I went looking for a rumor. I found a monster instead.
One second I was lying flat on volcanic rock, camera trained on an empty ridge. The next, wings blotted out the sky, and gold eyes locked on mine like I was something worth hunting.
He caught me. He didn’t let go.
Now I’m a prisoner inside a mountain full of men who turn into fire and claws, answering to a Sovereign who looks at me like I’m his — and refuses to explain why. He’s cold. Controlled. Dangerously patient. And every time he gets close, I forget every reason I have to run.
He says I smell like his. I say that’s not an explanation, it’s a threat.
But the more he reveals — the ridge he guards, the mate he lost, the fire he keeps leashed only for me — the less I want the door he refuses to lock.
What happens when the cage starts to feel like home?
