Chapter 6

DANEARO'S POV

he grand feasting hall was loud with clamor — wolves laughing, tearing meat from bone, raising goblets — but every sound rang hollow in my ears. The fire burned bright, yet none of its warmth reached me. Not while the whispers swirled around her.

Elysia.

She moved as though walking to her execution, her steps hesitant, shoulders taut, eyes lowered. When we entered, I laid my hand against her back, guiding her forward.

“Come,” I murmured, not a suggestion but a command. “Sit with me.”

She stiffened. Just for a breath. My fingers tightened against her spine, a reminder that hesitation had no place here. She swallowed, obeying.

I sat at the head of the table, as was my right, and gestured toward the seat beside me. “Sit.”

She stepped forward, but before she could lower herself, I pulled her onto my lap.

Her gasp cut through the hall.

The murmurs stopped. Every wolf’s head turned. Their gazes were knives, some filled with envy, others with doubt.

I held her there, one arm loose around her waist, my posture deliberately relaxed. Casual, careless — but it was no pretense. My hand stayed exactly where it needed to be, anchoring her, warning her. She sat rigid, her hands clenched in her lap. I felt her pulse racing under my grip.

“Relax,” I breathed against her ear, low enough for only her to hear. “Indulge in the banquet. I have plans for later.”

Her body shivered faintly. Good. She should.

A servant filled my goblet with deep red wine. I lifted it, let the torchlight glint off its surface, and looked down at her. “Drink,” I commanded, raising it to her lips. “You will find it… stimulating.”

She hesitated.

My fingers brushed against her thigh beneath the table, slow, deliberate. “I will not ask again.”

At last she accepted, lifting the goblet, taking a sip. Her throat moved as she swallowed. Her face gave nothing away, but I saw the tremor in her hand.

I leaned back, satisfied, watching her drink before turning my gaze to my pack. They needed to see her at my side. They needed to see her claimed.

I set my goblet down. Let my hand drift lazily along her thigh again. She locked her legs, trying to resist, and I felt the tension coil through her.

“Tense,” I noted, amused. My wolf stirred inside me, rumbling in agreement. “Are you afraid?”

She lifted her chin, whispering, “No.”

A lie. I smirked.

The hall burned with firelight, thick with the scent of roasting meat and mead. Yet what I noticed most was her heartbeat. Too fast. Too shallow. The sound of prey, though she sat on my lap, bound in my grip, claimed before my entire pack.

The wolves pretended to feast, but their eyes never strayed far from us. They watched her — my human Luna — and whispered among themselves, too quietly for mortal ears, but not for mine.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“You think she can save him?”

“Too weak. Too cursed.”

My wolf snarled in my chest, urging me to silence them all. But I did not. Not yet. Let them choke on their doubts.

Her body was tense against mine. I brushed my hand against her thigh, fingers pressing just enough for her to know resistance was futile. She clenched her legs together. Brave, but useless.

I chuckled low, letting the sound vibrate against her back.

I lifted my goblet again, savoring the rich wine, then held it to her lips. “Feed.”

She obeyed, though her throat bobbed too quickly, her hand trembling. Her fear had a taste, sharp and intoxicating.

And then the doors groaned open.

A voice cut through the hall: “I apologize for being late.”

The sound was a blade. My wolf bristled instantly, claws scraping inside me. Recognition. Rage.

Killian.

I did not move, though every muscle in me coiled tight. I turned my head slowly as he stepped inside, tall, broad, dressed in dark leather, a white brooch clasping his green cape. He carried himself with the same arrogance he always had, as though betrayal had not blackened his soul, as though death itself had not claimed him once before.

But my gaze snapped back to her.

Elysia’s goblet slipped in her fingers. Her body went rigid, blood draining from her face.

She knew him.

Killian’s eyes swept the hall — then locked on her. His body stilled. His voice faltered. “Ely?”

The sound of her name from his lips was enough to silence the hall.

My jaw tightened. I forced myself to lean back, hand firm on her waist, my demeanor lazy though rage boiled beneath. I raised my goblet, sipping slowly, deliberately. “Killian.”

He did not move, his gaze still pinned on her.

“I was told you had taken a new breeder, my lord,” he said carefully. “I wasn’t expecting—” He stopped. He didn’t need to finish.

I exhaled lazily, brushing my thumb against her hip. “Come. I kept a place for you.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. His eyes darted to where she sat on my lap, her body locked in place beneath my hand. “She belongs to you?”

My fingers drummed lightly against her hip. “She is mine.”

A shadow crossed his face. My wolf bared its teeth.

I smirked, sipping again. “You look tense, old friend.”

He didn’t sit. His posture was stiff, calculating.

“How did this happen?”

“I chose her,” I said simply, voice iron. “As I choose everything that belongs to me.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You never told me, Danearo.”

Would it have mattered? Would it have changed the fate written across her skin and my blood?

“Would it have changed anything?” I asked softly.

Silence stretched. Then at last he moved, lowering himself into the seat I had kept for him. My grip tightened briefly on her waist before easing, a reminder that even with him beside us, she was anchored to me.

“Join me, Killian,” I said, my tone mocking in its ease. “We celebrate tonight.”

He sat, but his body was rigid, his hand wrapped around his goblet without lifting it. His thumb tapped once, twice, against the rim. His eyes slid back to her.

I noticed. Of course I noticed.

I let my hand stroke lazily along her thigh, a silent warning to them both. I spoke first. “The thief you were chasing?”

Killian coughed. “Apprehended this morning, near the western border.”

“Alive?” I asked, drawing idle circles against her skin.

“For the moment,” he murmured, still not meeting my gaze.

My hand stilled, just for a breath, before moving again.

“I had my men bring him to the dungeons. He’s being questioned.”

I exhaled through my nose, approval disguised as boredom. “Good. Did he fight?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Killian finally raised his goblet, drinking slowly. His eyes flashed over her around the rim.

And then I saw it clearly. The way he looked at her.

A slow smirk curled my lips.

“It seems you’ve taken quite a liking to my breeder, Killian. You’ve been staring at her since you walked in.”

Her spine stiffened against me. Heat radiated from her skin, but she kept her face still, refusing to meet either of our eyes.

Killian’s fingers tightened around his goblet. “No, my lord. She merely looks… familiar.”

“Familiar?” I echoed, letting the word roll slow and sharp. My sneer widened. “How interesting.”

She reached for her goblet, surprising me when she tilted it back and drained it. Then whispered, “More, please.”

The silence that followed was palpable.

Killian’s face darkened, but my own amusement sharpened. I studied her — perhaps for the first time seeing the flicker of defiance under her fear.

I laughed softly and lifted my hand. A servant rushed to refill her cup. My fingers brushed hers briefly as I passed it back. “Gently, human,” I murmured. “Drink too much, and you might enjoy yourself.”

She drank again, slower this time, but steady.

The servants laid the feast on the table — roasted pig, skewered fowl, slabs of beef. Wolves dug in immediately, but I took my time.

I sliced through the pork, spearing a piece with my knife, and held it to her lips. “Eat.”

She hesitated.

My free hand pressed against her thigh again.

She parted her lips, teeth sinking into the meat as the steel brushed her tongue. She chewed, swallowed, eyes downcast.

I did it again. Watching her the entire time.

And then Killian’s voice broke the quiet.

“Ever heard the story of the cursed infant, my lord?”

The hall stilled.

My hand paused, just briefly. My wolf pricked its ears, growling low.

Killian’s gaze wasn’t on me. It was on her.

He told the tale slowly, deliberately, dragging her history into the open. Betrothals that ended in blood or fear. Suitors who vanished. A daughter unwanted. A curse whispered from mouth to mouth.

I felt her tremble in my arms, saw her hand shake against her goblet. She gulped wine too fast, trying to drown what could not be swallowed.

My thumb brushed her wrist, steadying, claiming.

Killian’s smirk cut deeper. His words turned personal, intimate. He wasn’t addressing me anymore. He was speaking to her.

“I remember the first time I saw her… Tiny. Fragile. Beautiful. Her father never looked at her twice.”

My head tilted slightly, listening. My wolf clawed at my ribs. He spoke like a man who knew her.

“You speak as if you knew her,” I said, my tone dangerously smooth.

Killian sipped his wine, eyes fixed on her. “I did. Or should I say… I do.”

The hall froze.

Everything inside me coiled tight.

Then he leaned back, voice soft, mocking, intimate. “After all, I was one of them, wasn’t I? One of the men who promised. One of the men who left.”

My body locked. My wolf howled.

And then he turned his head slightly, his voice gentling in a way that made my blood boil. “Tell me, Elysia… do you remember?”

Her breath caught. Her fingers closed around the knife.

Before I could stop her —

Steel sank into her stomach.

Blood blossomed hot against my hand.

The hall erupted in gasps and cries. My roar shook the rafters.

I caught her as she sagged, her blood staining my hands, my wolf howling:

She would rather die than be mine.