boots scraping against the floor.

Her back arches off the wall and she bolts to her feet.

Finally, the door creaks open and Zev steps in. The sight of him sends violent tremors through her body, the rage so hot it may as well melt steel.

Adorned with his expensive pants and dress shirt, covered in his signature cologne that often makes her dizzy and sway. But this time, all she sees is blood, Kenji’s blood.

The man before her isn’t the one who often kisses her with quiet possession, the one who likes to murmur low threats against her lips just to make her shiver.

This one here is the monster who took everything away from her in one night.

Rage reignites in her chest, so raw and so consuming it strips away the last of her restraint. And she charges at him, fist flying, hands clawing at his chest and face, while nails dig into his skin, her scream raw and broken.

She wants to die. But before that, she will take him with her.

“I’ll kill you!” her screams are mixed with broken sobs as tears run down her cheeks. “I-I’ll fucking kill you. I swear to god, I’ll kill you!”

And as if finally bored with her tantrums, he lazily lifts his hand, catching her wrist with ease and yanking her off him as if she is nothing more than a mere inconvenience.

And that, that makes her snap.

She turns away from him and charges to the room, weaving her way frantically into a drawer in her section of the walk-in closet where she tucked the dagger that came with the last note from the mysterious man.

When she dashes back out, he’s still standing in the same spot, hands tucked in his pocket, lazy eyes on her.

He doesn’t dodge the attack, doesn’t even move a muscle when she charges at him, pressing the silver to his throat. And immediately, a thin line of red surface against his pale skin.

Yet his expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. Instead, his lips curl as a quiet chuckle devoid of mirth and echoes of something dark, something wicked, breaks past his lips. And the amusement in his eyes is a blade slicing through her like an open wound.

His hand lifts, covering hers that holds the dagger to his throat, pressing hard against it, his voice low and dark. “The next time you put a blade to my throat, fucking cut a vein or I swear to god, I’ll fuck all your holes with it.”

She gasps, the grave look in his eyes sending a chill down her spine as she staggers backward, her grip on the dagger loosening. Her pulse thunders in her ears, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven pants.

She can’t believe it. She just put a dagger to his neck—for a split moment, his life was right in her hands, and he didn’t flinch.

She trembles, a sob tearing from her throat as the realization hits her. He will always be more powerful than her.

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