498- When Dominance Speaks Louder
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
Heavens, he was dead.
How was that... possible?
The venomous bite. I remembered, dumbfounded.
I stood frozen, hypnotized by what he had done. It was like pure magic—vibrant and pungent. Unlike anything I had ever seen, ever read in history books.
He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the blood from his mouth, tossing it to the ground afterward, each movement made with dexterity. He stepped aside, stepping over the body of the man he had just killed with his fucking teeth as if he were nothing more than an irrelevant trash bag. He pulled me by the arm, drawing me closer to him, pulling me into him.
The music stopped playing and all the lights were turned on.
Applause resounded among the people, like a mocking beat to the situation. The crowd moved away, and finally we could see the Merchant approaching, applauding the scene, laughing nonstop.
"I don't want to be a party pooper, but now you're trapped here with us," he shot out, still laughing, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He looked me up and down. "And on top of that, you brought our trump card home. Should I be grateful for that? Or are you just too young and stupid, and thought you could walk into a private event, with every guest meticulously chosen, and no one would notice there's a shocking difference between you and Dom Serban?"
Well, yes, we did think that.
He was tall and strong, with thin, dark hair. Fair skin, square face marked by expression lines—he should be around four hundred years old or more. He wore a suit that probably cost more than that entire hotel. In his pocket, he wore a red satin handkerchief, just the tip showing. On his pinky finger, the ring with the symbol that described which pack he belonged to—the characteristic emblem of the bastards.
Anton laughed too, his chest trembling against my back. His arms were around me, hard as steel, ready to kill anyone who dared get too close.
"Actually, that's not the right connotation," the Eldoria replied, full of authority.
The Merchant raised his eyebrows and made a pout with his thin lips, reflecting on what he had said.
"Is that so? Then what would be the right connotation, my dear young man?"
Although I couldn't see him, I could feel Anton's wide, vibrant smile.
"The right connotation is: now you're trapped here with us." He shook his head. "And I can only say that was a terrible idea." There was nothing human left in his voice.
The big event of the night was about to begin.
...
It was as if they too could feel the energy vibrating in the air—the dominance and the power. They yielded, taking a step back and moving away from the two of us. All of them. All except me. I wasn't afraid of what I felt—neither I nor my she-wolf; we could recognize that, appreciate its meaning.
To us, it posed no danger. On the contrary, it was synonymous with safety, with comfort. But to everyone else present, it reeked of death.
It was nothing more.
It was just Anton Eldoria in his semi-transformation, dominated by his lupine instincts.
I smiled, appreciating the terror on their faces.
The Merchant blinked, and a furrow appeared in the middle of his forehead.
"Hmm... let me guess? One of the young Eldoria." He shot me a quick look before focusing on Anton again. "Of course—why didn't I think of that? He's here accompanying our dear Miss Moonclaw, who must have insisted on this auction to recover one of the objects that belonged to her father."
I held my breath, keeping calm. It was difficult to control myself whenever they mentioned his name. Especially them—the cursed ones who had ended his life.
Anton growled.
"Don't speak to her," he ordered.
The Merchant laughed and placed a hand on his chest, leaning into an exaggerated bow.
"How could I be so discourteous to you? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Emil. As you must have already gathered, I am part of what you usually call the Dark Merchants." He snapped his fingers, and some men approached him. "We don't want conflict with the Supremes—the Tharnak people are not on our enemy list, and we wouldn't like to add them either." He pointed with his chin in my direction. "We only want Miss Moonclaw. We have plans for her."
"That's not going to happen," Anton shot back.
Emil sighed heavily.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, but unfortunately, that's not up for discussion. Miss Moonclaw needs to come with us—these are direct orders from our sovereign."
Anton laughed.
"Tell your sovereign to shove his orders right up his ass. Stop pursuing Thalyndra, or not adding one of the Supremes to your enemy list will no longer be an option."
He ran his hand over his shoulder, brushing off an invisible speck of dust.
"I'm sorry, Lord Eldoria, but we are at an impasse. Miss Moonclaw belongs to us, and we are not willing to give up this right."
Belonged to them? Heavens, the Merchants were far worse than I had thought. Since when did they have any right over me? Did killing my parents, in their conception, mean something beyond brutal murder?
"She doesn't belong to you, and she never will," Anton replied in a hiss.
The alpha's arms around me were growing increasingly rigid—he and the wolf locked in a battle for control. While he tried to remain calm to handle things in the most civilized manner possible, his beast was lurking, wanting nothing but chaos.
The Merchant scratched his jaw, furrowing his brow and pressing his lips together, as if displeased with where the conversation was heading.
"Why don't we resolve this properly? Give me Miss Moonclaw—I promise nothing bad will happen to her. You have my word..."
"Your word means absolutely nothing to me," Anton cut him off.
"Then you can go home, and we'll never meet again. Deal with your pack, with your life, however you wish, without our interference—just as it has always been."
Anton pulled me a little closer to him, as if wanting to nestle me against him. It was a simple gesture, but it meant so much. Although he said nothing, I felt what he wanted to show me with it. The Eldoria heir, in silence, told me that no matter what proposals the Merchant made, he would never let me go.