Chapter 5: Oil Paint Studio

"Get in and don't come out until I call you, Sora."

Elior gripped the back of Sora’s neck, shoving him roughly until Sora’s shoulder slammed into the wooden studio door on the third floor. Elior’s breath was heavy, huffing in the cold air of the corridor. He didn't lower his composite bow. His sharp eyes continued to scan the shadows of the hallway with a jaw that remained permanently set. The tension from the wine cellar still lingered in every strained muscle.

"Don't herd me like livestock, Elior," Sora hissed, wincing at the sting in his shoulder.

Elior didn't care. He stepped forward, pinning Sora between his body and the door. The tip of the silver arrow rose, pressing into Sora’s chin until he was forced to look up. "Shower. Scrub your skin until the smell of that dog is stripped from your pores. If I catch the scent of the Kaldreon clan on you by morning, I’ll skin your neck clean myself."

Sora looked away. He couldn't stand the flash of disgust in his protector’s eyes. "Vardan dragged me upstairs. I didn't have a choice."

"And you let him mark you like a cheap whore?" Elior growled directly into Sora’s face. "Your father will slaughter us both if he finds out the Valente crown prince has been contaminated by that shifter bastard’s spit. Get inside. Now."

Sora didn't push back. He turned the key, stepped into the studio, and slammed the door in Elior’s face. The sound of the lock turning from the outside confirmed he was a prisoner in his own room. Elior would stand guard there like a bloodhound in a rage.

Sora leaned his back against the cold door. The room smelled sharply of thinner, oil paint, and marble dust. Usually, this chemical stench was his escape. But now, the scent of pine forest and rain from Vardan’s blazer still enveloping him dominated everything. The smell crawled into his nose, triggering a hot throb at the base of his freshly bitten neck.

Sora ripped off the oversized black blazer, throwing it to the floor with a movement of pure loathing. He walked to the sink, turned the tap, and let ice-cold water drench his shaking hands. In the cracked mirror above the paint table, the bite mark looked horrific. It was a deep reddish-purple, swollen, and pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. Vardan hadn't just bitten him, he had planted a claim that burned through his nerves.

Sora grabbed a blank canvas from the wall. He needed a distraction. He sat on a high wooden stool, dipping a broad brush into pitch-black paint and slashing it across the surface. The lines were jagged, sharp, and aggressive. But when he closed his eyes, those burning gold pupils in the darkness of the bar haunted him. Unconsciously, his fingers reached for the ochre paint. He traced a sharp circle resembling a predator’s eye in the center of his dark mess.

Sora flinched. He hurled his brush onto the cement tiles, paint splattering everywhere. The bastard was already inside his head. His gaze fell to Vardan’s blazer on the floor. Something bulged in the inner pocket. Sora approached, crouched, and reached inside. He found a small black envelope with a blood-red wax seal shaped like a howling wolf.

Sora broke the seal with trembling nails. Inside was heavy paper with sharp, slanted handwriting. Just one short sentence. "I’m waiting for you at the North District New Year’s festival at midnight. Don't bring your archer dog if you want to know how to erase the mark on your neck."

Sora crushed the paper until it crumbled in his fist. Vardan had planned this from the start. He wasn't just marking Sora’s body to flex his power. He was setting a much larger trap.

The vibration of the phone in Sora’s pocket cut through his thoughts. A message from an unknown number. It contained only coordinates and a photo. A photo of Sora standing in front of his studio sink just seconds ago. Taken from the angle of the wide-open window on the third floor.

Sora spun toward the window. The thin curtain fluttered in the biting night wind, revealing the thick darkness of Lunastre. Someone had been watching him right in front of his eyes without him noticing.

"Sora! Who the hell are you talking to in there?" Elior shouted from behind the door, hammering the wood with his fist.