What's behind the door? Why is it closed?

My fingers graze the wooden panel. A crack slivers my pointer finger. I lift my hand to examine the wound. A tiny piece of wood, so small I almost can't see it, causes more pain than it should. I try to get the sliver out, but it's stuck too deep for my nails to dig. I palm my knife, but decide against it. Too much of someone else's blood stains the blade to plunge it into my skin. Staring at the intruder, I wonder if it's an omen. An omen not to open the door.
I fill my lungs with moist, mold filled air. It's so thick I can almost taste the salt and grime on my tongue.
Waves crash into the far wall. A shudder runs through the empty room. Years of rot and decay are weakening the structure, bringing it down to the mother earth who once bore it.
 I wonder if anyone else is on the island. Alive. Am I the only one left? Will I have to bury my comrades? I cringe to think what state their bodies will be in by the time I emerge.
I keep my eyes open. Afraid to close them and see the images that have haunted my nightmares since the attack. They didn't train us for this. The mental anguish that plagues a soldier. Physical preparation is such a small part of war. Sure, you need the muscle, but you need the mental capacity to go with it.
The rhythmic water lulls me into placing my hand on the door again. I haven't heard anything other than those waves in days. Maybe I am the only one. Do I dare open the door and find out? I shuddered, imagining all the carnage awaiting me on the other side.
My stomach growls, twists, and begs me to make my decision. Either stay here and starve, or venture out and survive. If survival is an option.
The door knob is cool as I wrap my hand around it. My heart is pounding, warming my body, preparing for a fight. A trickle of sweat, mixed with the abominable humidity makes its way down my forehead. I swipe it away with my free arm. This is it. Let's go.
The door doesn't want to open. I pull on it, noticing for the first time the deep gouges in the dirt packed floor from where the door has been drug back and forth across it. Did I make any of those dents when I slammed it closed behind me? My adrenaline must've propelled my body into the room with more strength than I have.
Bracing my hand against the door frame, I give the door a firm yank. It opens with a reluctant yowl. My body tenses against the sound.
Dim light filters in. I step to the side shadows, not wanting to illuminate myself and become an easy target, and listen. No sounds. No change. Good and bad.
With as much stealth as my body can muster, I shuffle up the stairs on my weak, wobbly legs. Roots cover the hand carved walls, and I grab onto them for support, pulling myself forward.
The steps become muddy as I ascend. They pull at my shoes, beckoning me to stay where I am. Stay hidden. Am I making a mistake?
The stairs end in blinding sunlight, too bright for my eyes to adjust to after being in pure darkness for the last few days. I blink, trying to see something, anything. My ears strain to hear the shuffle of feet, the signs of life. Nothing comes to my aid.
Lifting my head just above the lip of grassy ground, I scan the area.
No wonder I couldn't hear a sound. There's no life here. No human life.
I crouch down and shimmy on my stomach out of the hidden hole I fell into, which ultimately saved my life.
Dried blood turns the blades of grass into speckled greens. The earth is soaked with the stench of death. The front of my shirt is soon soaked with someone else's life source. The sticky, red blood makes my body itch, but I keep moving.
There must be a body around here somewhere. We were falling at uncountable speeds. The call to surrender and retreat going out like a call in the night. Where have the warriors taken their foe?
I dare a glance above the grass line.
The field is empty. No bodies. Only the stench of death remains.
Movement catches my eye beyond the tree line. There, a flash of silver. A sign.
I grab the mirror at my waist and signal back.
They're here! Alive! I'm not the only one who made it.
The signal is repeated back. They're coming for me.
My heart leaps in my chest. Joy filling me to the core. How many made it out alive? Did Emry? Caltina? I didn't want to harbor any hope while I waited for death to find my hideout. But now it blossoms. A beautiful rose among the thorny thoughts of doubt. I grab onto it, and let that hope fuel me forward.
Emry steps into the clearing. Her clothes are sweat stained and torn in places. But she looks whole. And she's smiling. How she can do that after what we'd just experienced, I don't know. But her look of relief pulls me to my feet.
A sharp sting bites the back of my neck, through my tangled hair. My body freezes on instinct. It's not the bite of a bug, but the bite of metal, sun warmed and poised to kill.
"If you don't want to lose your head, get your hands away from your weapons." The voice is deep, unhurried, as if killing me will be savored, a process without end.
Emry's face has become a façade of calm. Her hand rests on her blade, strapped at her side. She's too far away to help. Must she watch me fight? And possibly die?
The tree leaves sway in the distant breeze. White, puffy clouds dot the sky, parading by without a care. The grass under my feet, squishy. And my arms, they're tired from not being used. My hands refuse to open the whole way after being palmed around the hilt of my sword for the last two days, ready for an attack. Why didn't I keep my knife in hand?
"Good. Now, turn around."
If I wasn't in such a precarious situation, I would roll my eyes. By turning around, the blade will slice across my neck, right through my artery.
I don't have the advantage of sight. How many enemies stand behind me? Just one? Or many? How many can I fight off before my head is gone? I refuse to go down without a fight. I didn't survive this long, just to die in front of my friend. I must try. Try to protect her, even if it is in vain. One last gift of escape, if she can use the time of my distraction.
"Don't get any fancy ideas of martyrdom." Warmth. There's warmth in his unfamiliar voice. "Just show your face. I don't intend to kill you, unless death is what you wish."
"Then why did you pull your weapon?" My voice is harsh. Hoarse. Days with only salt water in the air to fill my thirst. And scrape my lungs.
A soft huff before the metal is removed.
I spin, yanking my knife from it's sheath, hoping to catch him off guard. But before the tip has loosed the top, I find myself on my back, a curtain of dark hair surrounding my face, as cobalt blue eyes that could freeze over hell itself, stare into mine. 
I feel the pain a moment later. His arm crushing my chest, his body pinning mine to the wet earth below.
"Ouch." I mutter.
A smile carves lines into his cheeks. I realize, in this awkward position, that he's beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful you see in paintings, but the kind of beautiful you see in a predator, as it's stalking it's prey. I refuse to be the prey.
Snapping my head forward, I catch him in the nose. I feel the crunch of bone before his muscles tighten, trapping instead of releasing me.
Blood flows down his face, into mine. I gag, trying not to inhale. If I open my mouth, I will be consuming the hot liquid.
I squirm, fighting his grip. But it's no use. He's much too powerful for me. I can feel it in every inch that he's pressed against me. Rigid, sculpted muscle. Curse the gods for making men.
He's as still as an eagle with a rabbit in it's death clutch. I'm as good as dead now.
The blood stops. Like a faucet being shut.
I dare a glance.
His nose is straight. No sign of the brokenness I'd just created.
A growl builds in his chest, rumbling. "You." It's more feline snarl than human.
I shudder, but hold my ground. If I am to die, I will go down fighting, to my last breath.
I regret hiding in that hole. I regret leaving the battlefield. Surrender, even if it was called by my battalion's leader, should never be mine. This is what makes my blood sing. Competition. The fight for life. Even if I'm on the losing team.
"How could you steal something from me? Something I've saved for nobody but myself?"
My head spins. He's talking in riddles. "Stolen?"
"My blood!" His voice booms across the meadow floor. He leans down, nipping at my ear with his teeth. "Nobody has taken my blood for a thousand years, yet you, you little human thing, who has shielded yourself from me for the last two days, who I've hunted and haven't found until you willed it so, have stolen my blood, drunk it, and bonded yourself with me." He pulls back and his smile is a snarl. A promise of death. "So now, I cannot kill you, lest I kill myself."
He tips his head to the side, like he's listening to someone standing next to him. "I accept the bond."
My mind reals and I think about the door. The door. And the decision to open it. I should've stayed hidden. Hidden and safe from this being.
My vision blurs before tightening. My muscles stop constricting. I feel strength. Whole. Warm. Fire in my veins. I am lethal. I am a predator now too. Not prey. Not prey. Not prey.
I yearn to flick him off me. I push against him and this time, he budges before he clamps back down.
"You are mine." He hisses before he slams his fist into my temple, turning my world to black.