The Alpha of Alareim

four

Chapter Four

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Thank you all so so much for the amazing feedback :) love u all so much. Know that it's you, my readers, who keep me goin.

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Much love. Enjoy this extra spicy chapter :)

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I stare at the blank space in front of me that I know to be the door. Aramis actually just locked me in. Locked me in some room, which I don't know where the hell is and what or who the hell else is in here with me. My back stiffens at the thought.

Slowly, I reach my hands out in front of me until I feel the smooth wood of the door. I trail my fingers down to the sides in search for a handle. When I find one, my suspicions are confirmed. I am, indeed, locked in.

I turn my back to the door, sliding down it until I'm sitting on the floor in front of it. It must be near ten at night by now. Usually I stay awake until midnight, but I know I'll not be getting any sleep in this pitch-black, unfamiliar room.

I debate with myself as to whether I should say something, to find out if there is anyone else in here with me. I push down my worst fears and clear my throat. "Hello?"

Silence ensues.

I'm not sure if this is good or bad.

Fear seeps into every inch of me as I take in my situation. What am I supposed to do? I can't just sit here... Can I?

I reach out to my left, touching the wall. It feels like regular drywall. I then touch the floor beneath me with my right hand, feeling a smooth, glossy texture. Wood, probably.

I sigh. At least I'm not in a classic, cold, damp dungeon.

I slowly put on my big girl boots and move forward on my hands and knees, fingers sweeping out in front of me to ensure I don't come in harm's way. I maneuver around what feels like a sofa and a matching ottoman in front of it, squeezing between the two piece arrangement. What kind of dungeon is this? I thought I was a prisoner. Perhaps if I were to have a room like this one, being a prisoner may not be so bad.

After a while I come to the corner of the room, and I continue on on the new wall. Almost immediately, I touch something sleek and thick, making me recoil at the new material. Hesitantly, I reach back out, bringing the fabric between my fingers. It's not exactly soft, but it's not rough... Definitely not clothing. I reach up and the fabric continues. I push forward with the fabric as a protector, and am greeted with a folded, accordion-like texture that I recognize– a window shade.

Eagerly, I stand and find the bottom of it, pushing the whole thing up as high as I can. I then turn around, heart fluttering in fear.

It's a bedroom. Plain and simple.

The night sky doesn't provide much light, but it's enough for my enhanced vision to see dimly. I'm standing at a widow, obviously, that's next to a plain wall on my right with a couch and a night side table on my left. On the left of that is a bed, probably King sized. It has a pale colored comforter neatly placed on it, with five pillows stacked at the head. The four posts rise high above the mattress, and make a canopy at the very top that trails its  thin, translucent fabric down to the floor.