Page 2 of The Beast's Captive Bride
A jagged scar runs from his jaw down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. It's a violent thing, puckered and white against his tanned skin, like someone tried to open his throat once.
I should be screaming. I should be attacking him with my pathetic lamp or running for the door he's left ajar. Instead, I stand frozen, because something about him is... familiar. Like I've seen him before. Like I've dreamed him.
"Who are you?" My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "Why am I here?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Just studies me, his massive hands flexing at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, rough rumble that seems to vibrate through the stone walls.
"You're awake." Not a question. A statement of fact.
"Obviously." The word slips out before I can stop it—a flash of the stubborn streak I usually keep hidden. "Where am I? What do you want from me?"
He takes another step forward, and I raise the lamp again, my momentary boldness evaporating.
"Don't." It's all he says, but there's such command in that single word that my arms lower almost against my will.
"Please," I whisper, hating the tremor that's crept into my voice. "My father will pay whatever you want. Just let me call him?—"
Something dark and terrible flashes across his face at the mention of my father. His mouth twists into what might be a smile but looks more like a grimace, revealing white teeth.
"Your father," he says, and the words drip with venom, "is precisely why you're here, Miss Lockhart."
He knows my name. Of course he does. This isn't random; I've been targeted.
"I don't understand." Tears press hot behind my eyes, but I blink them back. "What did he do to you?"
The man—my captor—moves further into the room, and I back away until my legs hit the bed. He stops, leaving a careful distance between us, as if he knows exactly how terrifying he is.
"What did he do?" He laughs, a harsh, broken sound. One finger traces the scar on his neck. "He took everything from me. And now I'm taking everything from him."
"Me." The word falls like a stone between us. "I'm... payment?"
His eyes narrow slightly, something shifting in their icy depths. "You're leverage."
I swallow hard, trying to process this. "And... what happens to me?"
For the first time, he looks away, his jaw tightening. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On him. On you." His gaze returns to mine, burning with something I can't name. "On whether you do exactly as I say."
I should be terrified. I am terrified. But underneath the fear is something else—a whisper of recognition, a sense of déjà vu so strong it makes me dizzy. I've seen this man before, in dreams that have haunted me since childhood. Dreams of a dark prince, scarred and beautiful, coming to steal me away.
"What's your name?" I ask, the question slipping out unbidden.
He looks startled, as if it's the last thing he expected me to ask. For a moment, I think he won't answer.
"Cullen," he says finally. "Cullen Blackwood."
The name settles into me like it belongs there. Like I've been waiting to hear it.
"Are you going to hurt me, Cullen Blackwood?" I ask, my voice small but steady.
Something complicated passes over his face—conflict, confusion, maybe even a flash of pain. He takes a step back toward the door.
"Get some rest, Miss Lockhart. There's food in the bathroom. Clean clothes in the wardrobe." His hand rests on the doorknob. "This room is the safest place for you in this house. I suggest you stay in it."
"Wait—" I start, but he's already closing the door, the lock clicking into place with terrible finality.
