Taken (3)

The door to the cabin creaked open, a sharp, unsettling sound that sent a shiver through my already tense body. My mind was already spinning, and the noise only added to the eerie tension in the air. I couldn't move my limbs, not without the strain of the magick that bound me to the floor, not without the feeling of a thousand invisible threads cutting into my skin. But this was different. This wasn't just the magick. This presence, dark and heavy, was something else entirely.

A figure stepped into the dim cabin, and the air seemed to grow colder. He was tall, his silhouette framed by the low moonlight streaming through the broken window. His black hair tumbled messily, yet perfectly, over his sharp features. His skin was smooth and impossibly pale, glowing faintly in the dim light. But it was his eyes that stopped my breath in my throat—ruby red, deep and hypnotic, glinting with a dangerous gleam.