Chapter 19

AMARA

The cold hit my skin first.

Not the kind of cold that comes from air or wind... this was sharper. Wet and icy.

A shock ran through me and I gasped, jerking upright. Water dripped down my face, my hair heavy against my neck.

"Son-of-a-bitch." A curse slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

I wiped my eyes, and when I could see again, I found Ryder standing over me. His hand still held the empty metal cup.

He looked down at me with that same amused smirk he always wore when he thought he had the upper hand.

“You’ve got fire,” he grinned widely at me and for a second I wondered what was funny here. “A real stubborn bitch.” he continued.

My jaw tightened. “Call me that again,” I said, my voice low, anger coursing through me, “and I’ll tear your limbs apart one by one… and feast on them.”

For a second, he didn’t reply. He just watched me. I saw his eyes shift slightly, catching the way the air around us seemed to grow heavier.

On the other hand, I could feel my own power pressing at my skin, wanting to be let out. He must have felt it too because that smirk faltered for a brief moment.

He looked away, almost like he was reminding himself not to push further.

And then on autopilot, he bent down and began untying the rope around my wrists.

The skin there burned from how tight they’d been. I rubbed them when they were free, but he didn’t give me much time. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He just started walking, pulling me along through a hallway I’d never seen before. The walls here were different — wider, cleaner, lit with torches that burned steady.

I pulled back a little and grounded my feet on the floor to stop the motion. “I asked you where we’re going.”

He glanced at me, his smirk returning. “You’re in for a beautiful ride, princess.”

I didn’t like the way he said it. The words sounded too calm, like he was taking me somewhere I wouldn’t like but wanted me to think otherwise.

The hallway ended at a large wooden door, the kind you’d expect in a palace, not a rogue base. Ryder shoved it open, and the sight inside made my stomach twist.

The room was vast. The floor was polished stone, black with swirls of red that caught the light from the tall flames burning in iron bowls on each side.

The air smelled faintly of smoke and earth. At the center, high above us, sat a throne carved from dark wood, decorated with streaks of silver and bone.

Behind it, a wall of black stone rose up, cracked in places like scars. Chains hung from the ceiling, their ends swaying slightly as if they’d been used not long ago.

And there he was. Ragnar.

He sat like the room belonged to him and maybe it did. His posture was relaxed, one leg bent, his elbow resting on the arm of the throne.

His black wavy hair was messy, damp, like he had just stepped out of a shower. He wore only shorts and a t-shirt that clung to him, showing every line of muscle beneath.

My eyes, however, didn’t stop on him first.

They went to Clara.

She was on the floor beside the throne, gagged, her wrists and ankles bound with thick rope. Her eyes were wide, wet with tears. She looked like an animal caught in a trap.

I stepped forward without thinking, but Ryder’s grip on my arm tightened. “Not so fast.”

Clara lifted her head, and when her gaze found me, she began to cry harder. She mumbled through the gag, words I couldn’t understand. I could only feel the panic in them.

My eyes scanned the rest of the room. The other girls from the night we were kidnapped were here, pressed against the far wall.

Some I knew, some I didn’t. All of them looked terrified. I don't know why but a feeling tugged at me, that I was in it.

Guards stood scattered around the room, watching silently.

I turned to Ragnar, my voice sharper than I meant. “Hey, let her go. I’m the one who dragged her into escaping. She didn’t deserve this.”

Ragnar stood. The movement was slow, controlled like he was taking his time to do something that didn't need much of a show. He stepped down from the throne, his bare feet making almost no sound against the stone floor.

When he was close enough, his hand came up fast, striking my face. The crack of it rang through the room. My head snapped to the side, and my cheek burned.

“Watch that pretty tongue,” he said, his voice low but edged with steel. “Learn to respect me.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes. I hated the way he looked at me — like I was both a challenge and something he already owned.

He glanced at Ryder. “Let her go.”

Ryder released my arm, and I stood still, my body stiff from the cold air in the room.

“You’ve got courage,” Ragnar said, circling me slowly. “To think you could slip away from me. That takes spirit.”

His hand lifted and traced a line down my chest until his fingers brushed against my breast. My breath hitched, but I didn’t step back.

“It’d be a shame,” he murmured, “to ruin such a beautiful body.”

“Get on with it,” I said, my voice flat. “But let Clara go.”

Ragnar looked over at her. Clara shook her head, her muffled voice pushing out from behind the gag. “No! I won’t let her suffer for this!”

“Shut up, Clara,” I snapped. “Stay still. I’ll be fine.”

Her tears fell harder, but she went quiet.

Ragnar smiled, and it made my stomach turn. “Kneel.”

I didn’t move at his command.

His smile faded. “Kneel… or I make you.”

My fists clenched. I had to do this or else Clara would suffer, and it was the last thing I'd take.

Slowly, I dropped to my knees.

He chuckled, walking back to the throne and picking something up. When he returned, I saw the whip in his hand. Its black leather glistened under the firelight.

“Hold still,” he said, though he didn’t need to — Ryder had stepped behind me, ready to force me if I tried to move.

The first strike landed on my back. Pain burned across my skin, sharp and deep. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him the sound he wanted.

Another strike. Then another.

Each time, my magic surged inside me, pressing against the walls I’d built to hold it in. It begged to be released, to tear this room apart. To destroy this monster into tiny bits. But I forced it down. Not now. Not like this. Not when Clara was in here and there was high chances she might not survive it.

The room was silent except for the sound of the whip and the crack of leather against flesh.

When it was over, I was shaking. My breath came in short pulls. Blood ran down my side, warm against my skin. My knees felt weak under me.

But I was glad for one thing, I hadn't cried out just like Ragnar wanted. I'd taken each stroke of the whip strongly.

Ragnar stepped back, admiring his work like an artist looking at a finished painting. “Still not broken,” he said. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

He turned away, waving a hand. “Take her away.”

Ryder grabbed me under the arms, pulling me to my feet. My legs barely held me. The world blurred as he dragged me through another hallway.

We stopped in front of a small, heavy door. He unlocked it and pushed it open. Inside, the walls were plain stone. There was a single bed but no window and light except a small bulb in the ceiling.

He shoved me inside, and I stumbled to the floor. My body screamed in pain.

Ryder’s voice was low. “Soundproof. No one will hear you. So you can scream all you want. I know you're holding it down to shame Ragnar and show how strong you're.” he chuckled as the door slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed me whole even though I tried hard fighting it.