433- The Blood Debt
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
"And who said I needed saving?" I shot back, irritated. He laughed, a low, husky sound that reverberated in my chest.
"You have a rather... peculiar way of showing gratitude, you know that?" That irritated me deeply.
"Fuck off!"
"But, you know..." he continued, tilting his head to the side and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "For someone who didn't need saving, you're in a rather... vulnerable position." He arched an eyebrow.
My face heated and I growled, trying to break free, but he was firmly in control.
"Get off me!" I hissed.
"Maybe I even like it here!" he taunted, leaning in a little closer, his eyes fixed on mine. He seemed irritated by the fact that he'd been stabbed. The scent of fresh pine and wild jasmine was almost suffocating, making me struggle to stay focused and ignore him. "After all, it's not every day I meet someone so... intriguing."
I didn't know if I wanted to strangle him or—no, definitely strangle him.
"If you don't get off right now, I'll show you just how dangerous this vulnerable position can be."
He raised an eyebrow as if considering my threat for a moment, then gave a satisfied smile.
"I'll take that as an invitation to stay."
I stood still for a second, trying to control the imminent rage building inside me like a wave, turning into a catastrophe with every second I spent beneath him.
I knew who he was.
One of Edric's sons—my father's friend. Somehow he'd managed to get in touch before being attacked, and they'd quickly sent... that idiot.
He blinked slowly, his long lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. He stood up in one swift motion, pulling me up with him. I staggered, off-balance, startled by how fast it happened.
Maybe spending too much time with humans, who were much slower, hadn't been the best idea of my parents'.
He held me steady, his large hands gripping my arms at my sides. I shook off his grip, taking a step back.
"How is it that silver didn't hurt you?" I asked, fixing my eyes on the wound that had been open on his chest moments before. He was already completely healed; there was nothing left but the cut mark in the fabric of his shirt and the dried blood.
Anton lowered his head, following my gaze, then shrugged.
"Ever heard of the Supreme Alphas?"
"Yes."
He gave a mocking bow, leaning his body forward slightly.
"Pleasure to meet you—I'm the son of one of them, so I have a few... privileges that ordinary wolves don't."
I crossed my arms in front of my body.
"Like being an arrogant ass?"
He clicked his tongue.
"You're very ungrateful for someone who's being rescued, little fighter."
I frowned.
"Little fighter?"
He smiled, the mischievous gleam in his eyes intensifying.
"Despite being small, you're full of grit and savagery. A real little fighter, ready to strike at any moment."
I uncrossed my arms and pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. When I opened them again, I bent down and picked up my dagger.
"I hope you're not thinking of using that on me again. I'm not so distracted now, and it won't end well for you."
I let out an irritated breath before sheathing the dagger at my back.
"What would be the point, if it doesn't even work on you, Junior Supreme Alpha?"
He pressed his lips together.
"I don't like that mocking tone of yours."
"That's your problem!" I cut him off.
I turned and walked over to my father's desk, stepping over the pool of blood, not caring at all about the mess. I opened the drawers, searching for more clues.
"What are you doing?" Anton asked, approaching me with slow steps. He looked at the floor and inhaled, identifying the scent of the blood and whose it was. "Your father?"
I shook my head, pressing my lips into a thin line.
"Dead."
"The Merchants?"
"Yes."
I pulled out every drawer, searched every corner, opened every folded paper, but there was nothing—no sign of anything. I went to the bookshelves and looked behind the books still stacked in their places.
Nothing.
When I reached the last shelf, I felt frustrated, exhausted, devastated. I planted my palms against the shelf, leaned forward, and closed my eyes, breathing slowly.
"What are you looking for?" Anton asked, right beside me, startling me. He was far too silent.
I opened my eyes and turned my face toward him, fixing my gaze on his. My father had summoned them because he trusted them—he'd entrusted my safety to the Eldoria, not to his own brother, but to a longtime friend.
"I thought he might have left me some message, a note..." I licked my dry lips. "But... I think the only one was the clock, telling me of his death."
He drew his brows together.
"Your mother?"
"Dead too."
He looked around, studying the mess of the place more closely.
"But why didn't they leave the bodies?"
I stepped away from the shelf, straightening my posture.
"My father told me once that the Merchants like to keep their crimes anonymous. Bodies aren't anonymous. I think they cleaned up before they left."
I wouldn't have a wake, much less a burial, the way humans did when their loved ones passed. I would have nothing to say goodbye to.
"They'll come back—there are still plenty of books here," he remarked.
I shook my head.
"I don't think so. They already took plenty—everything they cared about is already gone." A broken sigh escaped my lips. "They didn't leave anything behind except a pool of blood with their scent on it, so I could mourn the loss."
Anton took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Thalyndra. I'm sorry I didn't get here in time to help your father," he whispered, and I felt the truth in his words.
I nodded.
"Thank you."