Page 14

He draws in a breath as though exasperated.

“Sit,” he commands, unwinding his tail. With a gentle but insistent press on my shoulder, he coaxes me to lower onto one of the raised roots.

My heart pounds at the idea of letting him loom over me without escape, yet I’m too tired—and in too much pain—to resist.

He sinks to a crouch, robes rustling around his legs. His broad shoulders and imposing figure fill my vision, especially now that he’s closer to my eye level. I swallow, trying not to show how shaken I am. The tension between us hums, an invisible thread neither of us can break.

He examines my ankle, fingertips surprisingly careful as they probe the swollen area. I suck in a sharp breath when he presses a tender spot. “You shouldn’t put weight on it,” he mutters.

My cheeks burn. “I’ll manage.”

He scowls as though I’ve insulted him. “You ran out here with no plan. If I’d found you half an hour later, you could have been something’s prey, or you might have collapsed from exhaustion.”

Anger twists inside me. “You give me no credit. I’ve survived far worse than a forest at night.”

He lifts his gaze, and the intensity in those golden eyes sends a shiver through me. “The jungle in Nagaland is no ordinary forest. You would not last until dawn.”

I have no response, because part of me knows he’s right. The dense vegetation, the unfamiliar predators—this place is deadly. Still, I resent his tone, the way he speaks as if I’m a foolish child. Maybe I am foolish, but this entire day has turned my world upside down.

He sighs and drapes the edge of his robe over my ankle.

The fabric is surprisingly fine, woven with subtle patterns of black and green.

He touches my calf with a gentleness I didn’t expect, as though testing how I’ll react.

Despite myself, I can’t ignore the slow warmth that trickles through me at this contact—an odd sensation of reassurance.

“Why protect me?” I blurt, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I’m just another human in your household. Why not let me escape or die?”

He regards me with an inscrutable expression. “Let’s say I don’t relish waste. And you would be wasted out here.”

My throat tightens. “That’s all I am to you, then? A resource you don’t want to squander?”

He hesitates. The flash of uncertainty in his face is so brief I might have imagined it. Then his jaw sets. “Better you live in my domain than fall victim to a passing beast or a roving band of orcs. If you despise me so much, you’d certainly despise them more.”

The cold logic of his words sends a chill through me.

Perhaps it’s pure practicality. Perhaps there’s something else.

No matter how I turn it over in my mind, I can’t decide if he’s a monster or a guardian.

He shows no sign of letting me go. Yet he hasn’t forced me into any cruel acts or harmed me beyond corralling me back.

Desperation wells up. “I can’t stay in a place where you kill or maim others so easily. I saw what you did to Rahlazen.”

He tenses, eyes narrowing. “He deserved worse.”

I flinch at the edge in his voice. Silence stretches, heavy with unspoken conflict. Then he shifts, letting out a slow breath. “I understand your fear. But I won’t permit you to destroy yourself because of it.”

His tail slides around me again, this time a gentler loop that offers support instead of restraint.

The shift in his posture baffles me. I’m not accustomed to seeing this side of him, as though he genuinely wants to keep me from harm.

My heart hammers at the closeness. The swirling colors of his scales catch the moonlight, a sight both mesmerizing and intimidating.

“Please,” I whisper, voice trembling, “just let me go. You can replace me with another servant. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

He exhales, long and slow. “No,” he answers quietly, finality threaded through that single word.

Tears threaten to fall, but I blink them back, refusing to show weakness. This confrontation leaves me no better off than before. My attempt at escape has ended in a wounded ankle and a deeper entanglement with his dominance.

He glances at the black sky overhead, where the moon hangs behind drifting clouds. Then he rises to his feet in one fluid motion, bringing me upright with him. His tail remains a supportive brace around my waist. “We’re returning,” he states.

I straighten, wincing as my ankle protests. “How?” I gesture at the dense vegetation. “Are you going to carry me?”

He studies me for a moment, a faint glint in his eyes. “Yes.”

Before I can protest, he positions himself behind me and hoists me into his arms, lifting me against his chest. I let out a strangled gasp, gripping his shoulders for balance. The smoothness of his scales meets my palms where his robe slips off one shoulder. My cheeks flame at the sudden closeness.

He doesn’t give me time to argue, striding through the ferns with a natural grace.

Where I stumbled and fought vines, he moves with uncanny precision, tail flicking aside obstructions in our path.

Each step is steady, as though he’s done this a thousand times.

The jungle’s quiet enfolds us again, no longer a menacing labyrinth, but a temporary shield of safety.

My arms cling around his neck, face half-buried in the folds of his robe.

His scent hits me: a musky blend of earthy warmth and something sharper, reminiscent of the herbs we keep in the greenhouse.

I can’t believe I’m in the arms of the warlord who nearly killed a noble for insulting me.

My thoughts spin. Should I be relieved or terrified?

We reach the estate wall sooner than I expected.

He finds a narrow gate hidden behind thick vines, presumably an old servants’ entrance.

Instead of setting me down, he shoulders the gate open.

The lock must have been tampered with or left unlatched.

A small shudder passes through me—he likely used it to track me down.

We enter the garden, the stone paths glistening under moonlight. Guards are absent in this secluded corner—maybe Vahziryn ordered them elsewhere. He carries me inside, past the same side door I slipped through earlier. The corridor is dimly lit by a single torch flickering at the far end.

Gently, he lowers me to my feet, but keeps an arm looped around my waist until he’s sure I can stand. The weight of his tail near me remains, a silent statement that I shouldn’t try running again. Pain flares in my ankle, and I stifle a yelp.

“Lean on me,” he orders, tightening his hold.

I obey, swallowing hard. The warmth of his body against mine feels shockingly intimate, stirring unfamiliar sensations deep in my chest. My breath stutters. If he notices, he doesn’t comment.

We proceed slowly through the corridor, heading toward the central part of the estate.

Every step reminds me of how precarious my position is—physically reliant on the very man I tried to flee.

My mind races. Will he punish me once we reach a more private area?

Lash me as a lesson? Yet he remains silent, focused on moving forward.

We reach the wing where my small chamber is located. He pushes the door open with a casual nudge of his claw, then helps me inside. The lamp on my table still casts a weak glow, illuminating the meager furnishings. The sight of it feels both familiar and surreal after stumbling through the jungle.

He sets me on the bed with care, his gaze locked on my face. My nerves jangle under that scrutiny. I can’t guess what he’s thinking. The swirl of emotions from earlier—the primal fear, the desperate relief—leaves me lightheaded.

“You’re not leaving this room tonight,” he says, voice guarded. “Your ankle needs rest. Tomorrow, Sahrine will bring you a salve.”

I tighten my fists in the fabric of my dress. “And then what? Am I supposed to act like nothing happened?”

He lowers his eyes, a storm brewing in his expression. “No. But you won’t repeat this foolishness. This domain may be far from the capital, but it’s safer than the wild.”

Bitterness flares inside me. “Safer? You pinned a noble to the floor with your fangs.”

His jaw clenches. “He deserved it.”

The tension between us crackles. I recall the sight of venom on his lips, the savage triumph in his eyes. Something in me stirs uncomfortably—half revulsion, half gratitude. “Am I next?” I whisper, not meaning the words to sound so raw.

A flash of hurt flickers across his features, so brief I almost miss it. Then his voice drops to a near growl. “No. You will never be next.”

We stare at each other in the lamplight.

My heart beats a frantic rhythm. I don’t know how to respond, so I remain silent, grappling with the knot of fear and odd yearning that’s formed in my chest. There’s a moment when he shifts closer, as though about to touch my face.

Then he stops, wrestling with his own hesitation.

“Rest,” he says at last, stepping back. His tail slithers behind him, tension coursing through every movement. “Do not try to leave again. I won’t chase you twice.”

The declaration hovers in the air, a warning laced with something else. He departs, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The hush that follows feels crushing.

I sag against the bedframe, breathing hard, mind swirling with conflicting urges.

Part of me longs to never see him again, terrified of the violence he can unleash.

Yet another part of me—one I can barely acknowledge—remembers the way he carried me, how he insisted I lean on him, how his eyes burned with something other than cruelty.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. I curl under the thin blanket, my throbbing ankle propped on a spare pillow, and stare at the flickering lamp until exhaustion overwhelms my fear.

My final thoughts linger on the strange sense of security I felt, if only for a second, when his coils encircled me in the jungle.

I’m caught in a web, uncertain whether he’s the spider or the only thing standing between me and a far more dangerous fate. Either way, I have no choice but to stay. The question is: will I ever truly want to?