501- The Knot That Binds
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
He turned to me, breathing fast, his eyes dominated by a hatred I had never seen. My hair stood on end at the sight. He was covered in blood, his hair disheveled, his suit ruined. Quite different from the handsome, elegant young man who walked in beside me.
Like that, he looked like a... wolf.
There was no trace of the conceited, sarcastic, and even affectionate Anton I was used to. That was another version of him that I hadn't met yet.
It didn't scare me, however. Something about it pulled me like a magnet and left me absurdly hot.
He walked toward me with deliberate steps. He stopped right in front of me and stared intently. I searched for something human in his eyes, but found nothing. He was more beast than man.
He leaned over me. I didn't flinch, I felt no fear. Then he picked up a bottle of whiskey that was nearby and brought it to his lips, drinking the liquid straight from the neck. When he finished, he threw it away.
My pussy contracted, my body being dominated by adrenaline and excitement.
"We need to get out of here," he said, hoarsely.
"And Myrion?" I asked, licking my dry lips.
"Myrion is fine."
I looked to the side, at the curtain that had been opened at some point during the fight. There was no painting there. I let out a sigh. I wished I had had the chance to take it with me, to keep it back as a memory of my father.
"More of them could arrive; they must have communicated our presence already. We're not in Eldoria nor near it," he insisted.
I looked back at him and nodded.
He was right, our safety was more important than the painting. The Merchants were ancient and clever; they would have a greater advantage if they found us.
I swallowed hard, wetting my throat.
He extended his hand to me. I accepted his blood-stained palm, and we walked out together. He blew the door open with a kick. I didn't look back at the bodies we left behind, nor did I think too much about it. It was a guilt I wouldn't carry.
...
It was a pleasure to breathe the clean night air, without all the smell of death and blood. Myrion wasn't there when we came out, nor was the painting.
"Your brother?" I asked, looking around.
There was no movement at all and no sign of him. It was still an isolated place and it seemed there was only Anton and me.
"He's fine," he affirmed, pulling me toward the other side of the street, where the forest began. "Myrion did as we planned."
"And what exactly did you plan?" I insisted, suspicious.
We didn't exactly have an elaborate plan when we arranged to go to the auction. There was only one certainty: many would die. I planned to find out more, some names at least, to continue my search for my parents' killers, so I would take the painting and get out. In the end, I left without the painting and without any names, because nothing went as expected.
We entered the forest. My feet slipped, sliding on the dry leaves as we descended the hill and advanced further into the darkness among the trees. Anton kept his hand firm on mine, not letting go, helping me keep my balance.
My skin, which had been injured during the fight, was already healed, with no sign of pain.
I kept my hearing sharp, trying to hear footsteps or tire noises from afar—we could be followed. It wouldn't be a problem; they would be dead before they could even blink, but I didn't want to be caught off guard again.
The forest was denser in that region, the treetops meeting more, blocking the moon from lighting the way. I blinked, pressing my eyes hard, trying to adjust my vision to the darkness.
An explosion made me flinch and Anton positioned himself around me, as if to defend me from an attack.
"Son of a bitch!" he roared furiously, looking over my head.
"What happened?" I turned and saw the tall fire, the flames rising, losing themselves in the sky, devouring the hotel, destroying it. I opened my mouth, in shock. "I thought... it wasn't supposed to be set on fire."
He snarled.
"And it wasn't, damn it! Myrion is a stubborn bastard."
The fire was so strong I could feel its heat in front of me. The smell of smoke intensified, mixing with the air, and the breeze became warm. At least it illuminated our surroundings a little.
"Wait! It was Myrion?" I asked, biting my cheeks to contain the smile threatening to spread.
Anton ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
"It definitely was," he hissed. "He was told he shouldn't do it, but I don't even know why I'm surprised—Myrion never does what he's told."
I let out a genuine laugh.
"But... the hotel belonged to the Merchants, so I think he did well."
He twisted his lips in a grimace and nodded.
"Yes, it did, and that's the only reason he's going to get away with what he did, but that's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"He didn't know that information."
I gasped, laughing even more. Myrion was completely insane.
If there were rules to follow, he broke them purely for pleasure.
But after what I had witnessed that night, I realized that any Eldoria carried in their blood much of the chaos reputation that Edric dragged around. It wasn't common, nor natural—it was something that came from them, that vibrated in the blood they carried.
I gasped, swallowing hard as I noticed that... I liked it more than I wanted to admit. I loved that intensity, that vibration, that... chaos.
I arched my eyebrows and changed the subject, pushing those thoughts away.
"I'm sure Edric won't find out about this, that he'll think Myrion did the right thing knowing the hotel belonged to the Merchants."
He shot me a sideways glance.
"What do you think?" I laughed.
"I think sibling loyalty is above the truth, even if it's to their own father."
He nodded.