Chapter 100 Sibling Rivalry
The music has shifted slower now. Strings and piano weaving something elegant and intimate through the ballroom air.
Darius hasn’t moved his hand from my waist. But the warmth there isn’t steady anymore. It’s tense.
“You’re not meeting Fred alone,” he says quietly.
Not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Just for me. I turn to face him fully. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
There’s no edge in his tone, no raised voice. Which somehow makes it worse. It’s not a request. It’s a decision. I feel something hot flare up my spine.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s not about me being in control.”
“It sounds a lot like it.”
The music swells around us, couples gliding onto the dance floor. Laughter floats through crystal chandeliers. It’s all polished and beautiful and utterly detached from the quiet battle happening between us.
“I don’t trust him,” Darius says again, voice lower now.
“You don’t have to,” I reply. “I do.”
His eyes flash.
“I forgive you,”
“Yes.” he says. “So you think he deserves the same?”
“Yes.”
The word lands between us like a gauntlet.
“I am going to give him a second chance,” I continue steadily. “Just like I gave you one.”
The air changes.
Something vulnerable flickers in his expression,hurt, maybe. Or the reminder that I had to forgive him at all.
“Fred is important to me,” I say softly but firmly. “He was there before any of this. Before the bond. Before politics.”
“And now?” Darius asks.
“Now he’s still important.”
My voice doesn’t waver.
“And you,” I add, meeting his gaze, “are going to have to get used to him being around. Because he matters to me.”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut. His hand slips from my waist. For half a second I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
Before either of us can say another word, a short bald man with an impressive mustache and a tuxedo slightly too shiny for the occasion appears beside us.
“Luna,” he says with a charming southern drawl, offering a hand. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
I blink.
Darius doesn’t.
“I think she’s….” he begins.
“I’m really bad at dancing,” I interrupt quickly, forcing a polite smile.
The man grins wider. “Darlin’, that just means I get to lead.”
I glance at the dance floor.
The last time I attempted ballroom dancing was with Faruk, I had stepped on him twice.
The bald man wiggles his brows playfully. “C’mon. I promise I won’t drop you.”
I hesitate. Part of me wants to decline. Part of me wants to prove I can say yes to whoever I want.
I place my hand in his.
“Alright,” I say.
Darius’s gaze burns into my back as the man leads me onto the floor.
The music wraps around us as he positions my hand on his shoulder and takes my waist respectfully.
“Name’s Harold,” he says. “You look like you needed rescuing.”
I laugh despite myself. “From what?”
“From our tall dark and broody Alpha King over there glaring holes into my skull.”
I snort.
“He does brood well.”
Harold grins. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
He guides me through a simple box step.
“One-two-three, one-two-three,” he murmurs. “You’re doing fine.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
His accent softens the words, wraps them in warmth. He spins me gently and I manage not to trip.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “See? Natural.”
I find myself laughing again.
It feels good. Light and Untangled.
“You’ve got a dangerous smile,” Harold says. “Bet you break hearts for sport.”
“Hardly.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Our King looks like he’s about to start a war over you.”
I glance over Harold’s shoulder. Darius is watching. Not openly, But his stance is rigid. His eyes dark. He looks like a storm forced to remain polite.
“You think he looks funny?” Harold asks.
“Yes,” I reply honestly. “I’m a sucker for funny men.”
Harold beams.
“Well then I better keep performing.”
He twirls me again, this time dipping slightly at the end. I gasp in surprise, clutching his shoulder.
“Relax,” he chuckles. “I won’t let you fall.”
The music shifts. Partners rotate. Suddenly Harold’s hand is gone.
And I’m pulled smoothly into familiar arms.
Darius.
His hand settles at my waist, firmer than before. His other hand captures mine, fingers threading with precise control.
The shift in energy is immediate. Gone is the playful ease. This is something else.
“So the man has jokes?” Darius asks quietly as he leads.
“Yes,” I reply, breath still uneven from laughing. “He is very funny.”
His grip tightens almost imperceptibly.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs.
I meet his gaze.
“I’m your mate Darius,but you don’t own me.”
The words are calm.
Clear.
His jaw flexes.
“I know that,” he says. “But you’re provoking me.”
“Am I?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
I arch a brow. “Dancing?”
“Laughing like that,” he counters. “Telling me you’re meeting Fred alone. Letting every male in this room think you’re available.”
“I am available.”
The statement hangs heavy. His step falters for half a second before he recovers.
“Are you?” he asks quietly. The music slows further. We move in perfect synchronization despite the tension.
“Yes,” I say. “Until I decide otherwise.”
His gaze searches mine.
“And what would make you decide otherwise?”
I swallow.
This is dangerous territory.
“Trust,” I answer. “Respect. Freedom.”
“I’ve never tried to cage you.”
“No,” I agree softly. “But sometimes you try to guard me like I’m not already yours.”
His expression shifts.
“I don’t guard what isn’t precious.”
The words slip out before he can stop them.
Heat floods my chest. The bond hums faintly.
“You don’t get to claim me because you’re afraid,” I say.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You are,” I reply gently. “Of losing control. Of losing me.”
That hits.
I see it in the way his breath catches.
“You think this is about ego?” he asks.
“I think it’s about you wanting certainty.”
“And you refusing to give it.”
“I’m not a trophy you win by default.”
His hand slides slightly lower on my back as he pulls me closer,not possessive, but undeniably intimate.
“I don’t want default,” he says quietly. “I want choice.”
“I know.”
“Then stop testing me.”
I laugh softly.
“I’m not testing you.”
“Yes, you are.”
The music swells toward its crescendo. Couples spin around us in glittering arcs.
“Maybe,” I admit. “But only because I need to know you won’t try to limit me.”
“I would never limit you.”
“You just tried.”
Silence.
We move through the final turns of the dance, bodies close enough that I can feel the tension radiating from him.
His forehead dips closer to mine, not touching, but near enough that the air between us crackles.
“I don’t own you,” he says quietly. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t tear something in me to see other men touch you.”
“That’s not my responsibility to fix,” I reply softly.
“No.”
“Your jealousy is yours.”
“And your defiance is yours.”
A faint smile touches my lips.
“Good.”
For a second, something almost like admiration flashes in his eyes.
“You’re impossible,” he murmurs.
“And you’re dramatic.”
That almost makes him laugh.
Almost. The song ends. Applause ripples.
He doesn’t let go immediately.
Neither do I.
The next song doesn’t begin so much as it melts into the air,low strings, slow percussion, something older than fashion. The dance floor fills again, a tide of silk and suits and careful smiles.
Darius’s hand returns to my waist.
“You are my mate,” he says he little louder, as if finishing a thought we never started aloud.
The words land differently here, in the middle of a ballroom filled with wolves and vampires and humans pretending not to stare.
Whispers start almost immediately.
I hear them because I can.
“She’s the hybrid.”
“That’s her.”
“He chose her?”
“Is it official?”
Vampires murmur like silk sliding over glass. Wolves mutter lower, rougher.
Darius pulls me closer,not aggressively, but unmistakably. His hand spans my waist, firm enough that I feel claimed.
My heart thuds harder.
“You don’t have to announce it like that,” I murmur.
“I’m not announcing it,” he replies. “I’m reminding you.”
His jaw tightens slightly as a vampire couple brushes too close. His grip adjusts instinctively.
“You’re glaring,” I whisper.
“I’m aware.”
I glance over my shoulder and catch Harold,the bald man offering me a friendly little salute from across the floor.
Darius notices.
His body goes rigid.
“If he touches you again,” Darius says calmly, “I’ll rip his throat out.”
I burst out laughing.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m serious.”
“That man is half your size.”
“That won’t make it less satisfying.”
The jealousy is so blatant it almost circles back to absurd.
The music slows further.
Our bodies move as one without effort, his lead subtle but undeniable. He knows how to dance. Of course he does. There’s nothing about him that feels untrained.
Our steps align perfectly.
My heartbeat feels too fast.
So does his.
The bond hums low and electric under my skin. When the music dips into something softer, something intimate, I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
The air between us feels charged.
Dangerous.
And then…
“Apologies, brother.” The word is smooth as silk. Suddenly I’m being spun away.
Faruk.
He sweeps in with effortless precision, catching my hand and guiding me into his arms with a grin that borders on wicked.
“Sharing is caring,” he adds lightly over his shoulder to Darius, who looks one second away from committing a felony in a ballroom full of diplomats.
Faruk winks. Darius doesn’t blink.
And then Faruk whisks me into the flow of dancers.
He moves differently than Darius.
Where Darius is controlled power, Faruk is fluid elegance. His hand at my back is lighter, but no less certain.
“I missed this,” Faruk says smoothly.
“Missed stealing me away?”
“Missed reminding him he doesn’t own everything.”
I snort softly.
“You enjoy provoking him.”
“Of course I do.”
We spin gracefully, slipping between couples.
“Why does Darius always get the best things?” Faruk asks suddenly.
The question is casual. But his eyes aren’t.
“They don’t come labeled,” I reply.
He smiles faintly. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“All my life,” Faruk continues quietly, guiding me through a turn, “I’ve had to compete with him. For respect. For recognition. For breathing space.”
I study him carefully. “You think he had it easy?”
Faruk laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.
“He was the legitimate heir. The golden wolf. The one groomed for greatness.”
“And you?”
“The reminder of scandal.” His voice remains smooth, but I can feel something tight beneath it.
“I get that you’ve never liked him,” I say carefully.
Faruk arches a brow. “Never liked him? That’s such a simple phrase.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
We pivot again. He leans closer. “He had everything handed to him.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re defending him?” Faruk’s smile sharpens.
“I’m stating what I see.”
“And what do you see, Lyra?”
“I see a man who carries weight like it’s part of his spine. I see someone who never relaxes because he thinks the world will collapse if he does.”
Faruk’s grip tightens slightly.
“I see someone who cares about you,” I add.
He goes still for half a second.
“Don’t romanticize it.”
“I see it in his eyes,” I insist. “He watches you.”
“Of course he does,” Faruk replies lightly. “He wants to be praised for being close to his illegitimate brother.”
The word lands heavy.
Illegitimate.
I feel the jealousy beneath his tone now,thinly veiled, carefully polished.
“He doesn’t care about me,” Faruk continues softly. “He cares about perception.”
“That’s not what I see.”
He laughs again.
“You’re new to this family.”
“I’m not blind.”
We rotate, drifting further from Darius, though I can feel his presence across the room like a gravitational pull.
“All my life,” Faruk says, voice quieter now, “I’ve been second. Even when I excelled. Even when I outperformed. It was always ‘but Darius.’”
He twirls me again.
“You know what it’s like to live in someone else’s shadow?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately.
He studies me.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The hybrid. The experiment. The threat.
Never just Lyra.
He nods once, acknowledging that truth.
“And now,” he continues, “you arrive. And suddenly he’s even more untouchable.”
I blink.
“How?”
“You don’t see it?” Faruk asks softly. “Being mated to you? The hybrid? The anomaly? The attention is intoxicating. The whispers. The fascination.”
“That attention is not admiration,” I reply sharply.
“Attention is power.”
“Not when it’s built on fear.”
He shrugs slightly.
“Power doesn’t care what fuels it.”
I look at him carefully. There it is. Resentment. Deep-rooted. Old. Carefully tended.
“How deep does it go?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t pretend not to understand. “Deep enough,” he says.
“For what?”
He smiles faintly.
“For patience.”
The word sends a subtle chill down my spine. We finish a slow turn.
“I don’t resent you,” he adds suddenly.
“Good.”
“I resent him.”
“I know.”
His eyes flick briefly to Darius across the room.
“And you?” he asks. “Do you enjoy being the center of this?”
I follow his gaze. Eyes still watching. Still whispering.
“I didn’t ask for it,” I reply.
“But you command it.”
“That’s survival.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Faruk studies me again,longer this time.The song begins to fade. He dips me smoothly at the final note, closer than strictly necessary.
“Careful,” I murmur.
“Of what?”
“Of turning jealousy into something uglier.”
His eyes gleam faintly. “Jealousy is already ugly.” He straightens me just as the music ends. Applause ripples again.Before he releases me fully, he leans close to my ear.
“If I had you I would have the whole world at my feet,” he whispers.