The question came out before Cora could stop it. She regretted it immediately, but it was too late. The words hung in the air between them.
Damien's eyes lifted from his plate. Settled on her face.
"Seraphina."
"I know her name." Cora's voice was steadier than she felt. "I'm asking who she is. To you."
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement, maybe.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. "I just — she called me a temporary guest. I want to know if she's right."
Damien set down his fork. Leaned back in his chair. The movement was casual, but his eyes were anything but that , like he was peeling back her skin to see what was underneath.
"Seraphina is my fiancée."
The word hit Cora like a physical blow. Fiancée. Of course. Of course someone like him would have someone like her. Beautiful. Powerful. The kind of woman who belonged in a place like this.
"The wedding is in three months," Damien continued. "A political alliance between my pack and her bloodline. She's a hybrid — half vampire, half wolf. The union will cement relationships that have been unstable for decades."
"So I am temporary," she said. "You'll figure out what I am, use me for whatever you need, and then — what? Kill me? Let me go?"
Damien's mouth curved. Not quite a smile. Something darker.
"That depends entirely on you."
Cora pushed her plate away.
"I want to go back to my room."
"You haven't finished eating."
"I've lost my appetite."
She expected him to argue. To order her to stay, to eat. Instead, he just watched her for a long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable.
"Fine."
He raised a hand. A servant appeared from nowhere — Cora hadn't even noticed anyone else in the room and Damien gestured toward her.
"Take her back to the west wing."
The servant nodded. Moved toward Cora.
Cora stood. Her legs were unsteady, but she forced them to hold her weight. She wouldn't show weakness. Not here. Not in front of him.
She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her.
"Cora."
She turned. He was still seated, still relaxed, but something in his expression had shifted. Softened wasn't the right word. Nothing about Damien Volkov was soft. But there was something there, a flicker of something almost human.
"Your birthday," he said. "Two days ago. You turned eighteen."
It wasn't a question But She nodded anyway.
"Did anyone celebrate with you?"
The question caught her off guard. She thought about her empty apartment. The stale cupcake she'd bought herself from the grocery store. The candle she'd lit and blown out alone, wishing for nothing because she'd learned long ago that wishes didn't come true.
"No," she said. "I was alone."
"You can go," he said.
The walk back to her room felt longer than before.
Cora followed the servant through hallways she was starting to recognize, the portraits on the walls, the way the light fell through certain windows, the particular creak of the floorboards near the staircase. She was building a map in her head. It was what she did. What she'd always done. Survive first. Feel later.
But the feelings kept pushing through anyway.
Damien's fiancée. Three months until the wedding. The words circled in her head, picking at something she didn't want to examine.
Why did she care?
She didn't.. Whatever strange pull she felt toward him — whatever heat bloomed in her chest when he was near, Just some trick of this supernatural world she'd been dragged into.
It didn't mean anything.
It couldn't mean anything.
The servant stopped outside her door. Unlocked it. Gestured for Cora to enter.
She did.
The door closed behind her. The lock clicked.
Cora stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself,she was confused.
She went to the bathroom first.
The mirror showed her what she already knew — she looked terrible. Dark circles under her eyes. Skin pale and drawn. Her hair was tangled, unwashed, falling around her face in limp strands. The bandage on her arm had bled through slightly, a faint pink stain spreading across the white gauze.
Cora turned on the shower. Stripped off the dress they'd put her in. Stepped under the hot water and let it beat against her skin until her muscles unclenched, until the cold that had settled in her bones started to thaw.
She scrubbed herself clean. Washed her hair with the expensive shampoo that smelled like jasmine. Stood under the spray until the water ran cold.
When she finally stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel that was softer than anything she'd ever owned, she felt almost human again.
Almost.
She found clothes in the dresser,a soft pants, a loose shirt, underwear that fit perfectly. Someone had stocked this room for her.
She dressed and Sat on the edge of the bed. Tried to think.
Her hands weren't glowing anymore. Whatever had happened last night whatever power had surged through her it was gone. She'd tried to summon it in the basement, had begged for it to come, and nothing had happened.
Maybe it never really happened
Or maybe she just didn't know how to control it yet.
The door opened.
It was A man. Young , maybe mid-twenties, though she was learning that age meant nothing in this place. He was handsome in a sharp, angular way, with dark hair pushed back from his face and eyes the color of whiskey. He leaned against the doorframe, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"So," he said. "You're the girl everyone's whispering about."
Cora didn't move. "Who are you?"
"Viktor." He pushed off the doorframe, stepping into her room without invitation. His gaze swept over her — the damp hair, the simple clothes, the bandage peeking out from under her sleeve. "I'm part of Damien's pack. Thought I'd come introduce myself."
"Does Damien know you're here?"
Viktor's smile widened. "Damien doesn't control everything I do." He took another step closer. "Despite what he likes to think."
There was something in his voice. An edge beneath the charm. Cora filed it away, adding it to the growing catalog of information she was building about this place.
"What do you want?"
"Just curious." He tilted his head, studying her. "You're not what I expected. When I heard the Alpha had a human girl locked in the west wing, I thought you'd be — I don't know. More impressive."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, I'm not disappointed." His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. "Not at all."
The way he looked at her made her skin prickle. Not like Damien, This was different. She didn't like it .
"You should go," Cora said.
Viktor laughed. "Probably." He didn't move. "But I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other, Cora. This place gets boring. And you" His smile sharpened. "You're the most interesting thing to happen here in years."
He turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.
Cora stared at the empty doorway, her pulse racing, a new kind of unease settling in her stomach.
Viktor's footsteps had faded down the hallway, but the door remained where he'd left it ajar.
An invitation. Or a trap.
She didn't move. Couldn't move. Her mind was racing, turning over every possibility. He'd left it open on purpose. That much was obvious. The question was why. Was he testing her? Reporting back to Damien? Setting her up to fail so he could watch her be punished?
Or did he just not care?
The image of Seraphina flashed through her mind. Those red lips on Damien's mouth. That satisfied smile. "I would be waiting."
He was with her right now. Had to be. That's why he'd let Cora leave the dining room without finishing her food. That's why he hadn't pushed harder, hadn't forced her to stay. He had somewhere better to be. Someone better to be with.
The thought burned in her chest, and she hated it. Hated that she cared. Hated that some twisted part of her had felt something when he'd fed her, when his fingers had brushed her lips, when his eyes had held hers across the table.
She was nothing to him.
The door was open.
Cora stood up.
She moved slowly at first.
One step. Two. Her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. She reached the doorway and paused, pressing herself against the frame, listening.
Silence.
The hallway stretched in both directions, empty and dim. No guards. No servants. No sign of life at all.
This was wrong. There should be someone watching her door. There always was. But Viktor's visit must have disrupted the routine, or maybe—
She didn't let herself finish the thought. Didn't let herself hope.
She slipped into the hallway.
Her memory of the estate was from the few times she'd been dragged through it. The basement was below. The dining room was somewhere to the east. The main entrance had to be—
She turned left. Followed the hallway until it branched, then took the path that seemed to slope downward. Stairs. She needed stairs. A door,A window,Anything.
Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure someone would hear it. Every shadow made her flinch.
She found a narrow staircase. She took the steps two at a time, her hand trailing along the wall for balance, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
At the bottom — a door. Heavy wood, iron handle.
She grabbed it and Pulled.
It opened.
Cold air hit her face.Outside. She was outside.
Cora ran.
The forest swallowed her within seconds.
Trees rose on all sides, thick trunks and tangled branches blocking out the fading light. The ground was uneven, roots and rocks hidden beneath layers of dead leaves. She stumbled, caught herself, kept running.
She had no plan. No direction. Just the desperate, animal need to get away.
Branches whipped at her face and arms. Her bare feet screamed, sharp stones cutting into her soles. She didn't care. Pain was temporary. Captivity was forever.
She ran until her lungs burned. Until her legs shook. Until the estate was nothing but a distant shadow through the trees.
Then she stopped.
Bent over, Hands on her knees , Gasping for air.
The forest was silent around her. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of her breathing and the frantic drumbeat of her heart.
She'd done it. She'd actually—
A branch snapped behind her.