Bella’s POV

"This is as far as I go, child," Grace whispers, her hand trembling as she stops in front of a massive wooden door.

The hallway we've walked through is nothing like the rest of the fortress. Here, everything screams wealth and power… floors so polished I can see my reflection, tapestries that probably cost more than most people make in a lifetime, and candles in golden holders casting dancing shadows on the walls.

But none of the luxury makes this feel less like a walk to my execution.

Grace's face is pale, and she keeps glancing at the door like it might bite her. Her fingers twist in her apron, a nervous habit that tells me she's done this before. How many other women has she led down this same hallway?

"Grace," I start, but she shakes her head quickly.

"Don't," she says, her voice barely audible. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

She turns to leave, then stops and looks back at me one more time. There are tears in her eyes that she's trying hard not to shed.

"For what it's worth," she whispers, "I'll pray for you."

Then she's gone, her footsteps echoing down the marble hallway until I can't hear them anymore. I'm alone with the door and whatever waits behind it.

My hand moves instinctively to where the silver hairpin is hidden against my ribs. The metal has warmed from my body heat, but it's still sharp enough to do what needs to be done. I just have to be smart about it. Quick and precise, like Papa taught me when he showed me how to clean fish.

Except this isn't a fish. This is Rowan Blackwood, and if even half the stories are true, he's more monster than man.

I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle. It's cold brass, shaped like a wolf's head with ruby eyes that seem to glow in the candlelight. Even the door handle is designed to intimidate.

The door swings open silently, and I step inside.

The first thing that hits me is the smell… something wild and masculine that makes my head spin. The second thing is the size of the room. It's enormous, with a ceiling so high it disappears into shadows. A fireplace big enough to roast an entire deer crackles on one wall, and the bed... God, the bed is the size of my entire bedroom back home.

But it's not the room that makes me freeze in the doorway.

It's him.

Rowan Blackwood is standing with his back to me, facing a full-length mirror framed in silver. He's shirtless, and the sight of him makes my mouth go dry despite everything.

He's huge. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered and muscular in a way that speaks of real strength, not just show. His back is a masterpiece of defined muscle, and his skin looks like it's been carved from warm marble. Dark hair falls to just below his shoulders, and even from behind, I can tell he's built like something out of a fairy tale.

A very dark fairy tale.

I swallow hard and force myself to remember why I'm here. Beautiful or not, this man is a killer. A monster who destroys women for sport.

"You're very quiet," he says without turning around, and his voice sends shivers down my spine. It's deep and smooth, with an accent I can't place. "Most women are crying or screaming by now."

I need to get closer. The hairpin won't do any good from across the room, and I only get one chance at this.

"Maybe I'm not like most women," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake.

He laughs, and the sound is rich and dark like expensive wine. "No, I don't think you are."

I start walking toward him slowly, trying to look casual while my hand moves carefully inside my dress. The hairpin slides into my palm, and I grip it tight enough that the metal bites into my skin.

"What makes you so sure?" I ask, taking another step closer.

"Your scent, for one thing," he says, and I see his head tilt slightly like he's listening to something I can't hear. "You smell like... old magic. Ancient bloodlines. Very interesting."

Another step closer. I'm maybe six feet away now, close enough that I can see the muscles in his back shift as he moves. Close enough to strike if I'm quick.

"I don't know what you mean," I lie, sliding the hairpin up my sleeve so I can grip it properly.

"Don't you?" He sounds amused now. "Tell me, little hunter, what do you know about your family history?"

My blood turns to ice. Hunter. He knows what I am.

But that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters except ending this before he can hurt anyone else.

I raise my arm, the silver hairpin catching the firelight as I prepare to drive it into his back. One quick thrust between the ribs, aiming for his heart. Papa always said the fastest kill was the kindest kill.

But as my hand starts to move forward, Rowan spins around faster than should be humanly possible.

His hand closes around my wrist like a steel trap, stopping the hairpin inches from his chest. His grip is so strong I can feel my bones grinding together, and a cry of pain escapes my lips.

But it's not the pain that paralyzes me.

It's his eyes.

They're not human eyes. They're the color of molten gold, with pupils that seem to shift and change like they can't decide what shape to be. And when our gazes lock, something inside me explodes.

It's like being struck by lightning. Every nerve in my body lights up at once, sending waves of sensation coursing through me that I don't understand. My vision blurs at the edges, and I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except stare into those impossible eyes.

The hairpin falls from my numb fingers and clatters on the marble floor.

This isn't natural. This isn't human. Whatever is happening to me, it's magic of some kind… ancient and powerful and completely beyond my control.

I try to move, try to speak, try to do anything, but my body won't obey me. It's like I'm trapped inside myself, watching helplessly as Rowan studies my face with those predator's eyes.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his perfect features. But it's not a kind smile. It's the smile of someone who's just won a game I didn't even know we were playing.

He leans closer, his lips almost touching my ear. His breath is warm against my skin, and when he speaks, his voice is like silk wrapped around a blade.

"That was a perfect way to deliver yourself to me.”