The Alpha's Slave novel Chapter 9

Inayah slept fitfully throughout the night.

Sleep constantly deserted her, playing games to which she constantly succumbed to- it reached for her along the edges and just as her eyelids grew hooded, she would catch brief flashes of a beast in the woods, and that alone shuddered her awake.

She woke three times during the night, panting and gasping for air, glowing with perspiration that matted the front of her gown to her chest.

Her body throbbed with great intensity, oftentimes she whimpered whilst lying on her back, afraid to flatten against her stomach.

When the agony grew far too worse, she carefully rolled onto her side and gazed at the small rectangular window that gave way to the darkness beyond.

It was quiet outside, deathly so, the sky night that was once lit with stars now blank. An endless abyss.

A soft whimper escapes her, and realizing that she was far from sleeping, Inayah gingerly pushed off the small cot. Reaching for a small sweater to wear over her gown, she silently padded barefoot out of the room and towards the kitchen.

It was large and eerie silent. Placing her hand against the wall, Inayah blindly found her way around, small fingers curling around something thin and hard.

"Candle," she whispers, relieved. Beyond the large windows, the wind swirls and howls out into the night, raiSalemg vicious goosebumps along her forearms.

Her scalp prickles but she ignores the sense and fumbles with a small matchbox, striking and lighting the candle.

The flame flickers shyly, perhaps doubtful of its own strength, and she cups her palms around it, anxiously waiting for it to gain strength. Warmth spreads across her palms as the orange glow arcs and spreads out across the kitchen.

Next, Inayah fills a small cup with water and drinks from it. Tentatively, she touches the hem of her nightgown and raises it, studying the thin bloody marks that welt across her torso and small breasts.

Her whole body is tender and sore.

I hate him. She thinks with pained anger. I hate him so much. May the gods strike the bastard down.

Inayah had hated few people in her life; the debt collector and two bullies that constantly shoved her around. However, Salem took the care. She loathed the man, or creature, whatever he claimed himself to be.

At the same time, she had never feared a mortal as much as she did him. He held power and authority formed a fine electric mist around him. He was dangerous, the punishments were a constant reminder of his brutality.

What made it worse, perhaps, was that she feared he was holding back when hurting her.

Picking the candle, she begins to make her way down a random hallway, now completely wide awake. Inayah figures she might as well tour the mansion.

Gripping random doorknobs, she gently pushes them open and holds the candle forward, like an offering made to darkness. Light sweeps over numerous random rooms- neatly kept bedrooms, bathrooms, a library, study room, plain room with nothing but canvas isles and paints. Two rooms were locked.

At the end of the hallway, Inayah stills at the sight of faint light spilling from a partially opened door.

She knows who lies beyond the barrier. Her heart leaps up to her throat, but she swallows. She begins to pivot and return back to her bedroom when something stops her-

Music.

Faint violin music.

Staring wide eyed at the carpet beneath her bare toes, Inayah contemplates the temptation of sneaking in.

At the end, her curiosity wins and she turns softly approaching the door. Her palm presses against the door, carefully leaning forward and peeking into the room.

The large fireplace burns alive, flames licking confidently at thick logs. Sparks burst and float before sizzling and dying as ashes drop. She sees two empty velvet couches facing the fire.

PresSalemg forward, Inayah listens to the violin sound. There is something sonder about the music that sets her heart into the deepest of symphonies, deeply harrowing and torrential in the way it encompasses her body.

The tune is less of a melody and more of tortured. Her eyes shut to the sound as she envisions waves, crests that rise high and reach for the sky, caving forward before crashing down on her.

Then she is suffocating, drowning, alone, quiet.

Tortured.

Caught in the sombre melody, Inayah does not realize the tune had stopped. And when she does, it is too late;

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