486- A Promise of Heads
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
There were two men sitting on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs. I couldn't see their faces, yet I knew exactly who they were, which group they belonged to. Their refined, luxurious clothes left no doubt.
Merchants.
In front of them stood Myrion and Anton. The firstborn stared at the men with furrowed brows and crossed arms. A little further away, Myrion was leaning against a tree, looking bored.
"Let's kill both of them at once," said Myrion. "Or let's take them to our father alive, so he forgets about the disappearance of those two idiots."
Anton snorted.
"He's going to find out about the deaths—it's not something we'll have control over."
"I know he will, but if we bring a little gift, maybe he'll be in a good mood."
Anton laughed.
"I highly doubt it."
"You arrogant pups... release us or you'll suffer the consequences!" spat one of the Merchants.
For a moment, Anton and Myrion fell silent, before bursting into laughter, mocking the threat made against them.
"You're so stupid for someone who looks so old," Myrion murmured.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with," said the second Merchant.
Anton rolled his eyes.
"With some idiot Merchants." He leaned in. "So yes, we know very well—I can't say the same for you."
He made a noise.
"Whose pups are you? Which of the Supreme Alphas?" he hissed. "You're the new generation, and that's the only reason you managed to lay hands on us."
"Also because, obviously, we're much better," said Myrion, raising a finger.
"We're older and more experienced—your success came from genetics alone."
Myrion rolled his eyes.
"Yes, genetics, power, strength, superiority... the list of adjectives is endless, but I can list them all if you want." He made a gesture with his hand. "Now answer the questions quickly, before we make you suffer much more before you die. Do you think our father will spare you, after he finds out how you tried to threaten us?"
"It was in self-defense—we don't want conflict with the Supremes."
"And in self-defense, you threatened the pups of one of them. Congratulations, you're condemned to a very slow and painful death."
Anton watched them with a serious expression, analyzing them while Myrion spoke. I knew what they were trying to do—they were trying to induce them to give the answers they wanted, not with threats or torture, because they knew they were dealing with century-old wolves who wouldn't yield to that, but rather with argumentation.
The bored, disinterested brother who wanted to hand them over to their father, and the other who wanted immediate answers, but not enough to torture them.
I held my breath and bit my cheeks, holding back a laugh.
Anton and Myrion were brilliant—the perfect duo.
The less talkative Merchant turned his head to his accomplice, sighing.
"We were caught by pups—even with death, this will stay on our record forever, we'll become a joke," he murmured. "We're finished. We'll be remembered as two fools who were outdone by pups."
Myrion and Anton laughed, bristling with pride at what they had done.
"They're not just any pups—we'll get some credit," replied the other wretch. He had long blond hair, tied in a bun on top of his head. "If they were common pups, they'd already be dead—we've overcome much more experienced males. But they're Supremes."
Anton uncrossed his arms and made a gesture with his hands.
"It's very nice to hear how you talk about us and how we're superior to you, complete idiots, but we need to reach a consensus. I'd kill you right here, but my brother prefers to take you as a gift to our father." He scratched his chin. "Who, by the way, has been quite irritable."
"And that's why I'm right—let our father have fun with them, so he forgets a little about what we did while they suffer. In other words, everyone wins with this," Myrion replied.
Anton nodded, as if agreeing with his brother. He stepped toward the Merchants, ready to drag them.
"Wait! We don't want conflict with you. We've been at peace for years and intend to keep it that way—our interest isn't in any of you or your territories," said the long-haired one.
"And what is it in?" Anton inquired.
The other Merchant shook his head in a negative sign, urging his friend to stay quiet.
"If I answer all your questions, will you release us? We'll leave and never see each other again," he continued, trying to negotiate, ignoring his accomplice.
"Of course they'll lie," pondered the other.
"Your trust in us is remarkable," Myrion mocked.
"If you don't promise me, I won't say anything. I'll say in advance that I'm trained to withstand torture of all levels. Nothing you do will make us open our mouths."
Anton bent one arm over his belly and made a mocking bow, leaning his body forward.
"You have an alpha's word."
"It's not enough."
Myrion snorted and moved away from the tree, walking toward them and stopping beside his brother. His blue eyes flickered with anger.
"Yes, it is enough. Start talking quickly, before I get annoyed and rip your heads off. I don't have all day to stand here listening to your boring voices."
The long-haired Merchant cast a look at his partner, who seemed more tempted to give up everything and accept death. He shrugged, letting the other choose what to do.
"We're after the Moonclaw girl," he finally began to speak.
My heart raced upon hearing my name, and my nails elongated involuntarily. I felt my blood pulse harder.
As if noticing my presence, Anton raised his eyes, fixing them on me. The muscle in his jaw was rigid and a vein pulsed at the side of his neck. His eyes glowed—the wolf taking control with the imminent threat to me. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, before turning his attention back to the men.
"Why?" asked Myrion. "I thought the father was the most important one."
"The reasons don't matter—we're only here because we came after her scent. As I said, we have no interest whatsoever in entering into conflict with you."
"And who guarantees that she's here?" Anton inquired.
"We know she is."
"How can you be so sure?"
He shook his head slowly.
"We just know," he emphasized, remaining vague on the subject.
"Hmm... that's not enough," said Anton, pressing his lips together. "It's much better to hand you over to our father and avoid his wrath than to settle for these vague answers."
I heard the Merchant's low growl.
"Fine, do you want something truly relevant?"
"Don't do it!" the other interrupted in a firm tone. The blond Merchant turned to him.
"If you want to die, good luck with that. I'm only two hundred years old—I'm too young, I'll cling to every possibility of staying alive."
"What good is surviving these useless pups if you'll have to face your father afterward?"
"I'll handle my responsibilities with my father afterward."
Anton and Myrion exchanged glances. The second Merchant raised his head to face them.