KYRA KNIGHT

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I thrash in his arms, my voice rising like a mantra. “I will not marry you,” I chant stubbornly, my wrists twisting in his unyielding grip.

His amber eyes flash, molten and angry, as his strong arms lock tighter around my tiny frame. “You will marry me,” he growls, the low timbre of his voice scraping over my skin like claws. “Either you agree willingly, or I’ll force you to marry me in front of the entire supernatural realm. Your choice.”

“I don’t even know you, mister,” I snap, frowning up at him, my chest heaving. “Why would I marry you?” I’ve been locked away by him for two days now, dragged from my apartment like some helpless pawn, and I still don’t understand what he actually wants from me.

A slow, dangerous sneer curls his lips. His face hovers inches from mine, his breath hot and intoxicating. “Because I am Lycos, the former Lycan king, and you, little human, are the key to breaking my curse and regaining my powers. Marriage is the only way to bind your pure soul to me permanently.”

I laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Oh, so you’re some mythical creature now? Listen, I don’t believe in this stupid myth,” I retort nonchalantly, wriggling in his grip. But the name… Lycos. It feels ancient, like a whispered legend. I’ve heard of Lycans before, the powerful version of werewolves, creatures that ruled shadows and moonlight. Yet I’m too modern to believe in this crap. And I don’t understand why he would say such things to me.

For a brief, chilling moment, I had thought he wanted to do something else with me, sell me, maybe, into trafficking. That’s what girls are mostly kidnapped for, right? But instead, this psycho is talking about curses and kings and supernatural realms.

His expression darkens like a thunderstorm gathering. “You unbelievable woman,” he mutters, tightening his arms just enough to make me feel small. “Do you have any idea how many supernatural beings would kill for your pure heart and soul? And here you are, laughing like an idiot, disbelieving in the supernatural.” He releases me abruptly, the loss of his warmth startling, leaving a strange chill crawling over my skin.

“What do you even want from me? You really think I’ll marry you? I won’t,” I say simply, scowling at him. Inside, my thoughts swirl like a storm. I know I’m beautiful, but I never thought someone would be this desperate to marry me, especially a man like him. Handsome, rich, and dangerous. If only he hadn’t kidnapped me, I might have fallen straight into his arms without a fight.

Those amber-golden eyes, sharp and wild, burn holes into me. His features are all edges and shadows, his dark, messy hair falling over a sculpted face like something carved by sinful hands. He towers over me, at least six foot three, while I barely scrape five feet. His beautiful olive skin contrasts with my fair complexion, his dark hair clashing against my copper-red hair like fire and night. I’m only twenty, barely at the edge of adulthood, and here he is, ordering me to marry him. Who marries so young? Certainly not me.

He lunges, hands gripping my shoulders now, his golden eyes blazing with desperation and rage. “I’m not asking for a love marriage, you stubborn human! I’m offering you protection from every supernatural creature hunting your pure soul. In return, you give me your hand in marriage to break my curse.”

“Who’s hunting me, huh?” I ask, raising a brow. “Because I’ve been living a normal life in my little apartment, working as a part-time tutor. No demons, no curses.” My voice wavers slightly as the words spill out. My parents passed away years ago, leaving me an orphan with nothing but a small savings account and an empty apartment. I live alone, tutoring kids just to scrape by. I have no enemies, no debts, no secret life, nothing that should make anyone hunt me. Why would someone even come after me? And why is he acting so strangely about curses and supernatural beings, as if they’re real and breathing all around us?

“Every creature with dark intentions,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Demons, vampires, werewolves, witches, all drawn to your pure aura. You think your mundane life is safe? Newsflash, sweetheart. You’re the most sought-after human in the entire supernatural world right now.”

“Supernatural world,” I echo before bursting out laughing again, the sound brittle and sharp. Witches, demons, werewolves. They’re after me? It’s so fucking funny how he thinks I’ll actually believe him.

He yanks me closer, his face nearly touching mine. “Keep laughing, little human. Laugh until a dark creature snatches you in the middle of the night, ripping out your heart to gain eternal power. Then we’ll see how funny this ‘supernatural world’ is to you.”

I gasp at his harsh words, my mind flicking involuntarily to the recent string of murders in London, the girls found dead, their hearts missing. My stomach twists, but I refuse to believe it has anything to do with the supernatural realm. No matter how convincing he seems, some part of me clings stubbornly to reality.

“Ah, I see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours,” he says mockingly. “Remembering the ‘unexplainable’ murders? Those aren’t human psychopaths, sweetheart. Those are dark creatures hunting for a pure heart, your heart.”

“It’s just some stupid psychopath. They’ll be caught soon. I still don’t believe you. Do you understand?” I grit out, my teeth clenched. I can feel my irritation rising like a slow burn in my chest. I don’t want to believe him. Why should I? I’ve never seen anything supernatural with my own eyes. Not once, not in all my years of living alone, tutoring kids, surviving quietly. And now this man wants me to accept that demons and witches are real just because he says so?

He throws his hands up, stepping back. “Fine. Be a stubborn fool. But when you’re screaming for help in the middle of the night with a dark creature’s fangs at your throat, don’t come crying to me.”

“I know I’m beautiful, but you? Desperate to marry me? That’s rich,” I retort, rolling my eyes.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he leans in, his breath ghosting over my lips. “You have no idea how tempting it is to shut that smart mouth of yours with a kiss. But believe me, I’m not desperate. I’m offering you a chance at survival.”

I laugh again, sharp and mocking, finding his threat ridiculous. But deep down, somewhere beneath the irritation and disbelief, something strange stirs in my heart. An unfamiliar pull, a flicker of heat and curiosity tangled with fear, like my soul is reacting to something my mind refuses to accept.

His amber eyes narrow dangerously. Without warning, he slams me against the wall, his hand wrapping around my throat, gentle yet firm, a warning rather than harm. “Laugh again,” he dares in a low snarl, his face burying into my neck to inhale my scent. “I dare you.”

I freeze in his arms, my pulse hammering wildly against his palm. My body betrays me instantly. His masculine scent envelops me, rich and primal, mixed with the faintest trace of smoke and forest air. The rough scrape of his stubble grazes my soft, pinkish neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. His breath, cold and slow, brushes over my skin like a ghost’s touch, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

My fingers twitch uselessly at my sides, torn between pushing him away and clutching onto him. Every nerve in my body screams danger, yet some dark, treacherous part of me leans into his warmth, craving more of the pressure at my throat, more of the heat radiating from his towering frame. My knees weaken, and I hate myself for it.

He swallows hard, his large frame caging mine. He hadn’t expected this reaction. My body went rigid, but not in fear. Goosebumps prick my skin, and I can feel his muscles tense as if he senses it too. His hold unconsciously tightens, pulling me closer, as though the space between us is forbidden yet impossible to keep.

“Stop,” I whisper, breathless, trying to pull away, my cheeks flushed and burning. I never thought my body could react this way, at least not to him. Not to the man who fucking kidnapped me.

He steps back immediately, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Let me go. I’m not going to marry you or stay in your castle, even if it’s huge and I like it,” I scowl deeper.

It’s absurd. I’ve always dreamed of a prince charming sweeping me off my feet, carrying me away to a grand, gothic castle where he would keep me close and love me endlessly. And now, it’s happened in the cruelest way. Except he is no Prince Charming. He’s my captor, my nightmare dressed in beauty and danger. This castle isn’t just old, it feels ancient, its stones whispering with secrets, its shadows alive with a history I don’t want to know. Yet, despite the fear coiling inside me, I can’t deny its beauty. It calls to me in a twisted way, making me want to both explore every hidden corner and run as far from it as I can.

His expression hardens, his arms crossing over his broad chest. “You’re not going anywhere,” he declares firmly. “Not until I’ve convinced you to marry me and break my curse. You’ll stay in my castle whether you like it or not.” He turns and walks away as if expecting me to follow.

“Curse,” I hiss. “Damn your curse, you liar,” I snap, sinking onto the massive bed, frustrated. But curiosity tugs at me, sharp and unwelcome. Why would someone lie about this? Curses… I’ve heard of them, sure, in stories and myths, but what kind of curse could bind a man like him? And more importantly, what could I possibly do to help him?

Even though I hate every second of this kidnapping, I can’t ignore the smallest flicker of gratitude that he’s kept me here, in this beautiful gothic room inside his castle, rather than throwing me in a dungeon or some filthy cage where captives are usually treated like rag dolls. The bed beneath me is soft, the walls are carved stone and shadow, and though I loathe him for stealing me, part of me feels the haunting weight of privilege in the place he’s given me.

He freezes, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turns, his golden eyes flashing. “I’m not lying,” he growls, taking a step toward me. “This curse is real, and it’s killing me slowly.”

“It’s not my business. I want to go home. The kids I tutor are waiting for me,” I fire back angrily, my voice sharp. My chest heaves as I stand my ground, refusing to show any fear.

And yet… behind the anger, there’s a small, reluctant part of me that feels selfish. Selfish for not caring about a man dying. Selfish for wanting only to return to my ordinary, predictable life while someone, someone so impossibly powerful, is bleeding away under a curse I barely understand. It gnaws at me, twisting uneasily with my fear and frustration. Part of me wants to run, to pull the sheets around myself and pretend this isn’t happening. But another part, darker and curious, maybe even drawn to him, wants to know what this curse is, why it matters, and if somehow, against every rational thought, I could be the one to stop it.

He stops in front of me, looming like a shadow. “Forget your human life for now,” he snaps. “Right now, your only concern should be breaking my curse. Those kids you tutor? They’re not your priority anymore.” He grabs my arm roughly. “You’re coming with me.”

“I gasp softly, disbelief and a strange heat coiling in my belly. “Listen, you rich asshole. I will not marry you. Now let me go,” I snap, frustrated.

His grip tightens, a reminder that my protests mean nothing here. His voice drops to a dangerous rumble. “You ungrateful little...” He cuts himself off with a rough exhale, as if surprised by the roughness of his own temper. Then he leans closer, eyes darker than before, and asks, “Do you know what I could do to you right now?”

“What?” I ask, swallowing hard, terror and something else twisting together inside me.

“I could throw you over my shoulder like a caveman and carry you to my bedroom,” he growls, his golden eyes glowing faintly. “I could lock you in there until you agree to marry me.” He leans down, his face a breath away from mine. “Or…”

I stare at him, lips parting as my mind reels at his words. Heat creeps up my neck, betraying me. I feel embarrassed to even like the idea a little bit, that flicker of dark curiosity curling low in my stomach, yet at the same time, a cold blade of terror slices through me. Part of me wants to spit in his face and run, part of me wants to know what would happen if I didn’t. My breath comes unevenly, my heart hammering so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

Seeing me undone, his control frays. He crashes his lips against mine in a rough, demanding kiss, pouring all his pent-up frustration and desire into it. My breath catches in my throat as our mouths collide, a sharp gasp escaping me. His hand tangles in my hair, holding me firmly in place, pressing me closer as though he could anchor me to him with sheer force. Every instinct in me screams to resist, yet my body betrays me, responding to him in ways I don’t fully understand. The world narrows to the heat of his lips, the power in his touch, and the wild, unspoken tension that hangs between us. “Or,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice like a promise, “I could fuck you right here on this bed.”