Violent Shiver

Lysandra’s POV

The man standing before me was Varek Harkon.

The name hit me like a physical blow. It stole the breath from my lungs and left me gasping in the cold, damp air of the holding cell. My mind scrambled, desperate to process the towering nightmare stepping over the bloody, decapitated corpse of the Chief. The crimson pool was still spreading across the wooden floorboards, soaking into the cracks, but my eyes were locked solely on the monster who had just entered.

This was the Tyrant Lycan. The feared Crown Prince of Vorlund. Darius’s sworn, blood-thirsty enemy. The very man whose name made hardened generals tremble in their war rooms.

He stepped fully into the dim room. His sheer presence suffocated the tight space. The air grew thick, heavy with the metallic tang of fresh blood and the lethal, dominant aura rolling off his massive, muscular frame. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, to hide, to do anything to escape his notice. But the heavy Voidcuffs pinned my ankles to the blood-splattered floorboards, keeping me chained in place.

I was bare. Defenseless. Stripped of my dignity and my clothes.

His dark, predatory gaze dropped. He looked at my naked body without a single ounce of decency. He did not politely avert his eyes. He devoured the sight of my vulnerability. His eyes tracked the rapid, terrified rise and fall of my bare breasts. He watched the way my nipples tightened in the freezing air. He noted the goosebumps breaking out across my stomach, tracing the curve of my waist. Then his stare dragged lower, locking unashamedly onto my pussy, taking in my total, humiliating exposure. I trembled under the sheer weight of his scrutiny. I had nowhere to hide. My bare flesh felt like it was burning under his ruthless eyes.

"You're shaking," he noted. His voice was a soft, chilling rumble that vibrated through the wooden floor and rattled my very bones.

His mouth curved. It was not a smile. It was a cold, pleased expression.

"I like it."

Heat rushed to my face. Fear tangled with a sharp, desperate fury deep in my chest. How dared he look at me like a piece of meat? I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached. I forced myself not to flinch. I refused to look away from his dark, abyss-like eyes, even as my knees knocked together.

Varek studied me for another heartbeat. He analyzed me like a hungry predator weighing a trapped deer. He took his time, savoring my terror. Then, with an effortless grace that belied his massive size, he rose smoothly to his feet.

"Alright," he declared.

He turned his broad back to me. His gaze swept the cramped room, landing on a tall, battle-scarred subordinate who stepped forward from the thick shadows near the doorway.

"Burn everyone else in the compound," Varek ordered. He issued the brutal verdict as casually as if they were discussing the weather. He did not even glance back at my naked, shivering form. "Including her."

Pure panic exploded in my chest.

My lungs seized. Did he not recognize me? Had he truly forgotten my face? I had stood right beside my father once at a grand summit. I had met his gaze across a crowded council hall. I was the Rydel heiress!

I opened my mouth to scream my name, to demand he look at me again.

"Hmmmm—!"

Rough hands grabbed me before I could form a single word. Brant, the massive subordinate, moved with terrifying speed. He hauled me up by my arms. The floor vanished beneath my bare feet. He grabbed a coarse, scratchy blanket from a nearby crate and threw it over my nakedness, wrapping it tight around my struggling form. Then he hoisted me straight over his broad shoulder like a worthless sack of grain.

"Hmmmmm!"

A dirty, thick cloth was shoved deep into my mouth. The rough gag fully muffled my desperate screams. It tasted like dirt and old sweat. My chest burned for oxygen. Panic clawed up my throat, tearing at my sanity. Every survival instinct screamed for me to beg, to plead, to make him understand who I was. I was going to be burned alive. But no sound made it past the tight fabric cutting brutally into the corners of my mouth.

Brant turned toward the doorway. His heavy boots thumped against the floorboards. He carried me toward my fiery death without a shred of hesitation. I twisted my head, my neck aching as I fought the rough grip holding me down. I looked back at Varek one last time, my eyes wide with unshed tears and sheer terror.

"Stop."

Varek’s single, commanding word cut sharply through the heavy air.

Brant halted instantly. He stopped just inches from the threshold, his boot hovering over the doorframe. He turned back without questioning the order, standing at rigid attention.

"Bring her back."

My stomach lurched as Brant shifted his grip. He dumped me unceremoniously back onto my feet. The impact sent a sharp jolt up my bound legs, jarring my spine. He kept one heavy hand locked on my upper arm, his fingers digging into my flesh to ensure I did not collapse onto the bloody floor. The coarse blanket slipped, exposing my shoulders once more.

Varek moved closer.

I felt him before I saw him. The suffocating pressure of his aura tightened around my chest, squeezing my lungs. He circled me slowly. His heavy boots made no sound against the wood. He moved like a massive wolf analyzing its trapped prey. I tracked his movements with wide, terrified eyes, my breathing shallow and erratic.

Suddenly, his large hand fisted brutally in my hair.

Pain flared across my scalp. He yanked my head back, forcing my face up until I stared directly into his dark, ruthless eyes. My pulse hammered against my ribs like a war drum. I wanted to fight. I wanted to scratch his eyes out and tear at his throat. But pure terror locked my muscles in place. His grip was inescapable.

He tilted his head. He studied my features with a cold, calculating intensity. His gaze roamed over my cheekbones, my lips, my terrified eyes.

"Have we met before?" he demanded.

My eyes widened. Hope flared, hot and sharp. I tried to force words past the thick fabric blocking my throat.

"Hmmmm—!"

He let out a low, amused chuckle. The sound was dark and dangerous. His thick fingers slid to the back of my head, tangling in my messy hair. He found the tight knot of the gag and yanked it free with a single, rough pull.

The cloth fell away. Air rushed into my burning lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp. I coughed, tasting blood from where the fabric had rubbed my lips raw.

"Yes! Yes!" I blurted out. The words tumbled from my mouth in a breathless, chaotic flood. Fear stripped away my noble composure, leaving only a desperate girl fighting for her life. "We have! I am Lysandra Rydel. We met once at court. My father—"

Before I could finish the sentence, he shoved the rough gag right back into my mouth.

The filthy fabric tore at my tender lips. He tied it tight at the back of my skull, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"Huh," Varek murmured. He sounded utterly disinterested, as if I had just bored him.

He released his brutal grip on my hair and turned his broad back to me. He acted as if my desperate confession meant nothing.

"Tell me," Varek said casually, addressing his soldier as he adjusted the cuffs of his dark jacket. "What news have you heard from Novaria?"

Brant stiffened. He bowed his head slightly, keeping his hand clamped on my arm. "Just yesterday, Your Highness. Duke Rydel’s daughter, Lysandra Rydel, officially married Crown Prince Darius."

The answer slammed into me harder than any physical blow.

Married.

My heart began to race uncontrollably. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. Confusion tangled fiercely with the terror eating at my mind. Married to Darius? How could that be real? I was standing right here in this rotting cell! I was the real Lysandra Rydel!

Someone was impersonating me. Someone had stolen my name, my face, my royal standing, and my life. They had married my betrothed while I was locked away in chains, waiting to be butchered.

Varek let out a harsh, mocking snort. A deep, dark disgust flooded his obsidian eyes as he looked back at me over his broad shoulder. He looked at me like I was the scum of the earth.

"So you dared to impersonate the Rydel heiress," he sneered, his lip curling. "How foolish."

He turned back to Brant. His tone was light, dismissive, and utterly lethal.

"Flay her alive before tossing her into the fire."

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

I thrashed hard. I fought with every ounce of my remaining strength, throwing my weight against Brant's grip. Terror burst loose in my chest, a wild, untamed animal. My restricted muscles screamed in protest. Brant reached for me, his large hands ready to drag me to the skinning knife. My breath came in short, panicked bursts behind the dirty gag. The coarse blanket fell away fully, leaving me naked and shivering once more.

No. No. I am the real Lysandra! I am not a fake!

"Stop."

Varek raised a single hand.

Brant froze once again, his massive fingers hovering just inches from my bare arm.

"Remove her gag," Varek ordered. His voice was dangerously quiet.

Brant pulled the knot loose. The fabric fell away, landing in the pool of blood on the floor.

I sucked in desperate, burning breaths of air. My chest he heave.

"I can prove it," I begged frantically. The words rushed out of me in a shaking, terrified flood. "I can prove my true identity. Please! I am Lysandra Rydel. Just give me one chance. A single chance to show you."

I stared at him, my naked chest rising and falling rapidly. I knew exactly how ruthless the Lycan Prince was. I knew pleading usually meant nothing to him. He was a monster who slaughtered without a second thought. My heart pounded so hard it hurt my ribs.

"I know you think I am lying," I rushed on, desperate to keep his attention, desperate to stop the skinning knife. "But I am not. Please. Just give me a chance. Let me show you."

For a long, agonizing moment, Varek simply studied me. His dark eyes gave nothing away. He looked at my pleading face, my bare, trembling body, my chained wrists. The silence in the room stretched thin, suffocating and heavy.

Then, he gestured to Brant.

Brant stepped close. He grabbed my right wrist. There was a sharp, metallic click.

The heavy metal Voidcuff snapped open and fell away.

Relief surged through me. An intoxicating rush of warmth flooded my numb fingers. My dormant magic stirred deep within my chest, waking up from its forced slumber. It hummed in my veins, singing with the promise of power. For a split second, hope flared bright and blinding. I was free.

Then I instinctively tried to move my legs.

A vicious, white-hot agony tore straight through my calves.

The ankle Voidcuffs remained firmly in place. They flared with brutal, magical resistance the second my power tried to flow downward. White-hot pain exploded up my legs, locking my muscles in a vice grip of pure torture. I cried out. My body seized, rigid and trembling. The restraints punished my movement without an ounce of mercy, acting like burning iron clamped directly onto my soul.

I snapped my gaze to Varek.

He settled comfortably into a heavy wooden chair near the bed. A dark, wicked smirk played on his lips. He rested one large arm on the armrest, leaning back to watch me suffer.

This was a deliberate choice.

He never planned to free me. He wanted to see if my will would break before my power did. He was forcing me to push my magic through the brutal, agonizing resistance of the remaining cuffs. He wanted a show. He wanted to see me bleed for my claim.

I swallowed hard. I forced myself to stand as straight as the agonizing metal allowed. This was my only chance. If I failed now, if the pain broke me, he would let Brant flay the skin from my flesh. I would die as a nameless imposter.

I drew a shaky breath. I clenched my freed right hand into a tight fist. I pushed past the explosive pain tearing through my nerves. I reached deep inside my chest, grabbing hold of the dormant heat that defined my bloodline.

I pushed my magic forward.

Pain detonated through my legs.

The ankle Voidcuffs flared bright red. Their magical backlash ripped through my nervous system, trying to tear my power out by force. My knees buckled. My entire body trembled hard. I nearly collapsed onto the bloody floorboards, the agony blinding my senses.

I ground my teeth together. I tasted the copper tang of my own blood. I forced the magic down my arm, inch by agonizing inch. My vision blurred. Black spots danced across my eyes. My right hand shook uncontrollably as the pain spiked higher and higher, threatening to rip my mind apart.

Then, it happened.

A flicker of black flame bloomed at my fingertips.

It was undeniable proof. The dark, consuming fire literally swallowed the light around it. It did not glow; it absorbed. It cast eerie, unnatural shadows across the bloody room, pulling the dim candlelight into its void. It was a manifestation of pure, corrupted power. Something only the true Rydel bloodline could accomplish.

I held it there. I gasped for air, my whole frame vibrating under the torturous backlash of the metal cuffs. Tears stung my eyes, streaming down my cheeks, but I locked my gaze onto Varek. I refused to blink.

The room went dead, suffocatingly still.

Varek stared at the dark flame. Then, his expression shifted. The cold amusement vanished. Something ugly and feral twisted his handsome features. His eyes darkened, flashing with a wild, monstrous possessiveness.

Faster than my eyes could process, he moved.

He surged from the wooden chair. The heavy furniture scraped back with a loud, harsh screech. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second. His massive hand clamped down hard over my right wrist.

He snuffed out my dark flame instantly.

The force of his attack sent me flying backward. I hit the edge of the mattress. My legs gave out beneath the relentless pain of the cuffs. I fell hard onto the bed, the old springs groaning under the brutal impact.

Before I could even draw a breath, his heavy, muscular body followed.

He crashed down on top of me. He pinned me down ruthlessly. His massive weight crushed the air straight from my lungs. His heavy knee drove hard between my thighs, locking my bare legs wide open. He pressed me deep into the mattress, trapping my naked, vulnerable form beneath his massive, dominant frame. My bare breasts flattened against his hard chest. My pussy was exposed, defenseless against the rough denim of his thigh pressing intimately between my legs. He caged me in, a predator claiming his catch.

He was dangerously close.

I froze. Panic paralyzed my vocal cords. My arms were useless beneath his unyielding grip. My body still shook from the magical backlash of the cuffs.

He lowered his head. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. His nose brushed against the sensitive skin of my throat. He inhaled deeply, taking a long, dragging breath against my flesh. He smelled me. He breathed in my scent as if trying to memorize my very soul.

A fierce, deeply wrong instinct curled hot in my gut. My heart slammed wildly against my ribs, beating like a trapped bird. The terrifying power of the Lycan Prince surrounded me, demanding total submission.

"No," I gasped weakly. My voice broke. "Don't..."

I pleaded with him. I begged him not to do whatever he was planning. But he ignored my desperate cries.

His breath ghosted warm against my throat. His large hand held my wrists pinned above my head. The air shifted. The atmosphere between us grew impossibly heavy, charged with a dark, primal energy that made my skin crawl with static.

He parted his lips. He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning over my racing pulse.

He whispered a single, terrifying word.

"Mate."

He opened his mouth wide. His sharp fangs extended, grazing my skin.

Explosive pain ripped through my entire body as he clamped his teeth down hard on my neck.