ARSHILA POV
The shape moves forward slowly, stepping out of the shadows with a silent, terrifying grace that makes my entire body lock in place.
And then I see it.
A black panther.
The scream claws up my throat but never makes it out, getting stuck somewhere deep inside my chest as my lungs forget how to work.
My fingers twitch uselessly around the knife, my entire body frozen as the massive animal steps fully into the dim light, its muscles shifting under sleek black fur, its eyes locked on me like I am already prey.
I can't think.
I can't breathe.
I can't even process what the hell I am looking at because this is not normal, this is not real, this is something pulled straight out of a nightmare and dropped right in front of me.
It starts walking toward me.
Slow.
Silent.
Deadly.
My head snaps to Zayan, my chest heaving, waiting for something, anything—panic, reaction, movement—but he just sits there, exactly the same, watching me like this is entertainment.
Like this is mine to handle.
My foot moves back without permission.
Then another step.
Then another.
The ground feels uneven under me, my balance off, my breath breaking as I try to put distance between me and the animal stalking toward me like it already decided how this ends.
My heel catches.
I trip.
The world tilts too fast and I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air out of me as the knife slips slightly in my grip but doesn't fall.
The panther doesn't stop.
It keeps coming.
Closer.
Closer.
My body starts shaking uncontrollably now as I scramble backward, my hands pressing against the cold stone, dragging myself away from it, my breath turning into shallow, broken gasps as tears blur my vision.
A low growl vibrates through the air again.
Deeper this time.
Louder.
Not from the panther.
My head snaps behind me—
And the scream finally tears out, raw and choked as it breaks in my throat.
A tiger.
Massive.
Golden fur cut with dark stripes, muscles thick and heavy under its skin, its eyes locked on me with a slow, calculating hunger that feels worse than anything else in this place.
Its breath comes out hot, visible in the cold air, its body too close, too real, blocking every possible escape.
In front of me—
The panther.
Behind me—
A tiger.
My chest rises too fast, my body shaking violently as I sit trapped between them, the knife still in my hand but completely useless now, my fingers trembling so badly I can barely hold onto it.
"You were saying, wife?"
His voice cuts through everything.
Low.
Smooth.
Mocking.
My head jerks toward him, my eyes wide, my breath uneven as I stare at him sitting there, that smirk finally touching his lips like this is exactly what he has been waiting for.
"I will fucking kill you!" I choke out, the words breaking under the weight of my fear as I try to push myself back further, even though there is nowhere left to go.
He tilts his head slightly, amused, his gaze dragging over me slowly, taking in every inch of my shaking body, every crack in my voice, every drop of fear I can't hide.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, his tone almost thoughtful. "Because right now, you look like you're one breath away from begging me instead."
The panther steps closer.
Its breath brushes my face.
Warm.
Heavy.
I flinch violently, my entire body jerking as a shiver runs through me, sharp and uncontrollable, my hand slipping slightly as I try to move back again—
And my shoulder hits something solid.
The tiger.
A broken sound escapes me, my body locking completely as I feel the heat of it behind me, the sheer size of it, the way it doesn't even need to move to remind me that I am completely trapped.
Tears spill over now, silent and fast, my chest heaving as I try to breathe through the suffocating panic clawing up my throat.
"Fucking help me, Zayan!" The words rip out of me before I can stop them, raw and desperate, my voice shaking in a way I can't control.
He doesn't move.
Not immediately.
He just watches me, his gaze darkening slightly, something heavier settling into it as his eyes drop briefly to the knife still clutched in my hand.
"What's with the bloody knife, wife?" he asks calmly, like we are having a normal conversation instead of this.
My fingers tighten instinctively around it, even though it feels useless now.
"To fucking end you," I snap, my voice breaking at the edges, my breath uneven.
His lips curve faintly.
"Is that so?" he murmurs, almost amused. "Bold. Very bold."
The panther exhales again, closer this time, its breath brushing against my cheek, and my body jerks, another shiver tearing through me as I try to lean away—only to press harder into the tiger behind me.
I let out a broken breath, my head dropping slightly as the fear finally settles deep, heavy, unavoidable.
"Even if I die here," I whisper, my voice shaking, raw and stubborn through the terror, "you're still a murderer."
For the first time—
He moves.
Zayan stands.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Like he has all the time in the world.
Then he lets out a sharp whistle.
The sound cuts through the space instantly.
Both animals stop.
Then, like something out of a twisted command, they step back and sit down, their massive bodies lowering to the ground, eyes still locked on me but no longer closing in.
The sudden space feels unreal.
My body doesn't stop shaking.
Zayan walks toward me.
Each step measured.
Controlled.
Predatory in a way that feels worse than the beasts behind him.
He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him now, replacing the cold fear that had wrapped around me seconds ago.
His hand lifts, brushing against my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn't even notice falling.
"They won't touch you," he says softly, his voice low, almost intimate in a way that makes my chest tighten differently now. .
"Fuck you," I breathe out, my voice weak but still holding onto something sharp.
His lips twitch.
"Right now?" he murmurs, leaning in slightly, his gaze dropping to my mouth before flicking back to my eyes. "In front of them?"
My breath stutters.
Before I can react, his hand wraps around my wrist, firm, unyielding, twisting just enough to force my fingers open. The knife slips from my grip easily, like I never really had control of it in the first place.
He takes it from me.
Effortless.
Like everything else.
"If I'm a murderer," he says quietly, his voice dropping lower, darker, his eyes locking onto mine with something that feels far too intense, "then you're not any different from me."
My chest rises sharply, breath still uneven, fear and rage twisting together into something unstable as his words settle deep and wrong inside me.
My eyes burn into his, refusing to break even when everything in me is still shaking from what just happened, from what he just did to me without even touching me.
"You think that makes us the same?" I snap, my voice raw, rough at the edges, but still holding. "Watching something and doing it are not the same thing, you sick—"
The rest of my words cut off the second his lips curve.
Not wide.
Not amused.
Just enough.
Like he knows something I don't.
Like he is already ten steps ahead.
"Keep telling yourself that," he murmurs, his voice low, calm in a way that feels more dangerous than shouting ever could be.
His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me that I am not moving unless he allows it. "It makes it easier to sleep at night."
"I don't need your—"
The words die in my throat when everything shifts too fast.
One second I am on the ground.
The next—
I am in the air.
A sharp gasp tears out of me as he lifts me like I weigh nothing, his grip firm, controlled, one arm under my legs, the other around my back, locking me in place before I can even react properly.
"Put me down!" I snap instantly, my body jerking against him, trying to push away, but it does nothing.
His hold only tightens, solid, unyielding, his chest hard against mine, his warmth seeping through in a way that feels completely wrong right now.
"Stay still," he says quietly.
It is not loud.
It is not aggressive.
But it lands like a command.
My body reacts before my mind does, the resistance stuttering for a second, and that second is all he needs.
He starts walking.
Deeper into the dark.
The space shifts around us, the shadows swallowing more of the light as he moves without hesitation, like he knows every inch of this place by heart.
The sound of my own breathing fills my ears, uneven, sharp, mixed with the steady rhythm of his steps and the faint, distant presence of the beasts behind us.
"This is insane," I mutter, my voice tighter now, my fingers gripping his shirt without realizing it as the darkness thickens around us. "You're actually insane."
He doesn't answer.
Of course he doesn't.
He just keeps walking like I am not even worth the effort of a response right now.
Then I see it.
A shape forming in the dark.
Large.
Low.
Solid.
A bed.
Massive and dark, almost blending into the shadows around it, like it belongs here, like this place was built around it instead of the other way around.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, my voice sharper now, my pulse kicking up again as something entirely different starts creeping in under my skin.
He doesn't slow down.
Doesn't hesitate.
He reaches it in a few steps and then lowers me onto it with a care that doesn't match anything else about him.
The mattress dips under my weight as I land, my hands instantly pushing against it as I try to sit up, to get away, but he is already there.
Too close.
Too fast.
"Move," I snap, my voice breaking slightly as I push at his chest, but he doesn't budge. "What the fuck are you doing? Move!"
He doesn't.
He leans over me instead.
Slow.
Deliberate.
One hand pressing into the mattress beside my head, the other still holding my wrist loosely, like he doesn't even need the strength anymore.
Like he already knows I am not going anywhere.
My breath stutters, my chest rising too fast as his face hovers above mine, close enough that I can feel it, the heat of him, the quiet control in the way he looks at me now.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Something else.
Something worse.
His gaze drops to my lips.
Then back to my eyes.
And his voice comes out low, smooth, carrying something dark and almost teasing beneath it.
"Don't you owe me a kiss?"