Chapter Seven – A Warning in Blood

The silence in Adrian’s private wing was heavier without him in it.

I paced the length of the room, the crackle of the fire the only sound. He’d said do not open that door — and while part of me wanted to defy him just to prove I could, another part of me… knew better.

Because whatever Adrian Blackthorn considered dangerous was the kind of thing that didn’t leave survivors.

Minutes bled into nearly an hour before I heard the low rumble of voices outside the door. One was Adrian’s, deep and steady; the other was unfamiliar, tense.

The door swung open. Adrian stepped in first, still in the same suit but with his tie gone entirely now, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and a faint smear of something dark — blood — near his cuff.

Behind him came a guard carrying a long, narrow box.

“What happened?” I asked immediately.

He didn’t answer right away. He simply dismissed the guard with a flick of his hand, then set the box on the bed.

“Open it,” he said.

I hesitated, glancing at him before lifting the lid.

Inside was a single, black-dyed wolf pelt — the fur matted with fresh blood.

I froze. “Is this—?”

“A message,” Adrian said flatly. “From whoever attacked the Whitmore estate.”

I stared at the pelt, bile rising in my throat. “Why would they send it here? To you?”

“Not to me.” His gaze locked with mine, unreadable but sharp. “To you.”

The words sent a cold shiver down my spine.

Before I could process them, the door banged open again — this time without knocking. Lucas stormed in, his jaw tight, eyes blazing. Clara followed, her face pale and pinched.

“You brought her here?” Lucas demanded, pointing at me like I was some kind of criminal. “Do you have any idea—”

“I have every idea,” Adrian cut in smoothly. “Which is why she’s in my wing, under my watch.”

Lucas stepped closer, ignoring his father’s warning tone. “If you think parading her around and keeping her here will make me jealous—”

“Lucas,” Adrian interrupted, his voice deceptively calm, “you’re not the one I’m trying to provoke.”

For a moment, the air in the room seemed to shift. Lucas’s anger faltered, confusion flickering across his face before he masked it again. Clara tugged at his sleeve, whispering something I couldn’t catch.

Adrian turned back to me. “This isn’t just about revenge anymore. Whoever is behind these attacks… they’ve made you a target.”

Lucas scoffed. “Then send her away. Out of the kingdom. She’s not worth—”

The sharp crack of Adrian’s glass hitting the table made everyone freeze. “Finish that sentence,” he said softly, “and I will make sure you regret it.”

Lucas’s mouth snapped shut.

Clara, for the first time, looked at me with something other than disdain. Fear.

Adrian stepped closer to me, so close I could feel the heat of him at my side. “From this moment forward,” he said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to feel like a vow, “you do not leave this wing unless I am with you. You do not open the door for anyone but me. And you do not speak to anyone I have not approved.”

Lucas made a sound of disgust, but Adrian’s gaze was still locked on me. “Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly.

“Good,” he said, his hand brushing lightly over mine — a touch that was possessive without being forceful. “Because the next time they send a message… it won’t be a pelt.”

The room went silent again, the only sound the crackle of the fire. But I could feel it — the storm building outside these walls.

And in the middle of it all, I was no longer sure if I was Adrian Blackthorn’s pawn… or his prize.