10 – DINING WITH THE PREDATOR

POV: AIRYS

The beta’s voice broke the silence, and I turned to him.

“The Alpha warned me that you were analyzing every path you took. The mansion was built to be impenetrable.”

They had noticed my intentions.

“Are you trying to stop someone from getting in… or out?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“You’re clever.” Symon commented as he turned down a narrow corridor, choosing a different route. I frowned, confused by the change in direction.

“The second option is the most appropriate.” He continued, not looking at me. “You should know the stories about the new Supreme Lycan.”

I swallowed hard.

“I know his beast is unstable. On the night of the Dark Solstice, Daimon was consumed by his wolf, Fenrir. He lost control, overtaken by bloodlust and war… and that led to the death of his own brother.” My voice faltered as I remembered the story the former Alpha of my pack—Malik’s father—used to tell with such fear. “Is that what you’re trying to contain?”

Symon remained silent, stopping only when we reached the door to my room.

“It’s the first time Fenrir has found a spirit strong enough to withstand his Lupine soul. Not even the Moon Goddess could tame him.” He finally spoke, his voice carrying something indecipherable. “The bond between the beast and the man is now complete. But this time, Fenrir demanded something he had never asked for before.”

My body tensed.

“What would that be?” I asked, stepping into the room and turning to face him.

Symon held my gaze for a moment before answering coldly.

“A soul mate.”

The door closed, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, my chest rising and falling far too quickly.

“A soulmate?” I whispered to myself, pressing a hand to my mouth, unable to process what that meant.

I went into the bathroom to clean up. My entire body ached. I filled the tub and sank into the hot water, letting it soothe my exhaustion. I stayed there for a while, trying to organize my thoughts.

Afterward, I stopped in front of the mirror. My fingers traced the bruises scattered across my body, every purple mark, every trace left by the brutal test. I turned around and examined the raised claw marks on my skin. I let out a heavy sigh.

“What was that thing hunting me?” I murmured. “And why did it say I was the chosen one?”

The thought wouldn’t leave me.

“It could have killed us, but it didn’t.”

I walked back into the bedroom and noticed a long-sleeved dress in dark tones laid out on the bed. The fabric was heavy and elegant, with a soft neckline. Beside it, delicate flats completed the outfit.

I wrinkled my nose. I went to the wardrobe, opened the doors, and found much more comfortable clothes.

“What does he think I am?” I grumbled, grabbing a pair of pants. “A doll he can dress however he likes?”

My tone grew more irritated as I pulled out a blouse.

“Daimon Fenrir seems to forget that I’m a human, not a she-wolf. I don’t need to submit to his whims.”

A soft knock on the door made me look up. The governess entered and made a brief gesture, indicating it was time for dinner. I sighed, adjusted the clothes I had chosen, and followed her down the corridor in silence.

When I reached the dining room, my gaze immediately found Daimon.

He was seated like a true king. One elbow resting on the table, head slightly tilted, eyes half-lidded. The tip of his finger rested against his cheek while his other hand held a glass. He brought the drink to his lips unhurriedly.

“That’s not the outfit I chose.” His voice came out low, with a subtle growl that made the room feel smaller. “You’re stubborn, little human.”

“And you’re bossy, big Alpha.” I retorted with sarcasm, sitting in the chair beside him in the spot the maid had indicated.

I noticed the wide-eyed look she gave me before shaking her head in disapproval and hurrying out the door.

“It seems everyone fears you.” I observed, watching the waiter fill my plate and wine glass without daring to breathe too close to the Supreme Alpha.

Daimon didn’t react immediately. He simply swirled the glass lightly in his hand, observing the dark liquid.

“Should I fear you?” I asked, raising my glass and bringing the sweet wine to my lips.

He clicked his tongue, arrogant.

“That depends.” He replied, unreadable.

“Depends on what, exactly?” I frowned, taking another sip before refilling my glass. The servant hesitated to approach, but before he could act, I raised my hand. “Leave the bottle, darling.”

Daimon let out a low grunt, a restrained laugh rumbling in his chest. The sound reverberated dangerously.

“It depends on how far you intend to push me, little one.” He growled, his hand closing firmly over mine and moving the bottle away. His touch was hot and strong. “A lady shouldn’t get drunk.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t back down.

“Good thing you’re sitting in front of a prisoner and not a lady.” I smiled ironically, holding my glass and tilting it toward him. “But what about you, Supreme Alpha? Are you a gentleman?”

Daimon didn’t blink. His gaze remained locked on mine, as if deciding whether to laugh or put me in my place. The corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“Hmph, Airys Monveil, you really are…” He hesitated, as if weighing his words. His eyes darkened, filled with something deeper. “Defiant.”

He filled my glass, and my eyes were drawn to the open buttons of his shirt. The tattoo on his shoulder snaked down his chest, winding over firm skin until it disappeared beneath the fabric.

“What a peculiar way to evaluate me, human.” His voice carried a provocative tone as he leaned back, satisfied with my reaction.

I felt my skin heat up. I quickly turned my face away, trying to hide the blush.

“Don’t flatter yourself, beast.” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I was just trying to figure out the design of your tattoo. I wasn’t coveting you.”

Daimon continued watching me, serious, never looking away. The silence stretched on. My leg started bouncing with anxiety, the weight of his stare making me restless.

The pressure became unbearable. So I broke it with the questions burning in my mind.

“Are you going to tell me what the most powerful Lycan in history was doing at a low-class auction?” I took a sip of wine, feeling boldness rise. “Or who those two nice women were who did… well, I don’t even know what they did to me? What was that thing that hunted me? What does it mean to be the chosen one?”

Daimon growled softly, the sound vibrating across the table. His claws tapped impatiently against the wood.

“You’re noisy.” His tone was laced with irritation. “Those aren’t the right questions.”

My spine straightened. I stared at him, defiant.

“And what would the right question be, then?” My tone came out sharper than I had planned.

Before I could react, Daimon moved his foot, pulling my chair closer to him. The movement caught me off guard. I let out a small yelp, gripping the seat, and looked up in surprise—now face to face with him.

“Why haven’t I killed you yet?” His voice was low and deep, but it carried something dense and dangerous.