Twin Alphas' Blessed Luna

Chapter 4

Amaryllis

I’m standing in a room drenched in shadows, but it’s not the kind of darkness you can escape. The air smells rotten, thick with decay. The walls around me are wet, slick with something that oozes slowly, dripping to the floor in a steady, rhythmic beat. The ground squelches beneath my feet with every step, as if I’m walking through flesh, not earth. My breath catches in my throat, and every part of me knows—something is wrong. Deeply, viscerally wrong.

Suddenly, I hear a wet, ripping sound behind me. My heart lurches. I turn around slowly, every instinct telling me not to, but I can’t stop myself. When I do, I’m met with the most horrific sight I’ve ever seen.

In the center of the room is a table—an operating table, rusted and smeared with blood that’s far too fresh. A body is strapped down, but it’s hard to tell where the flesh ends and the metal begins. Limbs are twisted, broken at grotesque angles. The skin is flayed open, revealing muscle and organs that still pulse, still function. But the worst part—the worst part is the head. The face is gone. It’s as if someone carved it off, leaving only a gaping mess of sinew, blood, and bone.

And then, impossibly, the body moves.

Its chest rises, struggling for breath, a sick, wet wheeze escaping from its throat. The sound makes my skin crawl, and bile rises in my throat. I want to look away, but my feet are rooted to the spot.

The chanting starts then—low, guttural, and wrong. The sound comes from all around me, filling the room, bouncing off the walls that now seem to close in. Figures begin to materialize from the shadows, draped in red robes. Their faces are covered by masks—white and expressionless except for their wide, grotesque grins, as if the very act of witnessing this gives them pleasure.

One of the figures steps closer to the table. In his hand is a scalpel—small but vicious, glinting in the dim light. Slowly, he drags the scalpel down the body’s exposed chest, and though the face is gone, I can feel the agony, the twisted energy of the creature strapped to the table. The body jerks, spasms, but no scream escapes. It’s as though the very sound of pain has been stolen from it.

I try to move, to run, but my body won’t respond. My legs feel like lead, and my hands shake at my sides. The chanting grows louder, more insistent. My head pounds with the rhythm, a beat that’s driving deeper into my skull, vibrating through my bones.

Then, he appears.

The faceless man.

His presence freezes the blood in my veins. He steps out from the shadows, his form too tall, too thin, his skin the color of dead flesh—ivory, almost translucent. He glides across the floor, his feet never touching the ground. His face… I can’t make out his face. It’s a shifting blur, a smear of darkness, like reality refuses to show me who he truly is. But his eyes—his eyes are hollow. Empty, but somehow more terrifying than any gaze I’ve ever felt.

His claws extend, long and sharp like blades. They glisten, wet with blood, though I don’t know where the blood came from. As he approaches me, the room itself seems to shift—walls pulse like they’re alive, the floor beneath me oozes and writhes.

"Mine."

The word comes from everywhere and nowhere. His voice is an echo, a rasp that crawls into my ears, burrows deep into my skull. I’m choking, my lungs squeezing tight, and I feel like the air is being sucked out of me.

I try to scream, but my mouth won’t open.

"You’ve always been mine." His voice drips with malevolent glee, like he’s savoring the taste of my fear. His claws trail along my arm, cold and sharp, leaving thin lines of blood in their wake. I can’t feel them cutting me, but I can see the blood welling up, flowing too quickly, too freely.

He reaches for my throat, but I can’t move. I can’t escape. His hand closes around my neck, cold and suffocating, but it’s not the pressure—it’s the way his claws slide under my skin, like I’m made of paper.

Suddenly, he jerks me forward, pulling me onto the table beside the faceless body, his fingers sinking into my chest. Inside me.

I feel his claws hook around my ribcage, slowly, torturously dragging my bones apart. My heart slams against my chest, desperate, terrified, but I can’t stop him. He’s peeling me open, pulling me apart piece by piece. I can hear the sickening sound of flesh tearing, bone snapping. It’s me. I’m the one breaking.

And all the while, the figures in red keep chanting, their heads tilting back in ecstasy. They’re enjoying this. They want this.

The faceless man leans closer, his breath freezing the blood on my skin. "You’re mine, Amaryllis. Always mine."

He plunges his hand deeper into my chest, his claws wrapping around something inside—something I can’t see but can feel being ripped from me. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever known, but it’s the emptiness that follows that’s worse.

He pulls his hand out, holding something glowing and vital in his claws. It’s a piece of me. A piece of my soul.

“My beautiful, beautiful bride.”

I bolt upright, the scream finally tearing from my throat as I jerk awake, drenched in cold sweat. My heart is racing, my chest heaving with every breath. The room around me is dimly lit by the early morning sun, and it takes me a few moments to realize where I am. The dorm. I’m in the dorm.

“Ymir!” Carol’s voice is soft but urgent, her hand gently shaking my shoulder. “It’s okay. You were having a nightmare.”

I blink rapidly, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I’m fine,” I mutter, wiping the sweat from my brow. The image of the faceless man still lingers in my mind, the feeling of his claws as real as the sheets beneath my fingers.

“You need to get up,” Carol says, her tone more cheerful now. “You’re going to be late for your first lecture if you don’t hurry!”

I glance at the clock on my bedside table and my stomach drops. I have less than ten minutes before class starts.

“s**t!” I scramble out of bed, grabbing my towel as I make a beeline for the bathroom. My mind is still reeling from the nightmare, but I don’t have time to dwell on it now. Focus on today. On staying low.

The shower is quick, cold water helping to clear my head. I don’t have time to properly dry my hair, so I throw it up in a messy bun as I rush back into the room. Carol is already gone, but she’s left a small note on the desk beside a breakfast sandwich.

"Good luck on your first day! Thought you might need a little something before you go. See you later! - Carol"

I smile despite the whirlwind of emotions still swirling inside me. Carol really is a nice person—far better than I expected to have as a roommate. I’m grateful for her thoughtfulness, and as I wolf down the sandwich, I’m reminded just how lucky I am to have her around.

Minutes later, I’m racing across campus, my heart pounding from the effort to make it to class on time. By the time I reach the lecture hall, my hair is still damp, and I’m a little out of breath. I burst through the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, but the professor’s stern eyes immediately find me.

“Miss Tendon,” he says, his voice dry and unimpressed. “Care to explain why you’re late on the first day?”

“I’m—sorry, Professor,” I stammer, hurrying to find a seat. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” he replies, turning back to the board. I can feel the eyes of the other students on me, and I hurry to the nearest empty seat, desperate to avoid any further embarrassment.

“Ymir!” I hear Tannian’s voice, and I glance to my left. He’s gesturing toward an empty seat next to him, a wide smile on his face.

Relieved, I slide into the chair beside him, offering him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry, happens to the best of us,” he whispers, winking at me before turning back to the lecture.

I can’t help but feel a little more at ease with him around. Tannian has this easygoing energy that makes it hard to feel awkward. I listen as the professor drones on about business fundamentals, but my mind keeps drifting back to what happened last night—first with the twins, then the nightmare. It feels like something is hanging over me, something I can’t quite shake.

Eventually, the class ends, and I pack up my things, already forming a plan in my head. I’m going to find Rita. I can’t let her get away with stealing my necklace. I’ll get it back today, no matter what it takes.

***

I spend the next hour searching around the faculty block, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rita or her minions, but they’re nowhere to be found. Every corner I turn, I expect to see her smug face, but it’s like she’s vanished.

Frustration builds inside me as I walk toward the canteen, my stomach growling. I figure I’ll grab a quick bite and continue searching after. But just as I turn down a hallway near an empty classroom, a hand shoots out of nowhere, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me off balance.

Before I can even scream, I’m slammed against the wall, hard enough to make the breath leave my lungs. My vision spins for a second, but when I finally catch my breath and look up, my stomach twists in recognition.

It’s Mika.

His green eyes gleam with something dark and dangerous, and his body looms over me, pinning me to the wall with his presence alone. There’s no mistaking the sharp, predatory smirk that curls at his lips as he looks down at me.

“Well, well,” Mika says, his voice low and mocking. “Look what we have here.”

I try to push away, but he presses his body against mine, trapping me between him and the cold wall. His hands are suddenly everywhere—on my waist, my arms, my thighs, his touch rough and possessive.

“What—what are you doing?” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling with both fear and anger.

“Do you enjoy watching?” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “Is that why you stayed so long? Did you get a little thrill watching me f**k Rita?”

I gasp, trying to shove him away, but his hand slides down to my hip, pinning me in place. His other hand trails lower, rubbing against me through my clothes, his touch invasive and sickeningly intimate.

“Tell me,” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement, “did you get wet there? Watching? I bet you did, didn’t you?”

“Stop!” I hiss, my hands pushing uselessly against his chest. But he’s too strong, too unbothered by my attempts to fight him off. His breath is hot against my neck as he presses closer, his fingers rubbing harder against my most private place, and shame floods through me.

“You’re a little voyeur, aren’t you?” he purrs, his hand tightening around my waist. “You got off on seeing me take her, didn’t you?”