Chapter 28 New Threats

Chapter 28 New Threats
I brushed my hair until it shone, tucking one side behind my ear with trembling fingers. I looked like a woman who belonged in a manor, not a girl who had been sold for silver forty-eight hours ago.

I descended the grand staircase slowly. My leg still twinged, a sharp reminder of the woods, but I refused to limp.

Azran was standing at the foot of the stairs, mid-conversation with Eli. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that made him look utterly lethal. When the rhythmic click of my heels hit the marble, he stopped talking. 

His head snapped up. His dark eyes raked over me, starting at my throat and dropping down the curve of the silk. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. For a fleeting second, the warlord vanished, replaced by a man who looked winded.

I felt a treacherous heat creep up my neck. I hated that he could still make me blush. I hated that his approval satisfying.

"You look..." He cleared his throat, his voice dropping an octave into a rough, sandpaper growl. "Adequate."

"Adequate?" One of the men muttered from the side, though his eyes were kind. "She looks like a queen, Azran. Try to keep your tongue in your mouth."

Azran ignored him, stepping forward to meet me at the final step. He didn't ask; he simply reached out and took my hand. His palm was calloused and warm, his grip firm enough to remind me I was his, but gentle enough to mimic affection. He leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a lingering, possessive kiss that tasted of mint and unspoken threats.

"Stay close," he whispered against my mouth. "And don't speak unless I tell you to."

He led me toward the main drawing room. I hadn't noticed the cars in the driveway, but as we turned the corner, the sound of low, cultured voices filled the air.

Six people sat on the leather couches, arranged like a jury. Ian was there, looking uncomfortable in a stiff blazer, but the others were strangers. They looked polished, expensive, and dangerous, like predators who had learned to use salad forks.

"Everyone," Azran’s voice rang out, vibrating with an authoritative aura that seemed to dim the very lights in the room. "This is Elara."

The room went silent.

A woman sitting in the center, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful, let out a sharp, derisive puff of air. This was Isolde, the matriarch of a secondary bloodline, and beside her sat Vane, a man with silver-streaked hair and eyes that looked like frozen glass.

"This is the little stray?" Isolde asked, her voice dripping with aristocratic boredom. She didn't look at my face; she looked at my shoes. "I expected something... more. She smells of common dirt and cheap soap."

I flinched, my grip on Azran’s hand tightening, but he didn't let me pull away.

"She smells of my mark, Isolde," Azran said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low frequency. "I suggest you remember whose house you are standing in."

Vane leaned forward, swirling a glass of amber liquid. "We are here because Callum is active, Azran. We aren't here to play house with your latest charity project. The girl is a liability. Look at her… she’s trembling. One howl from the woods and she’ll shatter."

"She survived Callum's hunt," Ian interjected, trying to help, but Vane silenced him with a cold glare.

"She invited Callum's hunt," Vane corrected. "The bloodline is at risk because a human girl couldn't follow simple instructions. If it were up to me, we’d hand her back to the woods and be done with this 'ritual' nonsense."

The other three… two younger men, Kael and Jaxon, and a soft-spoken woman named Selah—remained quiet, watching the exchange like a tennis match. Selah gave me a small, pitying smile, but it felt more like a eulogy than a greeting.

"It isn't up to you, Vane," Azran stepped forward, pulling me flush against his side. The sheer power radiating off him was stifling. "Elara is under my protection. Any insult directed at her is an insult to the Blackthrone seat. Do I need to make that clearer, or shall we discuss the territorial borders you've been encroaching upon?"

Vane’s eyes flared with anger, but he went quiet, leaning back into the sofa.

Isolde stood up, her silk dress hissing. She walked toward me, stopping just outside my personal space. She was taller than me, smelling of heavy lilies and ozone.

"Pretty enough," she mused, her eyes cold as stones. "But beauty doesn't stop a bullet, and it certainly won't stop Callum when he comes to reclaim what he planted in her. You’re playing a dangerous game, Azran. Betting the farm on a girl who was sold for a handful of coins."

I felt the sting of her words, the reminder of the auction block, but I didn't look down. I tucked my hair behind my ear again, a nervous habit, and met her gaze.

"I wasn't sold for coins," I said, my voice shaking but audible. "I was stolen. There’s a difference."

Isolde laughed. "Stolen, sold, claimed. It’s all the same for someone like you. You’re just a vessel with a pulse."

Azran’s hand moved to the small of my back, his fingers splayed wide, a gesture of absolute dominance. "That's enough. Eli, show them to the dining hall. We leave at dusk. Elara and I will join you shortly."

The group rose, the tension leaving the room with them, though Vane lingered for a moment to cast one last, hateful look my way.

Once they were gone, the silence felt heavy. I pulled away from Azran, my heart hammering.

"Why are they so cruel?" I whispered. "I didn't do anything to them."

"They are afraid," Azran said, turning to face me. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray tear I hadn't realized had escaped. "In our world, fear looks like cruelty. They see you as a weakness in my armor. They think if they break you, they can control me."