Owned By The Devil (Werewolf Romance) Prt 5

 

Chapter 5
Nalani’s POV

I woke from a nightmare, my heart pounding in fear. In my dream, I was being hunted—by dogs. Large, menacing dogs. My gaze snapped to the curtains, still undrawn. I approached the window, my eyes immediately searching the spot where I had seen the shadowy figure dart into the forest.

The forest loomed ominously, its darkness even deeper now, as though it were swallowing the light. It felt impossibly thick and dense. I hated to admit it, but I had a sinking feeling it was Silvermist Forest. Untouched. Pristine. The trees stood tall, their height almost rivaling the mansion’s imposing presence.

I shifted my focus to what I thought might be the forest’s entrance. The ground was muddy, likely from last night’s rain, although there was no evidence of it—no droplets on the windows, no heavy dew. Dew wouldn’t have made the ground so soaked and grimy.

I opened the window, staggered back as the sharp morning air hit me, but it was accompanied by the fresh, sweet scent of nature. Oh God, I wasn’t smelling the stench of a trash-filled alley anymore. This was the pure scent of the outdoors. I couldn’t help but giggle softly. I reached out to touch the air, the birds chirping around the estate. Nature was beautiful—so beautiful. How could someone as wicked as her be allowed to enjoy something so serene?

I scoffed, shaking off the thoughts as the cold air nipped at my skin. My eyes scanned the ground below, trying to spot any prints, but from this height, I was too far up to see clearly.

Just then, the door opened. I quickly ducked my head back inside, bumping it against the upper window. "God," I yelped in surprise.

A girl stood in the doorway, glaring at me. She wore a maid’s uniform, her skin pale with white makeup, her hair neatly tied in an elegant bun. She looked professional.

I waved awkwardly at her, and she snapped out of her frozen stance. "Mrs. Silvermist," she said, hurrying in and starting to tend to the bed.

I froze for a moment, forgetting I was supposed to be a wife. The ring. I panicked, glancing around, but then I saw it on the nightstand. I quickly pranced over and slipped it onto my finger. "Yes, that would be me," I said, showing her the ring.

It was strange. I was married, yet there had been no wedding.

"You're going to die. And that ring... it's been worn by many others before you. Prettier ones too."

I stared at the ring, intrigued. "Really? How many? Sounds like it has quite a history. I love history."

The ring must’ve cost a fortune.

"Maybe a hundred women. Could be more. It’s been around for a long time."

I laughed softly. "You mean thirty years, right? It looks about thirty." I eyed the young girl—around my age, beautiful, fuller in the jaw and body. Her gaze was intense, almost enough to make another girl flinch.

"More than that."

"How long? A hundred years?" I chuckled. "She’d be old and wrinkled by now. Walking with a cane."

"Well, immortality has that effect on a person."

"Oh."

?Immortality?

"Mrs. Silvermist has requested that you join her at the table for breakfast."

"Food," I said, licking my lips. "Who’s the chef?"

She looked at me, puzzled. "You do know you’re about to die, right?"

"So? I still want to eat."

She fluffed the pillows, smoothing them back into place. The bed looked perfectly made. Then, she pulled something from the pocket of her black dress—a duster—and began quickly dusting the room.

"The last few girls didn’t even look as lively as you. It’s as if you..."

"Want to die?" I interrupted.

"Never mind. Come. Come." Her soft voice rang out.

I followed her out of the room. "How long have you been working here?"

"God, all my life."

Hmm. Yet she hadn't died. "I guess you're not worthy enough to be killed yet," I joked, my voice light. The creaky boards seemed to laugh with me, but she remained silent, her eyes narrowed in a glare.

She laughed forcefully, as if she had only just understood the joke. "Listen to this: It’s because I’m worthy enough. I have a family that would never do anything as stupid as selling me off. That’s why I’m not dying. Ha. Ha. Ha," her sarcasm echoed.

But it made me giggle, nearly slipping into a fit of laughter.

"My sister didn’t get sold off, so that’s awesome," I added.

"Yikes. How does it feel to be the least favorite in your family?"

I shrugged. "Most things don’t bother me." I glanced around at a few maids standing on stools, dusting paintings that hung tall on the walls.

"Well, I’m still better than you," she grumbled.

"I didn’t say you weren’t," I smirked.

"Well, I’m just stating the facts," she replied, opening the door to reveal a long table of people eating. They all seemed to work for her, except for the maids.

The maid led me to Giddeonn, who sat at the head of the table. She was quiet, unlike the others who were engaged in conversation.

"Sit here," she instructed.

"How many women sit here?" I asked the maid.

"Not many."

I shrugged and took a seat. In seconds, a plate of breakfast appeared before me. I stared, amazed.

The maid bowed and left me.

I shifted my attention from my plate to Giddeonn. She had a fresh, composed look on her face. She was already dressed for her day job in the office, which I knew was located in the south wing of the mansion. I noticed her hand resting on the table, the other holding her phone.

Had she not realized I was sitting right here?

I looked back at her fingers—she wore a ring. It was on her marriage finger. I assumed she always wore it, as she was always married. As one wife died, another would take my place. Just as the young maid girl said, there were many foolish families out there, doing stupid things and selling off their daughters to die.

"Good morning, Gideonn," I greeted cheerfully, but she merely acknowledged me with a glance, choosing not to answer.

I rested my palm on hers as I continued eating with my other hand. I watched as her head slowly turned from her phone, her gaze settling on my bony fingers.

I smiled. "Good morning."

She quickly withdrew her hand. "Morning," she replied, her eyes locking onto mine.

"I see you've finished breakfast?" I asked.

She nodded.

Her eyes, once again, were completely black. I couldn’t help but point it out. I know I was curious by nature, but I couldn’t resist. "Your eyes tend to change colors a lot," I remarked. "Are you sick?"

She smirked. "You could say that." Her voice was husky, the kind of smooth rasp that came with the early morning. I noted that when we spoke yesterday, it had been late afternoon.

Her voice always had that husky quality.

"What kind of sickness?" I pressed.

"The kind that just wants to eat you up, you know," she replied.

I hated how her face remained serious, with no hint of humor.

"Eat up, wife. You need to get fat."

"I can’t be fat. But I can be slim," I said, turning my attention back to the heavy breakfast before me. The plate was overflowing with food. I couldn’t deny I loved the treatment, even if it was just before death. I picked at the plate with my fingers.

"There’s a fork," she said dryly.

I looked up at her, smiling. Her thick black brows furrowed slightly, giving her a mysterious look. Did she always walk around with that expression? I glanced around the table. Most people were nearly done with breakfast, and those not talking were glued to their phones or hiding behind morning papers.

I glanced back, gasping softly as I leaned away, surprised by how close Gideonn had gotten to me. "Yeah?"

"Use the fork, wife," she commanded.

"I don't like using forks."

"Or you don't know how to use it?"

"I do. But what if I didn’t?"

Her face remained calm, smooth and irked at the same time. There was no way she could be a hundred years old—she looked around thirty, at most.

"You see that plate?" she gestured toward my overflowing dish, chin slightly raised.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to eat as much of it as you can."

I believed I could eat a lot, given the opportunity. If my stepfather hadn’t squandered all the money, maybe I would have been healthier, even plumper.

"I can eat a lot?" I asked, unsure whether it was a question or a statement.

Her lips twisted into a smirk, a look so confident and calculating it nearly stripped me of what little resolve I had left. I wondered what it would be like to be her real wife. Not that I knew anything about being with another man—my stepfather was the only one. But with her, it must have been different, maybe even pleasant.

But with my broken nature, there was no way she’d ever see me as a wife.

A strand of my hair was brushed gently, and I stared at her flawless nails. I couldn’t help but think how similar they were to the way she maintained the furniture around the house—impeccably manicured, sharp, almost cold.

"You can eat as much as you want. Didn’t you hear me? I want you to get fat, my wife."

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re planning to eat me. Well, you can’t exactly eat bones."

"No, you can’t eat bones," she replied, her tone unsettlingly calm.

She finished the last of her hot beverage, a faint hint of coffee lingering on her breath. She didn’t waste words; every sentence seemed calculated and deliberate.

"I’m going to my office now. Today, you're going shopping."

"I didn’t forget. What should I get? Funeral clothes?"

"Clothes to wear, so I don’t have to see you in my shirt."

"I love your shirt," I said.

"Well, I don’t love you in it. I’ll have Zeynep dress you in some of her clothes for today."

"I have an idea—why can't I just wear some of her clothes for the rest of the week? I'll be dead by then anyway."

"Who told you that you'll be dead by the end of the week, wife?"

"It’s just a random guess."

"You’ll be dead when I decide."

"But you’ll waste money—"

She cut me off. "When did it become your concern what money I waste? I could just give these clothes to my other wife."

"I’m bones, remember? They won’t fit her."

"You won’t be bones for long."

She stood up, preparing to leave. "I’m off."

I waved goodbye, and she slowly shook her head, her movements calm and quiet. She made barely a sound, as though she didn’t even touch the ground.

***********

Gideonn POV

My beast had yet to send any warning signals. It hadn't fueled whatever drive I needed to hunt.

"Are you just going to be quiet?" I asked the monster within. No response. It was there, though—resting, maybe, or waiting for the right moment. Perhaps it hadn’t worked up an appetite for her yet.

There was no wife we turned down. Every girl was prey. It was our entertainment. Yet, I felt a gnawing worry. I could shift whenever I wanted, but what if, when I did, I had no urge to kill her?

I growled to myself. Let them kill her, then. My wolf growled in response, and I felt a part of me become his. He punched me in the face, and my head snapped back, spinning with the pain.

"Mrs. Silvermist?" My assistant’s voice broke through, just as I was about to clash with the beast. It wasn’t the first time we’d fought. We battled almost every full moon, trying not to tear the world apart in the process.

"Yes?" I growled, my nails extending, digging into the wooden desk. I preferred the resistance of wood to the sound of my claws scraping against glass.

"Your wife and I are ready."

"Mhm." I mumbled, standing stiffly. I moved to the other side of the desk and pulled open the drawer. "Here. Buy her whatever she wants," I said, handing over the money.

I breathed deeply, in and out, trying to steady myself.

"Are you sure? She was expecting to die sooner."

"I'm sure. Go!" I barked, watching as she gasped. Through the window, I caught a blurry glimpse of myself. Fur was beginning to break through my skin, and my eyes were glowing a sharp blue.

I was a monster.

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