Chapter 14 A Toast To Witches
Aurelia
Alpha Zhayad waited at the top of the grand marble steps, a dark silhouette framed by the glowing archway.
The light from the floating lanterns washed over him, turning his black suit into liquid shadow and making the sharp lines of his face look carved from stone.
He turned as I approached. Without a word, he extended his arm. I hesitated for a second, then slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.
His fingers closed over mine immediately. Then he yanked me against his side, gluing me there so tightly I could feel the heat of his body through the silk, the hard ridge of muscle beneath his jacket, and the steady thud of his heart.
The mate bond flared in response, a sharp, hungry pulse that made my breath catch.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, his eyes softening for the briefest second before they hardened again.
Wordlessly, he led me forward. The moment we crossed the threshold, the chattering died.
The voices that were loud before cut off mid-sentence. Some choked on their laughter, their eyes bulging out like they couldn't believe their eyes.
Silence fell like a curtain. Every eye in the ballroom turned to us.
The males stared openly, hungry, assessing, stripping me with their gazes. Some licked their lips. Others winked, bold and shameless, as if I were a prize on display beside the Alpha.
Zhayad’s response was immediate and feral: he bared his teeth in a silent snarl, his fangs flashing, the onyx one glinting like a warning blade.
The offenders looked away quickly, but the damage was done.
The females were worse. Their eyes glittered with malice. They leaned into one another, whispering behind jeweled hands, their lips curling into sneers.
Soft giggles drifted through the air, cruel and musical, as if there were something inherently laughable about the way I looked, the way I walked, the way I existed at his side.
I felt their stares like needles, pricking my exposed collarbone, the curve of my waist, the faint shadow of bruises still hidden beneath the high neckline.
Zhayad ran his fingers over my hips, and I sighed in pleasure, nearly forgetting where we were.
The grand ballroom opened around us like a living jewel: crystal chandeliers dripping light, walls draped in midnight velvet embroidered with silver constellations, tables laden with gold-rimmed crystal and towers of dark fruit.
Music swelled, violins and cellos weaving a haunting, sensual melody that made the air feel heavier.
Alpha Varrick approached first, silver-haired and regal, his smile polite but his eyes calculating.
“Alpha Zhayad,” he greeted, inclining his head. Then his gaze shifted to me. “And… Luna Aurelia.”
The title sounded like a test. I inclined my head in return. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
His eyes lingered on me a second too long, assessing, weighing, before he turned back to Zhayad.
Irina glided up beside us, smiling widely as if she was the hostess.
“Shall I escort the Luna to her seat, Alpha?” she asked sweetly.
Zhayad pursed his lips.
“No,” he said flatly. “She stays by my side.”
Irina’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes flashed.
It was impossible not to notice how Alpha Zhayad commanded respect beyond the borders of Onyx Fang. The moment we were seated at the high table, the entire rhythm of the room shifted.
Servers appeared as if summoned by thought alone, placing crystal plates and dark wine before us first, while others waited.
Heads swiveled our way constantly.
Alpha Varrick leaned toward him repeatedly throughout the meal, seeking his counsel on everything from border disputes to trade routes.
Zhayad answered in measured tones, never raising his voice, but the weight of his opinion settled over the table heavily.
Until the conversation turned.
Alpha Varrick set his goblet down with deliberate slowness, the clink loud in the sudden hush around us.
“…But you claimed the daughter of our common enemy as your mate,” he said, voice carrying just enough to reach the nearest tables. “How can we trust you?”
Zhayad stiffened beside me.
“Excuse me?” His tone was dangerously quiet.
Alpha Varrick met his gaze without flinching. “We fear you. We respect you. But you disappointed us the moment you claimed her. She’s a witch. And witches weaken the system. They always have.”
The words landed like a thrown gauntlet. A ripple of murmurs spread through the nearby tables.
Eyes darted toward me, curious, hostile, and calculating eyes.
“Her father slaughtered five pups from your pack, but she sits here next to you, like she's innocent and pure.” Alpha Varrick continued, intent on fanning the flames of Zhayad's anger.
Zhayad’s hand tightened on the stem of his glass until the crystal creaked.
“You have no right,” he said, each word edged with frost, “to speak of my mate in that manner.”
Varrick’s smile was thin, unapologetic. “I don’t accept witches in my territory. Just in case you didn’t know that.”
Zhayad leaned forward, elbows on the table, his entire posture coiled.
“You invited me to your ascension anniversary,” he said softly. “What did you think? That I would come without my Luna?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m nothing like you, Varrick. I don’t treat my Luna like she’s a slave.”
The accusation hung in the air. A few gasps rippled through the crowd. Varrick’s face darkened, but he didn’t back down.
“Careful, Alpha Zhayad,” he warned. “You’re in my house.”
“And you’re in the presence of my mate,” Zhayad replied, his voice dropping to something lethal. “Speak of her again with disrespect, and your house won’t matter. I will crush you under my foot like a cockroach if you don't keep your tongue inside your mouth.”
The table went deathly silent. Irina, seated on my other side, let out a soft, delighted laugh under her breath, too quiet for anyone but me to hear.
I kept my face blank, chin high, refusing to let them see the tremor in my hands beneath the table.
Zhayad’s thigh pressed against mine, a solid, grounding weight. Then I felt his hand on my thigh, and I jerked in my seat. The bond hummed between us, fierce and possessive, even as he kept his expression cold.
Zhayad’s hand rested on my thigh beneath the table, a silent claim amid the rising tension. His fingers traced slow circles over my thigh, grounding me even as Alpha Varrick’s words cut deeper.
Varrick studied him for a long moment, then raised his goblet in a mocking toast.
“To Alphas with an appetite for witches.”
Laughter rippled through the high table. Irina’s laugh was the loudest, bright and delighted, as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
Zhayad didn’t smile. His hand eased away from my thigh. Then, in the space of a breath, he moved.
One moment he was seated; the next, his fingers were locked around Varrick’s throat. The older Alpha’s goblet clattered to the table as Zhayad surged to his feet, slamming Varrick’s head down against the polished wood with a crack that echoed through the suddenly silent ballroom.
Wine splashed, dark red spilling over silver hair, staining the pristine collar of Varrick’s suit.
The laughter died instantly.
Zhayad poured the remaining contents of the goblet over Varrick’s head in a slow, unhurried stream, letting the liquid drip down his face like blood.
Zhayad released him and straightened, his expression calm, almost bored. He turned to me and extended his hand as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just humiliated one of the most powerful Alphas in the region in front of hundreds of witnesses.
“Let’s go, Aurelia.”
I stared at his outstretched palm for half a heartbeat, pulse roaring in my ears. Then I placed my hand in his.
He pulled me up gently, his fingers closing around mine with unyielding strength.
“Alpha Zhayad, if I may—” Irina began.
“No,” he cut her off without turning. “You may not. But you may choose to stay and enjoy their stupid anniversary celebration.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. The crowd parted before us like water. No one dared step into our path.
Irina didn't get the chance to carry out her threat, but that paled in comparison to the fact that Zhayad had just made another enemy. Because of me.