I should have known it was a trap the second he untied the tube.
Should've stopped everything right there—walked out, locked the damn door, and come back tomorrow when I had a better plan, when my magic wasn't hanging by a fucking thread.
But silly, greedy, desperate me.
I wanted the blood. Needed it.
And that stupid hunger made me ignore every screaming warning sign the universe shoved in my face.
Like the way he touched the charmed bars—and didn't burn.
That alone should've had me running.
But I stayed.
I stayed because I wanted revenge more than I wanted safety.
Because I thought I could control something that was never meant to be touched, let alone drained and caged.
And then—he spoke.
"Now. You can either open this cage and explain what the hell you're doing with my blood—"
A pause. Just enough to chill my spine.
"—or I can wait until your charm breaks, drain you dry, and figure it out myself."
That was it. That should have been the final, blaring siren in my face. But I didn't listen. I didn't move.
Because I was scared. And stupid. And still believed, somewhere in that rotten brain of mine, that I was in control.
So I didn't open the cage.
And he didn't wait long.
I was busy swapping out the first blood bag for the second—shaky hands, frantic breaths, my back to him—when I heard it.
Crunch.
That sound didn't belong in a basement.
Didn't belong in my carefully prepared plan.
It belonged in nightmares.
I turned.
The bars—they weren't right.
Bent. Pulled apart like taffy by inhuman hands.
He'd forced them wide—wide enough to try squeezing through.
He was too big, thank the gods, but that wouldn't stop him long.
And then I made the mistake.
I looked into his eyes.
No. He looked into mine.
And that voice—that voice—didn't come from his mouth this time.
It slithered into my thoughts like a lover's whisper, soft, silky, and absolutely final.
"Open the cage, little witch."
The words echoed, rang, echoed again—inside my head.
They didn't just suggest.
They commanded.
I blinked, breath stuck in my throat.
And I moved.
My body moved.
I didn't tell it to.
I didn't want to.
But I stepped forward, hand outstretched, toward the lock.
Inside, something screamed. Something ancient and terrified that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with survival.
But I couldn't stop.
Because in that moment, I wasn't the witch who woke him.
I was just another stupid girl who looked a monster in the eye.
And believed she was the exception.
This time, Salem wasn't there to save me.
No snarky voice.
No judgmental stare.
No sarcastic "brainless chicken" to snap me out of it.
Just me.
Just him.
And the sound of that damn lock clicking open.
Like a spell breaking. Like glass shattering in my mind.
The compulsion snapped.
All at once, the fog lifted.
The room came crashing back. The damp of the basement. The iron tang of blood. The cold sweat plastering my back.
My hand still on the cage door. Wide open now.
And he was free.
He hadn't stepped out yet.
He stood there—smiling.
Not a friendly smile. Not even a victorious one.
No.
It was the smile of something that had waited centuries just for this moment.
A patient predator.
A god among corpses.
My heart slammed against my ribs as my breath came back in ragged, frantic gasps. My legs moved back—finally—but it was too late for distance now.
He stepped out.
Slow. Controlled. As if he had all the time in the world and I was the only thing in it worth tasting.
He looked down at me like I was the dumbest, prettiest little meal that ever walked itself into a slaughterhouse.
"Thank you," he said, and gods help me, he sounded sincere.
That voice—that fucking voice—it was deeper now. Fuller.
Like every drop of blood I'd stolen for him was settling into his bones and blooming into power.
"You did well, little witch."
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run.
But all I could do was stare and mutter the one question I didn't want answered:
"What… what are you going to do now?"
He tilted his head. Eyes glowing that ancient, deadly brown that saw more than I could ever hide.
"Now?"
He leaned in.
Too close.
His breath was cold. Not warm like life—cold, like a tomb.
"Now I decide… if I'll keep you alive long enough to understand the cost of what you've done."
I backed up—stumbling, tripping over my own feet—but he didn't follow.
Not yet.
He just watched.
Like a storm deciding where to land.
And I realized—
I didn't wake him.
I unleashed him.
*******
My hand snapped to my neck.
Nothing.
Bare skin.
No warmth.
No metal.
No protection.
Fucked.
My gaze shot to the floor like it had teeth.
And there it was.
The necklace.
Lying there like a tiny corpse, right where I had stood earlier—right where I let my guard down like the dumb, reckless idiot I was.
I must have tugged it off when I leaned to switch the blood bags. A second of carelessness.
Now?
I was royally fucked.
No—totally, epically, cosmically fucked.
The vampire stepped out of the cage fully now, his feet hitting the cold stone floor with the quiet certainty of death walking.
And I?
I just stood there.
No voice. No charm. No fucking rules left.
I'd broken every single one.
Don't speak to him.
Don't open the cage.
Don't remove the necklace.
Check.
Check.
Fucking check.
My lungs forgot how to breathe.
His smile widened like he could taste the fear vibrating off me.
Like the moment had ripened perfectly.
"Well," he said, walking towards me with the confidence of a king reclaiming his throne, "this got a lot more interesting."
I took a step back. Just one.
He didn't lunge. He didn't growl.
Worse.
He just watched me.
Studied me.
Like a puzzle box.
Like a meal with history.
"You should have run when you could," he murmured. "But I get it. Curiosity. Greed."
He sniffed the air.
"You reek of it all."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him I didn't mean to—that I wasn't trying to betray him, that I just needed his blood and that was it.
But what the fuck would that do now?
The charm was gone.
The cage was open.
The devil was loose.
And I was prey.