After his breathing had calmed, Riven closed his eyes for a moment, letting his thoughts settle. He needed time—time to collect himself, to piece together the scattered fragments of memory still floating in his head.

What had actually happened?

He remembered… the torchlight. The face of a city guard, pale with panic. Shouted questions cutting through the night air. And then, dizziness. Blurred vision. Melly’s voice calling out to him, strangled by fear.

After that… nothing.

Surely, someone must have found him after he collapsed at the gates. The Rathsture family? Or Ashtoria? They would’ve been searching for him, especially if Melly was involved. Any minor incident would have reached their ears by now.

And yet, here he was.

Waking in an unfamiliar place, chained by the wrists, his arms fastened above his head.

And Melly… nowhere to be found.

That thought sank into him like a cold nail driven into the chest.

“Melly…” he whispered.

What happened to you? Are you safe? Did someone hurt you again?

He knew she was strong, stronger than most girls her age. But no child should ever live through a night like that. Dragged, held hostage… and worse, forced to watch her brother turn into something monstrous. Forced to witness him kill a man in cold blood.

Was Melly now afraid of him?

Riven drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes again, fighting back the wave of guilt and dread crashing over him.

Then, slowly, he noticed something else.

His body felt… light.

Light wasn’t the right word. It felt whole. He realized the pain was gone. There was no burning sensation on his face. No throbbing in his wrist where the bones had once snapped.

He raised his head, staring at the metal shackles binding him. The chains groaned softly as he moved. His right wrist looked normal. Tentatively, he flexed his fingers.

One… two… three…

No pain. No stiffness. No delay.

A slow, long breath left his lips. Relief, cautious but real.

If his hand had been truly broken, his swordsmanship would have been crippled. In this world, losing the ability to fight was like walking without skin—vulnerable to everything.

He tilted his head and moved his face in small expressions, trying to feel any damage left behind. No mirror was present, but he could sense it—his face had healed. Whether it was scarred or not, he couldn’t tell.

He let out a tired breath, then smiled bitterly.

“I didn’t turn ugly, right?” he muttered hoarsely. “My face was average to begin with… but I hope it didn’t turn horrifying. How am I supposed to get a girl like that?”

He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a dry, pitiful sigh.

His thoughts shifted, without permission, to one particular person.

Ashtoria.

Her ruby eyes like sharpened glass. Her blood-red hair that cascaded down in wild waves. Her soft, deceptively calm voice. Her touch. Her embrace in the silence of night. For reasons he couldn’t explain, the image of that woman refused to leave his mind.

Riven glanced around the room carefully.

Stone walls. A faintly flickering oil lamp in the corner. The dry scent of old flowers lingering in the air, tinged with something bitter—like aged wine. A soft mattress beneath him, though the damp in the corners clung faintly to the sheets.

This wasn’t a dungeon.

It wasn’t a torture chamber either.

Too comfortable for a prisoner… and yet too suspicious to be a recovery room.

He shook his head slowly, going through every possibility.

If he’d been kidnapped again… why was he healed? Who had gone through the trouble of tending to his injuries? Why not simply discard him?

And more than anything, where was Melly?

Was she safe? Was she in the same place? Or somewhere far worse?

Had Ashtoria not come looking?

Had the Rathsture family let them vanish without lifting a hand?

Riven clenched his jaw. His heart began to beat faster, but he forced himself to remain calm. Fury, worry, and guilt swirled together like a storm pressing down on his chest.

But there was nothing he could do.

Not yet.

For now, he could only wait.

.

.

.

The bedroom door creaked open slowly, its sound like nails scratching against weathered wood. A sliver of yellow light from the oil lamp in the hallway seeped in, painting faint streaks across the damp stone floor before being blocked by the silhouette of a woman.

Ashtoria Iskandrite.

Her crimson hair, the color of dried blood, cascaded freely over her shoulders, a few strands clinging to her form-fitting black velvet dress. The gown was embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of rose thorns, shimmering faintly with every slight movement. Her pale skin—glossy like fine porcelain—created a stark contrast against her vivid hair and dark attire, making her look like a living painting.

But what pierced the most were her eyes.

Normally, Ashtoria’s ruby-red eyes held the cold beauty of untouched gemstones, reflecting light with distant elegance.

Tonight.

They burned.

Like embers in the dark, like twin flames devouring all reason.

Riven felt his throat go dry. Asha—?” His voice came out hoarse, more of a ragged breath than a name.

He didn’t even finish the word before Ashtoria moved.

She lunged forward with unnatural speed, her cold fingers gripping his jaw with near-painful pressure. Before Riven could react, her lips crashed against his.

This wasn’t a kiss.

It was an assault.

Ashtoria bit down on his lower lip, tugging sharply before her tongue invaded his mouth, pushing in with a desperation that stole his breath.

It felt like drowning—the air in his lungs vanished, yet Ashtoria gave him no chance to breathe. She kept pushing, kept taking, as if she wanted to swallow him whole.

Riven instinctively raised his hands, but the chains around his wrists rattled harshly, a reminder of his helplessness.

The kiss reminded him of their first night in Rathsture, when their untamed desire had first found release. But this time, something was different—anxiety twisted into madness, love warped into obsession.

When Ashtoria finally pulled away, a silver thread of saliva still connected them. Her chest heaved erratically, her full breasts pressing against Riven’s torso through the thin fabric of her dress. Her face was flushed, her pupils blown so wide the deep red of her irises was nearly swallowed by black.

Riven opened his mouth to question, to protest—

“Shhh.”

Ashtoria’s cold fingers slipped past his lips, pressing down on his tongue in a gesture caught between a threat and a caress. He could feel her nails—long and sharp, like a cat’s claws ready to tear into him.

“No. Don’t speak yet! I don’t want to hear your sweet words.”

Riven was bewildered by her sudden aggression. His body burned, his mind struggling to grasp what was happening.

“Do you know how worried I was?” she murmured softly.

Ashtoria had heard everything from Melly—about the kidnapping. The night before, after Rathsture’s knights brought Riven back in a pitiful state, her rage had exploded. She ordered them to heal every last wound until no scars remained, then set out to hunt down the two damned nobles who dared steal what was hers.

In that house, she saw what Riven had done—especially to Darien. At that moment, her heart had pounded wildly, overwhelmed by emotions she couldn’t control.

Her voice trembled as she whispered,

“I’d truly go mad if you left me.”

Her body pressed closer, her smooth thighs sliding between Riven’s with deliberate friction. Her silk dress slipped further, exposing the pale curve of her shoulder, now flushed red with tension.

“I was so scared when you disappeared,” she breathed, her hot exhale dancing along his neck.

One of her hands trailed downward, fingers tracing his throat, his collarbone, then pausing over the frantic pulse at his chest.

“I thought you’d left me.”

Her touch turned rough without warning. Those sharp nails dragged down his skin, leaving red lines over freshly healed scars. Beneath her innocent tone lurked a tremor that made his hair stand on end.

When her hips shifted.

Riven’s breath hitched.

Something hard and hot pressed against Ashtoria’s plump backside. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing pink—but her gaze was glazed, fever-bright, the smile on her lips trembling with barely restrained madness.

“You’re mine, Riven!”

CRACK!

Without warning, her left hand seized the collar of his shirt. The sound of tearing fabric filled the room as Ashtoria ripped it open from neck to stomach in one swift motion. Riven’s torso—marked with three deep, claw-like scars—was laid bare, glistening under the ravenous heat of her gaze.

“You’re mine, Riven! I won’t let you leave me, no matter what. I’ll make sure you can never escape me!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep