Chapter 17 Little Lamb in the Lion’s Den
Ravial heard the words.
“Get behind me, yu devil.”
They were whispered so softly no human ear would have caught them but Ravial did. Of course he did. He was not human.
His gaze slid down to the trembling girl at his side, amusement tugging faintly at his lips.
Was his little lamb truly serious?
Did she want him to get behind her?
The irony wasn’t lost on him. The devil she was rebuking stood right beside her, hand wrapped around hers, guiding her like a fragile offering through a den of wolves.
But curiosity stirred beneath the amusement. What had pushed his lamb to utter that?
His attention swept across the hall, senses reaching into the unseen. It didn’t take long. The room pulsed with hundreds of demonic presences, small, twisted things drawn from the filth of human thoughts. Their corruption floated in the air like smoke.
He had ignored them. They meant nothing to him.
But one of them… had set its attention on her.
A pure soul. Untainted.
And yet something unholy had dared slither close.
His jaw tightened, gaze returning to Leitana. Her pink cheeks, her wide eyes staring up at him. And beneath his palm, her racing heartbeat.
Too fast.
He despised that sound.
Not excitement.
Not desire.
Fear.
He leaned slightly toward her, his voice low enough to be a warning and a caress.
“Little lamb,” he murmured, “what is wrong?”
She swallowed hard, looking as if she had been caught praying in a place that did not tolerate prayer. But before she could speak, before the truth or a lie could form, he felt it.
The shift.
The stir of them.
Dozens.
Small, pathetic creatures swelling with borrowed boldness as they crawled toward her aura.
Toward his wife.
They dared to think she was prey.
A slow breath left him as he lowered his head a fraction, just enough for shadows to lean in and listen.
He spoke a single word, ancient and heavy.
“Tov’ka.”
Every demonic presence froze.
Then another, sharp as a blade slicing through the unseen:
“Kneel.”
They didn’t kneel.
They collapsed.
Shriveling into themselves as if crushed by an invisible force.
Folding like broken limbs.
Imploding without sound.
The lesser demons scrambled back into unseen cracks, whimpering, fleeing—obedient not out of reverence, but primal terror.
The Prince of Darkness had spoken.
Within a heartbeat the air cleared.
Silence returned.
Only human laughter and music remained, blissfully unaware of the execution that required no blood.
Ravial slipped the old tongue away and straightened.
Leitana didn’t know what happened. She only breathed easier.
He looked down at her again. “Are you alright?”
She blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Y–Yes… mi okay. Just… head full.”
He nodded once, offering no further explanation. She didn’t need to know.
Her steps wobbled, so he guided her forward, steady and firm.
Then a cheerful voice called out across the crowd…
“Ravial!”
A stout man with a round face and too much confidence waddled toward them, pushing through the crowd with an excited grin.
“Ravial! I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight,” he boomed, grabbing Ravial’s hand in a firm clasp before his eyes shifted eagerly to Leitana. “So the rumors are true, you really married. And you didn’t invite me? After all these years?”
Then he turned fully to her.
“And you must be Avery. My dear, you look stunning tonight. Absolutely stunning.”
Leitana froze.
Every thought tangled in her head.
If she spoke, her island tongue might slip out.
Her English wasn’t like Avery’s polished one.
They would definitely know that something was off?
She didn't want to embarrass him.
Her fingers curled tightly against Ravial’s sleeve.
Ravial didn’t turn his head, didn’t break eye contact with the man, but his thumb brushed once against the back of her hand.
A silent command.
Speak.
Her chest rose in a shaky breath.
She forced her shoulders to straighten, fighting the tremble running through her.
“Good evening, sir,” she said softly.
Each word slow, careful, shaped with effort.
“We… we are happy to be here.”
Her accent lingered, warm, lilting but gentler, held back as best she could.
The man’s face lit up.
“Well now! That’s lovely to hear. I can see why Ravial quickly married you and hid you away !”
Leitana swallowed, smiling nervously, hoping the strain in her voice didn’t betray her confusion.
Beside her, Ravial’s hand closed around hers just a little tighter, steadying, grounding.
He leaned down, voice a whisper only she could hear.
“Breathe, little lamb,” he murmured.
“You did well.”
Her knees nearly buckled.
Ravial watched her smile.
It was small at first, uncertain, trembling at the corners…
But then it bloomed.
Soft. Pure.
A smile made of light.
And it hit him like a blade to the chest.
He actually paused, mid-breath, mid-thought, mid-everything.
She was… beautiful.
Not the polished, sculpted, expensive kind of beautiful the ballroom was filled with.
Something that didn’t belong in his world but somehow made it brighter.
And the relief in her eyes, the shy, glowing joy at pleasing him
That shook him.
That should not affect him.
Yet it did.
Deep in his chest something twisted, heated, dangerous.
Something he hadn’t felt before.
He had the sudden, violent urge to kiss her.
To taste that smile.
To claim it.
He inhaled sharply, suppressing the hunger crawling up his spine.
Ridiculous.
He was the Prince of Darkness.
He did not hunger for human lips.
Not until now.
He forced the feeling down and went through the motions of introductions, tightening his hold on her hand as he did.
When the man finally excused himself, Ravial lowered his head, his voice brushing her ear.
“Stand there,” he murmured, guiding her toward the corner of the hall.
“I need to speak with someone, Do not move.”
She nodded quickly, obediently, as if afraid to disappoint him again.
He turned away.
But he felt her gaze linger on his back before she looked elsewhere.
Leitana stood alone, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
The lights, the music, the swirl of expensive perfume, it was all too much.
She glanced at the long table of drinks, her eyes catching the golden liquid inside the tall glasses.
Wine.
Holy Communion wine was the only kind she had ever tasted.
And even that was only a tiny cup.
“‘Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery,’ the Bible says.”
So… just a tiny sip, then.
Her hand hovered over the glass, trembling slightly. Not to be daring… just curious. Careful. She had never done anything like this before.
She reached slowly, hesitating, every instinct telling her to be cautious, to stay true to herself.
A voice interrupted.
“Ah. So you must be Avery Hayes Ashbourne. The woman everyone has been whispering about.”
She turned sharply.
The man was tall. Handsome.
His suit crisp, his smile easy.
He held himself like someone used to admiration.
Leitana’s lips parted, unsure what to say.
Her heart thumped nervously.
He offered his hand.
“Elias Monroe,” he said with a charming bow of his head. “CEO of Monroe Holdings . Old acquaintance of Ravial’s.”
She swallowed, then slipped her hand into his, shy.
“Le…Avery,” she corrected softly, “nice to meet you, sir.”
Her voice carried the island lilt she couldn't fully hide.
And he noticed.
His brow lifted slightly, not mocking, just intrigued.
“That’s an interesting accent,” he said gently, “refreshing, actually.”
Her heart lurched, but before panic could grip her, he moved on, letting the moment pass.
He smiled again, warm and disarming.
“You seem overwhelmed. These events can be… suffocating.”
He chuckled softly. “You don’t look like you belong to this circus. And that’s a compliment.”
To her shock… she laughed.
A soft, light giggle that made Elias smile wider.
He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice as he continued talking about the ballroom, the guests, the chaos.
He was funny.
Surprisingly kind.
Leitana relaxed too much.
Her shoulders unknotted.
Her smile grew.
Her laughter came easier.
At one point, he reached for her hand again, warm, gentle, his thumb brushing the back of it without thinking, a simple comforting gesture.
She didn’t pull away.
Why would she?
He was her husband’s friend… right?
And Ravial wasn’t looking.
He was across the hall talking to a couple, a small polite smile on his lips.
He wasn’t paying attention.
So she thought it was fine.
Safe.
Normal.
But..
Across the room…
Ravial turned.
And he saw it.
Her smile.
Her bright eyes.
Her soft laughter.
Her delicate hand resting inside another man’s palm…
Elias’s thumb stroking over her skin.
And something inside Ravial snapped so violently the shadows around him curled inward.
Blood-red rage flared behind his blindfold.
His little lamb…
Touched.
Held.
Smiling for someone else.
The Prince of Darkness felt his teeth bare in instinct.
A silent, savage ruthlessness rippled through him:
Mine.