Chapter Seven
Annika
I woke with a start, blinking into the darkness, feeling the weight of night pressing down in the small room. My eyes adjusted, and I saw him sleeping on a thin blanket spread out on the floor. His face looked softened in sleep, free of the usual intensity that haunted his waking hours. He seemed… peaceful, even vulnerable.
There was a sound outside the door—a low, steady rumbling, the familiar scratch of claws against wood. The wolves again. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise, but unlike the first time, fear didn’t flood through me. This time, there was something else. A heat building in my chest, something almost alive moving under my skin, as if it were tied to the scraping and growling on the other side.
Without really knowing why, I got up and walked to the door. The room was dim, but I could feel every shadow, every line and groove in the old wood. My fingertips brushed the rough surface, feeling the vibration of claws scraping against it, steady, relentless, like the wolves knew I was here, waiting for me. It was like they sensed me, could smell something on me. Or maybe it was me who could sense them, drawn in, something in me thrumming in answer.
My pulse quickened, and I could barely understand it; the feeling of strength coiling inside me, powerful and foreign. It felt wild, dark, and it terrified me even as I let it wash over me. I pressed my hand flat against the door, feeling the rumble against my palm, the steady beat of my own heart rising to match it. The animalistic hunger on the other side seemed to seep through the wood, like it was calling to something buried inside me.
I could feel the change within, something clawing to get out, something fierce. My breathing quickened, and I bit down on my lip, fighting it, holding onto what little control I had left. Every sense sharpened—the dampness of the air, the way the wolves’ claws scraped in rhythm, the scent of the dark wood beneath my hand. It all felt so intense, so raw, like I’d tapped into something more than human, something ancient.
A low growl slipped out from the other side, and I shivered, feeling the pull, the strange connection I couldn’t quite explain. It was like I knew them, could understand what they wanted, what they needed, almost as if that same need echoed in me.
“Annika… are you… alright?”
His voice cut through the haze, soft but steady, pulling me back. I blinked, looking down to find him awake, sitting up, his face shadowed and curious. He didn’t look alarmed, but there was a glint of understanding in his eyes, like he’d known all along this would happen.
The raw, untamed feeling still thrummed through me, hot and wild, impossible to ignore. I didn’t answer his question… I couldn’t. Words didn’t feel real, didn’t feel necessary. My pulse raced, my skin felt alive, and every instinct, every nerve in me, was pulling me toward him.
Without thinking, I walked over to him, barely registering the surprise that flickered in his eyes as I got closer. His face softened, but he didn’t move, just watched me with that quiet intensity. Something about the way he looked at me, like he was seeing all of me, only made the fire inside me burn hotter.
And then I was kissing him, fierce and unrestrained, my hands slipping into his hair, pulling him close, needing him closer still. The kiss was deep, consuming. He responded instantly, his hands reaching up to cradle my face, his touch sending sparks through me. Every movement, every brush of his lips against mine only fueled that hunger, that need to feel him, to lose myself in him.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I’d never felt this way before—like something inside me had finally snapped free, something primal and powerful that I didn’t want to fight anymore. He was solid and warm against me, his heartbeat thudding against my chest, grounding me even as I felt myself slipping further and further into this feeling.
It was as if my body had always known his. He responded in a way I expected him to, pulling me closer onto himself, breathing heavily against my lips. The sound of his ragged breathing drove me wild. My insides throbbed with desire. Every inch of my being felt on fire and there was only one way to extinguish it.
“Take me…” I murmured against his skin, wanting to bite him, to taste him, but I still had a bit of control left in me.
He grabbed my face and pressed our foreheads close together. I could see the unfathomable darkness inside of them. I wanted to get lost in them, to drown and never come up for air. Nothing else mattered at that moment… only him and me.
“You are mine…” he growled, biting my lower lip, not taking his eyes off of me even for a single second. “Mine…” he repeated, as if once wasn’t enough… wasn’t nearly enough.
Without waiting for me to reply, he took me into his arms and he got up, lowering me onto the couch. He adjusted between my legs, kissing me fervently, as if tomorrow didn’t exist. For all we knew, it didn’t. It could have all ended right then and there.
I could still hear the faint echoes of the scratching against the door. They were still there. They refused to leave. But I couldn’t focus on them right now. I wanted him. I wanted him inside of me. Now.
I pushed him away, enjoying the look of surprise in his eyes.
“Did I—”
“Shhh,” I interrupted him, pulling down my panties and turning my back to him. “Like this…” I turned around, caressing my ass, sliding my fingers against my pussy, which was dripping wet.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped behind me, pulling down his pants. I couldn’t wait. My entire body was trembling. I felt his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him. I wanted him badly, more than I ever wanted anyone in my life. I wanted him like an animal, on top of me, pulling my hair, biting into my flesh. I wanted it all. But I couldn’t say any of it. Words had left my mind. All I could see were images of what I wanted him to do to me.
A moment later, he showed that he could somehow see all of those images. He could… imagine them, too.
The tip of his cock pressed against my pussy lips. It was a blissful feeling. I moaned, closing my eyes, allowing the tidal wave of pleasure to completely wash over me.
He knew exactly what I wanted. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling my head, making me arch my back as he slid deeply inside of me. A cry escaped me, deep and unrestrained. A million stars exploded before my eyes, but he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting into me, using his other hand to keep me quiet, by having it pressed against my lips.
“I want to listen to the sound of me fucking you,” he whispered in a way that made every sense inside my body tremble with desire.
All I could do was nod, while he was fucking my brains out, deeper and harder with each thrust.
This wasn’t me. This was someone else, someone different. But I didn’t care. I was enjoying myself too much, giving all of myself to the moment, to… him.
I came quickly, the build up was too swift, too hard. I was still trembling while he kept slamming hard into me, his balls slapping my wet pussy, our juices leaking out of me.
His body tensed a moment later, keeping me steady, in place. He thrust two more times, then he fell on my back. I could feel his chest, the thunder of his heartbeat. I didn’t want him to move. I wanted us to stay like that forever.
But he moved, and when he did, I became myself again. The magic was gone.
He went to grab a towel and handed it to me. He noticed I was shivering.
“Are you cold?” he asked softly, in a voice I almost couldn’t connect with someone like him.
“No,” I shook my head. I wasn’t cold. I was exactly the opposite, burning up with a fever, but I wasn’t sick either. “Just… postcoital tremors,” I said jokingly, wanting to take away from the seriousness of the moment, as if it was nothing.
I didn’t want him to think that this would happen all the time, that this would become a usual thing. No. No way. For some reason, I needed it and that was all there was to it. I needed to get the stress out somehow. He probably did it for the same reason.
I got up and grabbed a glass of water for myself. I could feel his eyes on my naked body. I had stopped being embarrassed a long time ago. There was only one time I believed another person when they told me that my body wasn’t beautiful enough, that it wasn’t strong enough, that it needed to change to be considered attractive. I would never believe that again.
I walked back to the couch and sat back down. The scratching was gone. I could hear something much lighter, like the pitter patter of rain.
“Does it rain here?” I asked curiously.
There was something surreal about it, as if the world had shifted in tune with what had just happened.
He glanced toward the window, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Not rain exactly. We’re underground here, remember? That’s just the runoff. Sometimes, after storms up above, it seeps down, dripping through the cracks.” His voice was low, almost soft in a way I hadn’t heard before. “But it does sound like rain, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, still listening. The sound was strangely comforting, a gentle rhythm in the silence that followed, like an echo of something familiar in this strange place. He moved to sit next to me on the sofa, settling in close enough that I could feel the warmth of his shoulder brushing against mine. For a while, we just sat there, side by side, listening to the water trickling down through the hidden walls, through all the layers between this place and the surface.
As we sat there in the silence, listening to the steady drip of water through the stone walls, I felt the questions I’d been holding back start to surface. I glanced over at him, watching his expression, the way he seemed so settled in this place—like he belonged here, in the shadows, far beneath the world I knew.
“How long have you been here?” I asked quietly, the words almost swallowed by the muted sound of the dripping water.
He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, before turning his gaze toward the wall, as though he could see through it. “I don’t remember,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Long enough that the years blur together.”
I couldn’t quite understand that, couldn’t imagine the endlessness of it, the way time could melt into something without edges. “Don’t you miss it?” I asked, my voice softer now. “The world above?”
He paused, as if he had to consider his answer, a far-off look in his eyes. “I don’t remember it anymore. This is my home now.” There was a finality to his tone, something resigned, but not bitter. Just… accepting.
I nodded, looking down at my hands. For him, this was normal, the only life he knew. But for me, this underground world felt like a dream—a dark, twisted reflection of reality, a place I wasn’t sure I could ever call home. I’d been here only a short time, and already I felt a deep ache, a longing to return to something familiar.
“I want to go back home,” I murmured, almost to myself. “I have to. There’s… someone waiting for me.”
He turned to me, his expression shifting. “Who?” he asked, his voice low, but there was an edge there, a hint of something more.
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. There was too much to explain, and somehow, it felt wrong to say it out loud in this place. “It’s… complicated,” I finally said, brushing it off, though I could see a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or curiosity. I couldn’t quite tell.
He didn’t press further, and for that, I was grateful. Instead, we both turned our gazes forward, letting the quiet settle between us again. Yet somehow, I felt the weight of my words lingering in the air, a silent reminder of the world waiting for me beyond these dark walls. And I knew that, for all his calm, he felt it too.