Malakor Ironbound

Rudela,

“Give me water.”

The voice was barely more than a whisper, yet the command in it made both Warner and me tremble. Authority lived inside those three words the way a blade lives inside its sheath, quiet, certain, and lethal if drawn. The tone itself demanded submission without forming the word.

“Get a glass of water.” Warner moved at once, walking straight toward the Lycan King without hesitation.

I could not move. My feet refused. This man… I had no word that fit him. He was not the dramatic male lead from stories, nor the sort of man who stole a heart at first glance. His appearance simply stopped thought. Before the idea “Oh God, he is handsome” could form, another rose first and stronger: How did God create him?

Thick dark brows shadowed eyes the color of fresh blood, predator-red, unblinking, staring into the soul as though it already belonged to him. His skin was deeply tanned, stretched tight over muscle that looked forged rather than grown. A heavy beard framed a jaw sharp enough to cut, and pale scars crossed his bare chest like the map of every war he had survived. He sat on the edge of the bed like a true warlord, and the room itself seemed to shrink around him.

“Rudela! Now!”

Warner’s sharp order cut through the haze. I jerked into motion, crossing the small clinic to the refrigerator and snatching a bottle of water. My heart skipped hard against my ribs. I had never seen a living being so beautiful and so terrifying in the same breath.

I walked back toward the room. My steps froze the moment that cold, deep, hoarse voice rolled out from inside.

“What did you just say to that woman? My Luna got marked by my brother?”

The words carried a quiet threat so pure it felt like ice pressed against the throat. If Warner was lying, this man would claim his soul with one strike and never raise his voice to do it. Warner, God knows how old he truly was, did not waste time with soft words.

“That’s right. Just one hour ago I received the news of your Luna marrying your brother. I assume the reason your poison flared is the betrayal. A Lycan mate-bond is strong. Breaking it costs a great deal.”

He raised one hand. The simple gesture silenced everything.

“I did not ask you to explain everything in detail.”

He rose from the bed with slow, deliberate power. Even the act of standing felt like a declaration. The air grew heavier. The walls seemed closer.

“Give me a phone.”

Warner glanced toward the doorway where I still stood, bottle forgotten in my hand.

“I don’t have a mobile phone. Only the shop telephone. Rudela, lend him yours.”

I nodded and stepped inside, setting the bottle on the table. My cracked phone followed a moment later.

“Here. Your water,” I said, placing the broken device within his reach.

He ignored the bottle completely. Long fingers closed around my phone instead. He stared at the cracked screen for a single heartbeat, then lifted those blood-red eyes to mine.

“Your husband has been calling ten times already. Why aren’t you picking up?”

My brows drew together. “It’s not your business. Please use the phone as you wish. Don’t mind—”

“Rudela.”

Warner’s voice dropped low, heavy with warning. I clamped my mouth shut and stepped back at once. I had forgotten who stood in front of me. Speaking of my husband while this man’s temper rode the edge of violence could have cost me my head.

“That’s true. Sorry for that.” He shrugged one shoulder as though the apology meant nothing, as though he had never been sorry in his life.

I had heard that Lycans were arrogant and ruthless. He wore both qualities the way other men wore clothing—naturally, without effort.

He dialed with slow, steady precision. His fingers were long and tanned, the nails clean and perfect, as though they had never known dirt or labor. I glanced down at my own hands without meaning to. Thick, short fingers. Nails ragged from work. Never once shaped in a salon.

Rich people and their rich opportunities.

I was still staring at my hands when his voice cut the air again.

“It’s me.”

The words were cold, clipped. I could not hear the reply on the other end, but his expression darkened as though someone had struck him across the face.

“What did you just say?”

He walked toward the window. His giant frame made the clinic feel suddenly small, almost fragile. Every step carried the quiet certainty of a predator who had never needed to hurry for anything.

“I will be back. Tomorrow. Meet me at the Swanveil Lake. It’s time to teach them a less—”

The sentence fractured. One hand flew to his chest. His nails dug deep into scarred skin as his knees struck the floorboards.

“Rudela—the healing potions.”

Warner reached him first, gripping his arm to keep him upright. I moved on pure instinct, pouring moon water into a small bowl and stirring in the powdered herbs with shaking hands. He coughed once, hard. Blood stained his lips. The phone slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a sharp crack. Whatever life remained in my old device shattered on impact.

My heart lurched, but there was no time to mourn the phone.

“Here. Let him drink it.”

Warner took the bowl and held it to the Lycan King’s mouth. He shoved it aside and forced himself back to his feet, swaying only once.

“It won’t help. I need something stronger. I have been poisoned twice. The first dose was never fully cleared.”

Warner’s face went pale. “Then it’s deadly.”

He gave a single, quiet nod. “I know. Let me drink whatever you made earlier. The sweeter one. It calms the soul.”

“What about the poison, Your Majesty?”

He walked back to the bed with measured steps, each one an act of will, and sat. His gaze found Warner.

“My healers will be here soon. They will help.”

Warner looked at me. “Prepare another potion. Add a bit more of each herb.”

“Okay, Boss.”

I turned to leave. The Lycan King's voice stopped me at the threshold.

“I am Malakor Ironbound. The Lycan Lord.”

I froze, then inclined my head the smallest degree.

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“I am not introducing myself. It’s a warning. Don’t let anyone know about my whereabouts outside. Not even your husband.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. His presence alone was crippling. Going against his words? I had no death wish.

“Don’t worry about her, Your Majesty. She is my loyal employee and follows the rules without exception. In this shop we protect our patients’ privacy.” Warner spoke quickly, carefully.

Malakor said nothing. He simply closed his eyes, dismissing us both with the finality of a closing door.

I left the room with the empty bowl in my hands, cursing him silently the entire way down the short hall. He had destroyed my phone without a second thought and still managed to wear superiority like a second skin.

"Go to hell," I thought, "and take your cold arrogance with you."

My poor phone. Mommy will miss you.