"Stop struggling or I'll break your wrist right now." Silas's grip was a vice, bruising my skin as he dragged me across the cellar floor.
I didn't stop. I couldn't. I slammed my heel into his instep. He grunted, but didn't let go. Instead, he yanked me harder, dragging me across cold, damp stone. Grit dug into my palms. I didn't care. I wanted to claw his eyes out.
"You can't do this, Silas! I'm your sister!"
He stopped dead. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. He smelled of expensive cologne and betrayal. A smirk played on his lips—cold, mocking, deadly.
"Sister?" He chuckled. "You're a mistake, Elara. A bloodless stain on this family's name. Now, you're finally going to be useful. You're a payment."
"Payment for what?" I spat, twisting in his grip.
"For my future." He shoved me. Hard. I flew, hitting the freezing floor with a thud. He looked down at me like I was trash. "The Savage King doesn't take gold. He takes blood. And since you're the only thing in this house I don't mind losing... you're the offering."
I froze. The Savage King. Everyone in Apex City knew the stories. A monster. A bloodlust that couldn't be sated. A king who left ruins in his wake.
"He'll kill me," I whispered.
"Exactly," Silas checked his watch, bored. "Which means I don't have to worry about you claiming your inheritance. Now, shut up and look pretty. Or don't. He probably prefers them screaming."
He signaled the guards. No words. Just hands grabbing my shoulders, hauling me up and tossing me into the dark. The iron door slammed. Boom. The sound vibrated in my teeth. Silence followed—thick, heavy, suffocating.
I sank to my knees. The air smelled of rust and old blood. I looked at my hands. Shaking. I was the 'worthless' one. The outcast. The girl with dormant blood who couldn't spark a flicker of power while the rest of my family commanded the elements.
Then, I felt it.
A hum. Not in the air, but in my veins. A low, pulsing thrum. It started in my chest and radiated outward, warming my skin. I pressed my palms against the stone. I wasn't empty. I felt a pull. A hunger.
*Find it,* a voice whispered. Not a voice—an instinct. *Find the source.*
I focused. There was something else in this building. Something massive. Violent. A roar of agony and rage coiled beyond the walls. And the weirdest part? I wasn't afraid. I wanted to touch it.
Then, the thrum snapped.
BOOM.
The iron door didn't open—it exploded. Hinges screamed. Metal tore. The door flew inward, smashing into the wall. Dust coated my tongue. I scrambled backward, heart hammering.
Through the debris, he appeared.
He was huge. Broad. Wearing black leather and furs, chest scarred and glistening with sweat. No crown. He didn't need one. His eyes were predatory gold, burning through the gloom.
Kane. The Savage King.
He didn't speak. He just breathed—deep, ragged inhales. His obsidian claws dug into the doorframe, gouging the wood.
"So," he rasped. The voice was a growl that vibrated in my chest. "This is the scrap Silas traded me?"
He stepped in. Fluid. Dangerous. A panther stalking prey. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over me with contempt.
"You look fragile," he sneered. His lip curled, revealing elongated canines. "I can smell the fear. Pathetic. I asked for a challenge, not a doll that'll break if I breathe on her too hard."
The hum in my blood screamed. I forced myself to stand. My legs shook, but I stood.
"I'm not a doll," I snapped.
Kane paused. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. He leaned in. Sandalwood, rain, and raw power. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off him—a furnace of aggression.
"You have a tongue," he murmured.
Lightning fast, his hand clamped around my jaw. He didn't crush, but the power was absolute. He forced me to look up. "Most of the 'sacrifices' just weep and pray. Why aren't you praying, little bird?"
"Because no one is listening," I replied, staring into those golden pits.
The aggression flickered. He didn't pull away. His thumb grazed my lower lip.
A shockwave erupted.
The roar in his head—the one I'd felt through the floor—went silent. The tension in his shoulders vanished. The hunger in his eyes shifted. It wasn't a desire to destroy anymore. It was a starving need.
Kane gasped. He jerked his hand back as if I were white-hot iron. He stumbled, chest heaving, looking at me with horror and obsession.
"What... what did you just do?