Chapter 8: Under Watch

FENRIC'S POV

I stayed where I was, watching as Brammon moved.

His expression was carved from granite. The look he used whenever he wanted someone to shrink. It worked on every Scion I’d ever seen him face down. 

And it was working just as well on Anwen. Her wide-eyed gaze lifted to his horns before dropping to his cold eyes.

The moment his boots angled toward her, she slipped behind me, as if I might shield her.

I didn’t.

I stepped aside, letting her lose that illusion as quickly as she had grasped it.

Her breath caught, and she had no choice but to retreat the other way, step by step, backing away as Brammon continued forward without pause.

Until her back hit the nightstand with a soft thud.

Brammon didn’t give her a second to recover. He set the tray down hard on the nightstand, the plates rattling, then jabbed a finger toward it.

“Eat.”

Anwen swallowed, her throat working visibly as she tried to gather enough courage to speak.

“I’m not—”

He cut her off with a sharp slice of his hand. “I don’t want to see a single scrap left,” Brammon said flatly. “We don’t waste food in this kingdom. And we especially don’t waste the efforts of the hands that prepared it.”

Her throat bobbed again. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the laugh from escaping. She looked like she wanted to protest, but Brammon was already turning away.

Then he grabbed a chair.

The legs scraped harshly against the stone floor as he dragged it forward, the sound loud and grating in the otherwise quiet room. He set it down a few paces in front of her and dropped into it, his broad frame making the wood groan as he settled.

The bastard wasn’t satisfied with scaring the poor girl. He reached behind him and pulled out his axe.

I shook my head slightly as he rested it across his lap, running a cloth along the blade in slow, deliberate strokes. He even flicked the cloth once, showing the smear of blood it had lifted from the edge.

Then he lifted his gaze to Anwen.

That was all it took.

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, scrambling for the fork and knife, and began cutting into the food as though her life depended on it.

Brammon flicked a smirk my way the moment Anwen started forcing the food down—subtle enough that she wouldn’t notice. He was enjoying himself.

Anwen ate like each bite was a punishment.

Her eyes were glassy, tears gathering there, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as she chewed, swallowed, and forced herself to take another bite. There were moments I thought she might choke. Or worse, throw it all back up.

But she didn’t. She kept going.

By the time the plate was scraped clean, what felt like an hour later, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

That one hit me harder than I cared to admit.

Brammon stood immediately, and strode toward her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with black liquid. He held it out to her.

“Drink that.”

She hesitated before taking it with unsteady fingers. She didn’t raise it to her lips. Instead, she stared at it, brows knitting as her voice came out soft and uncertain.

“What… what is this?”

I pushed myself off the wall and stepped forward, closing the distance between us. Taking the vial from her hand, I uncorked it and placed it back into her grasp. The scent was sharp, herbal, and far from pleasant.

“It’ll help you sleep,” I said. 

Her blue eyes widened—just slightly, but enough for me to catch the flicker of alarm. “I don’t want to.”

I’d debated giving her the foul potion, but Brammon insisted she’d be running a fever. In the end, I relented.

Before I could respond, Brammon spoke. “No one’s going to bother you while you’re asleep, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. Then, after a brief pause, “We’d rather have you awake if we were going to try anything.”

That… did nothing to ease her fear. If anything, Brammon’s attempt at reassurance only made her grip tighten around the vial. I wasn’t sure if she was deciding whether to drink it or not. It looked more like she was deciding whether to smash it in my face or hurl it at Brammon’s head.

Before she could choose, I closed my hand over hers. Her fingers were cold, trembling. I guided the vial toward her lips.

She jerked back, jaw clamping shut. “No—”

Brammon stepped in and pinched her nose firmly between two fingers. She gasped, forced to open her mouth for air, and I tipped the vial, letting the black liquid spill in.

She gagged immediately, nearly retching it back out. The bitterness hit her hard; I saw her throat convulse. But Brammon held her fast, forcing her to swallow.

It was over in seconds, but she looked betrayed by the world itself.

The concoction worked fast. Brammon must have brewed this batch strong enough to knock out a charging bull. Her body swayed, her eyelids drooping as she fought to keep them open.

“Easy,” I murmured, catching her before she tipped forward. She didn’t resist this time. There was barely anything left in her to fight with.

I guided her to the bed. She sank into the mattress, limp, her breaths slowing. Her eyes fluttered once, twice, then finally closed. I pulled the blanket over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders.

For a moment, the room fell quiet.

Then the door creaked open.

I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The temperature shifted, heat rolling in ahead of him. 

Rhydan.

He stepped further inside, keeping his gaze deliberately averted from the sleeping girl. “This is a terrible idea.”

Rhydan began pacing the moment the door shut behind him. He stopped only long enough to level a glare at the two of us.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t doing this anymore,” he said. His voice stayed low, but it dripped with disappointment. “This”—he gestured toward Anwen’s sleeping form without looking at her—“is just going to leave more blood on our hands.”

Brammon exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation curling in the sound, and sank back into the chair he’d dragged earlier. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

“We didn’t plan this either,” he said.

Rhydan’s eyes flicked to me, demanding the rest.

I gave it to him. “I got a tip that Gadreel was out hunting again.”

Rhydan’s jaw tightened at the words.

I stepped closer to the bed, lowering my voice. “You know what that piece of filth does to human women,” I added. “We moved first. We got to her before he did.”

A thick, suffocating silence settled over us.

Rhydan broke it. “You think she’s better off here with us?”

He moved past us, crossing the room in long, tense strides until he reached the window. Moonlight caught along the hard line of his jaw as he stared out into the dark.

“The Crown already knows we took in a human,” he said. “And we still have to give her back once the breeding period ends…” His shoulders tightened. “That’s if one of us doesn’t kill her first.”

Brammon shifted in his chair, the wood creaking as he leaned back slightly. “What do you want us to do?” he shot back. “Take her back now?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You know that’s not possible.”

Rhydan didn’t respond.

“She’s already been discovered,” Brammon went on. “The others won’t stop until they take her.”

Rhydan spun away from the window so sharply the air seemed to snap around him. His gaze cut between the two of us, fierce and wounded all at once. “Whatever you two are planning with the girl,” he said, “I won’t be part of it.”

I didn’t blame him. Not for a heartbeat.

Because we remembered every woman before Anwen. Every face. Every scream. And Rhydan… he carried those deaths more than any of us. He always had.

He was the one who washed their blood from the floors. The one who whispered prayers to old gods that no longer listened, while Brammon and I dug the graves and buried their bodies.

After the last death, we swore we would never take another breeder. That extinction was the fate our kind deserved for our betrayal. All three of us had made our peace with it.

Until now.

I lifted my gaze to Rhydan, meeting him head-on this time. “We’ll be careful with her,” I said. “We’ll try to keep her alive.”

The words felt thin, strange in my mouth, but I didn’t take them back.

Brammon said nothing, but I knew he was with me.

Rhydan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it darkened. “And then what?” he asked.

His voice came out sharper than before.

“Suppose you manage that,” he went on quietly. “Suppose you keep her breathing for a year.” He let out a humorless chuckle, the sound scraping like gravel. “What happens when we have to surrender her? You think that’s mercy? Keeping her alive just so she can meet a worse fate later?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.

Brammon leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “We have a year,” he said. “A year to figure something out.”

Rhydan exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into resignation. He shook his head, the fight draining out of him, though the bitterness remained.

“Suit yourselves,” he muttered.

He took a step toward the door, then paused. “But I’m not helping you bury another one.”

Then he walked out, and the heat went with him, leaving the chamber noticeably colder.