Chapter 42 Threatened

Chapter 42 Threatened
Varek

My stomach lurches as I realize exactly where they’re headed.

I start forward to intercept them. Her eyes are on Cara, her husband, and Dante. I know in my gut that she's trying to give Liora a chance to talk to her sister, and she might succeed, but my heart is racing for a wholly different reason as I note that her gaze isn't focused on Cara. She is looking at Dante. Dante's back is to her, but that doesn't make her slow or call out to him. She gets a gleeful look on her face and releases Liora's hand a few paces away from being in striking distance. Without pausing, she rears back and throws a punch.

I stop watching her. I can see the moment Dante feels the blow coming toward him. A twitch surfaces in his shoulder before her fist is even halfway between them. In a whirl of movement, Dante spins around, catching her wrist easily, as if he’s done it a hundred times before. His eyes burn that unnatural blue, full of animosity for a moment. His teeth pull back into a snarl before freezing as his gaze falls on her. The anger vanishes, but the glowing blue of his eyes remains. Then the bastard laughs, throwing his head back and releasing her.

"Thought I really had you that time."

"Not in this lifetime. I had heard you would be here, little ember.”

His tone is soft and intimate. It slides from his mouth like something he's said a hundred times before. Fiona’s beaming at him, her eyes warm and her whole body at ease as he draws her close and squeezes her, and the hall tilts. My wolf snarls, and blood pounds in my ears as I stalk toward them. Heat rises in my chest until I can taste iron. The world narrows to the way his arm rests on her shoulders with easy familiarity, and the way she leans into him without any hesitation. My wolf tears at his chain. My fists clench until my nails bite into my palms as I reach them.

“Fiona.”

My voice is colder than I intend. It cuts across the room and pulls her attention to me. Dante pulls her back, barely leaning her back, as his eyes fall on me. Then, he relaxes and nods his head politely as he meets my gaze.

“Alpha Varek, a pleasure to see you in much better circumstances.”

His cousin pales and looks like he wants to interject, but he says nothing, and Dante doesn't even glance at him. His tone is smooth. There's courtesy in his tone, respect that makes it hard to glare at him. They don't part. Their scents mingle in my nose, and I somehow keep myself from pulling them apart.

“Who is he?” I demand. Every muscle in my shoulders tightens. I look at him. “Have we met before?"

Dante’s smile doesn’t falter. "I suppose the last time we saw one another, I was much different." He glances at Fiona, then back to me. “My name is Dante, Alpha Varek." He holds out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you. We would have met at my cousin's wedding had I not been otherwise occupied."

The warmth of his voice is deliberate and real. He's not fucking with me. He's just confident and still touching Fiona.

"You look more dressed to leave than to stay, Dante."

He shrugs. "I'm not one for ceremony, and I was running late. Seemed better to show my face to my relatives first."

Cara’s husband shifts uneasily, and Cara looks pleased, though the ice in her expression doesn’t thaw.

"Lord Dante is often away from home. I scarcely think he owns things for vanity," Cara said, her gaze pointedly staring at the ornamental pin on my shoulder, holding my cloak in place. Her eyes glint. "Though I'm pleased to see that the Caldaran court is dressed appropriately. It must be so rare to have a chance to do so."

Dante snorts. "My queen, I thought you promised to be nice. You will give my cousin a heart attack."

"I promised no such thing."

"You know each other, Fiona?" I ask, staring at her.

She grinned. "Dante and I go way back…" Fiona turns back and tugs Liora to her side. "Dante, Queen Cara, King Philip, this is Lady Liora of Caldara. She's been my saving grace since I've been here."

"We've met before," Philip says, trying to shrink in place.

Ronan comes up behind me as Dante separates from Fiona, turns, and offers his hand to Liora.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Liora." Liora takes his hand and seems startled when he brings her hand to his lips in a formal greeting, bowing his head. Ronan makes a frustrated sound, and I'm glad I'm not the only one suffering through the display. "You're related to Queen Cara, aren't you?"

"I'm a warrior of Caldara."

He bobs his head. "I can tell." His gaze drops to her hands rather than the cut of her muscles through the slits of her sleeves. His brow furrows. "Are the healing supplies sufficient in Caldara?"

Liora goes rigid, her face fills with color, and she pulls her hand from his.

"We reserve such things for major injuries. A few scars are expected."

He hums. "Even the smallest cuts can become infected."

"You're such a worrywart," Fiona says, leaning into Liora. "This man doesn't leave home without a partial medical tent on his person."

"I run a tight ship full of wolves prone to hurting themselves." He reaches into the utility pouch on his sword belt before offering a small pot of what looks like medicine. Liora's eyes widen.

"I…"

"I insist," he says, offering it. "It's probably nowhere near enough to have put up with her for however long you have."

"What are you insinuating, Dante?"

Liora's lips twitch, and she takes the pot. "She's more than a handful."

"And yet she thinks she's the easiest person to deal with."

Fiona huffs. "I'm certainly easier than you, Dante."

Dante flashes her a grin. "I never pretend to be anything but, and admit it. It's my best quality."

Fiona smirks back. "When did you learn decorum?"

What the fuck does that mean? I hate it. I hate the way they laugh, the inside joke that speaks of something more intimate. Everything in me wants to grab her and drag her away, but that would be stupid. I'm supposed to be selling her off. I take stock of who is nearby. The nobles eyeing her, noting their interactions and how little he could offer. They know Caldara's relationship with Philip's territory. They won't think of it as any more than a chance to strike a better deal with them if Fiona is their queen, since she has such a rapport with them.

Jealousy has no place in this, and it will not serve me.

"Remain where I can see you, Fiona, and try to greet other guests properly."

Dante grins. “Seems like she’s been getting under your skin as she is one to do.”

"He's been a great host," Fiona said, laughing like it's a joke. "A little drafty, but I make do."

"Thin-skin for a warrior, might have to stick to princess." He leaned back, eyeing her openly. "Could use some work."

She rolls her eyes. "Not listening to the man who is still dressed for travel." She gestures to me. “I’ll be here catching up, unless I see someone else who looks interesting to talk to. Unlikely at the moment.”

They start talking as if I'm not here. Fiona turns to Liora every once in a while to explain something, but I'm not listening to the words. The way she doesn’t even glance at me, as if I weren’t standing there at all, is the most infuriating part of it. I keep my face a mask and turn away. I catch sight of Ronan's expression. His gaze is hard as he watches, jealousy glinting in his eyes.

I step in close to Liora and lower my voice.

"A word, Liora." She doesn’t flinch. She lifts a brow, infuriatingly calm. "Alone.”

Her eyes flick back to the group. Then she meets my gaze, lowers her gaze with something like defeat, before turning and following me. 

Ronan falls into step beside me. Guests make space and whisper as I walk away from Fiona and Dante, though I don't want to. I have to for now, and for the sake of control, sanity, and my peace, I need to speak to Liora in private. Ronan will be there to make sure we're not overheard. We walk to the far side of the hall and out into the narrow corridor off the side. It's colder in this corridor away from the heat of the fireplace. The cold cuts at us, bleeding through the windows.

Once we’ve put enough distance between us that the parlor’s laughter is muffled, I stop and turn to Liora. The flicker of torchlight makes her complexion more golden. Her stance is stiff, but her expression is shuttered, and she meets my gaze.

"What has she told you?"