Chapter 41

I was utterly drained. The grind at work had already worn me thin, but compared to the chaos of the court trial, my time at the bank felt almost serene. I took a grim sort of comfort in knowing that justice—of some kind—had been served, yet the events at the Night Council’s headquarters left me burdened with an unease I couldn’t put into words.

I was well aware of the Lord Protector of Kessler’s influence among the vampires, but what gnawed at me was his brazen interference in my father’s affairs twice in a single week. He had slaughtered Malcolm and his entire team—warriors loyal to my father—and now, through indirect means, was responsible for the death of another prominent figure from the pack. Though, in truth, none of them were innocent enough to not deserve such an end.

Malcolm, in particular, carried the blood of half a pack on his hands. A pack that had dared to defy my father’s will. They weren’t fighters, just a fragile group seeking peace. Yet Malcolm and his men decimated them, sparing no one—not even the women or children. I hadn’t known Caelum Langridge personally, but the fact that he worked for my father was enough to suspect he wasn’t much better. Still, as justified as their deaths seemed, I couldn’t ignore the growing tension. My father wouldn’t let such affronts go unanswered.

With a heavy sigh, I stepped into my room, letting the weight of the day settle over me. My dress pooled to the floor as I made my way to the bathroom. The warm cascade of the shower offered fleeting relief, washing away some of the tension that had latched onto me. Rest was what I craved most, but I couldn’t refuse Hadrian’s invitation. At least the promise of Pinot Noir made it more bearable.

Returning to my bedroom, I noticed something unexpected: a stunning dark purple evening gown spread neatly across my bed. A small note was pinned to it.

“Wear it.”

For a brief moment, I felt like a reluctant Cinderella, though this dress seemed borrowed from a story meant for more mature audiences. I ran my fingers across the fabric—it was soft, luxurious, and undoubtedly worth more than half my monthly earnings. I had never owned anything this exquisite, nor had I ever attended a ball. Yet, as I gazed at it, a small smile tugged at my lips, filling me with a fleeting, childlike excitement for something I’d never experienced.

I slipped into the gown, and it fit like a second skin. The reflection in the mirror startled me. The dress caressed my frame in ways I hadn’t imagined—its neckline subtly emphasized the curve of my collarbone, dipping just enough to hint at the valley of my chest. The tailored cut hugged my waist and hips, while the daring slit along my thigh revealed a toned leg I suddenly appreciated. Years of relentless training had at least sculpted a body I could be proud of. Thankfully, my genes favored a lean, athletic build rather than an overly muscular one.

“I look like… a woman,” I murmured with a laugh, spinning lightly in front of the mirror.

After freshening my makeup and slipping into a pair of Louboutins—also mysteriously placed beside my bed—I made my way to the dining room. The sound of Penrose’s laughter reached me before I even touched the door. It seemed they had started celebrating without me.

I knocked, my heart racing just a little.

“Come in, Thalassa,” Penrose’s voice chimed, cheerful and inviting.

I stepped inside with a hesitant smile.

Hadrian sat at the head of the table, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Penrose, ever vibrant, was on his right.

“Sit across from me,” Penrose instructed with a mischievous chuckle.

My smile wavered as I crossed the room, acutely aware of every step, to take the seat she had indicated—on Hadrian’s left.

“My, my,” Penrose purred, her eyes sweeping over me. “If you don’t claim her, brother, I’ll gladly do it myself.” She licked her lips, her gaze lingering, making my skin prickle with discomfort.

"Thalassa isn’t a lesbian like you, dear sister," Hadrian remarked with a sly smirk before sipping from his wine glass.

"But maybe she’d enjoy trying it with a girl. You never know unless you experiment." Penrose winked at me with a devilish gleam in her eye.

I swallowed back a sharp retort, resisting the urge to engage. Her gaze, brazen and invasive, already made me feel far too exposed. Admitting my preference for men seemed like an invitation for her to push further, and I had no intention of handing her more ammunition.

I finally managed to sit down, grateful for the slight reprieve as a servant materialized to place a plate of Beef Wellington before me and pour a glass of wine. The aroma of the dish was divine, but the tension at the table threatened to ruin my appetite.

"I told you she’d look delicious in that gown," Penrose teased with a wicked grin aimed at her brother.

Hadrian shot her a warning glare, but I noticed the way his eyes roved over me, his expression cautious yet calculating.

My face flushed hot. As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough already! My heart thundered, betraying my flustered state.

"Indeed," Hadrian murmured, his voice dipping into a tone that felt far too intimate. "She looks… delectable."

There was something feral in the way he said it, a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine. I forced a tight smile, desperate to mask the chaotic storm inside me. My gaze darted around the room until, inevitably, it landed on his.

His piercing gray eyes seemed to flicker, a faint, ominous hint of red bleeding into them. I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as an unwelcome heat pooled low in my belly. I clenched my fists beneath the table, furious at my body’s betrayal.

Get a grip, Thalassa! He hasn’t even touched you, and you’re already falling apart? Pathetic.

Hadrian’s smirk widened, as if he could read my thoughts. "Try the wine," he suggested smoothly, his voice laced with amusement. "It might help you relax."

I wanted to slap the smug grin off his face but grudgingly admitted he might be right. With a deep breath, I lifted the glass and took a tentative sip. The Pinot Noir was exquisite, its rich flavors spreading across my tongue like silk.

"You like it, don’t you?" Penrose’s grin widened. "Nineteen seventy-five is my favorite vintage."

"It’s wonderful," I replied, eager to steer the conversation into safer territory.

"I especially enjoy it after sex," she quipped, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

I choked on my sip, barely managing to keep the wine from spilling.

"Penrose," Hadrian sighed, his tone carrying the faintest edge of reproach.

Feigning innocence, she fluttered her lashes before turning her mischievous grin on me. "What? Did I say something wrong?" Then, without missing a beat, she added, "Brother, you seem awfully tense. Perhaps you should find a way to… relieve that stress."

Hadrian’s jaw tightened, and he drained his glass in one smooth motion. I followed suit, hoping the wine would dull the relentless tension coursing through me. To my relief, it did. The second glass softened the sharp edges of my anxiety, though it left me more vulnerable to my instincts.

Penrose giggled and refilled our glasses. Her laughter was light, almost carefree, but I could sense the dangerous undercurrent beneath it.

"Don’t you remember the thrill of surrendering to your desires?" she goaded, her voice dripping with provocation. "The taste of blood, the heat of flesh… It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?"

My hands trembled as I gripped my utensils, not out of fear but something far more disconcerting. Desperately, I focused on my meal, cutting into the Beef Wellington as if it held the key to my salvation.

But Penrose was relentless.

"I know what you’re afraid of, brother," she said, her voice a purr. "Her scent is so irresistible that you’d struggle to stop once you started. But that’s the beauty of it—her body is just as delectable as her blood. Maybe you should stop wasting your time with those vamp-whores and try her instead."

I froze mid-bite, nearly choking on my food. Her bluntness was staggering, as if my thoughts and feelings were inconsequential. My heart raced, each beat hammering against my ribs like a war drum.

"Penrose," Hadrian snapped, his tone sharp. "Stay out of my personal affairs. Thalassa is under my protection—that’s all."

His words were calm, measured, but I couldn’t miss the undercurrent of tension. I drained the rest of my glass, seeking solace in the wine’s warmth as it coursed through me. It dulled the sharp pangs of embarrassment, loosening the grip of anxiety on my chest.

"You’d protect her better if you marked her," Penrose pressed, her gaze flicking between us. "You know as well as I do that no one would dare touch her if you claimed her."

"I’m not marking her," Hadrian replied coldly, his tone brooking no argument.

Penrose clicked her tongue in mock disapproval but didn’t push further. Instead, she turned her attention back to me, her expression brightening with mischief as she uncorked another bottle.

"More wine?" she asked, though she didn’t wait for a response before filling my glass once more.

I took a sip automatically, the alcohol now humming softly in my veins. I glanced at Hadrian and Penrose, trying to decipher their expressions. My head buzzed lightly, the Pinot Noir working its magic. Yet, strangely, neither of them seemed remotely affected.

Why do I feel like I’m the only one losing control here?