Page 14

14

NARANUS

T he silence in the stronghold is suffocating, thick with unspoken words, the tension humming in the bones of every gargoyle present. They don’t dare challenge me. Not after what I did.

Eryss still lies where I left her, her breath ragged, her body battered from the fight and the fall that almost ended her. She should be dead.

I should have let her die.

Instead, I saved her.

Now my kin watch me, eyes flickering with confusion, with something bordering on doubt, as if they’re questioning whether I still rule them with the same ruthless certainty.

I can feel their stares burrowing into my back as I turn, my wings shifting, my shoulders taut. I meet the gaze of the crowd, let my molten eyes cut through the silence.

“She is mine,” I repeat, voice like rolling stone, weighty with command. “If any of you touch her again without my permission, I will tear the wings from your back and leave you broken at my feet.”

A few flinch. Others look away.

But they understand.

Their loyalty does not come from love, nor does it need to. Fear is enough.

I shift my attention back to Eryss. Her breathing is steady, but her body remains tense, as if she is still processing what just happened. The fact that she is alive because I willed it.

I crouch beside her, watching as her gaze flickers up to mine, her silver eyes unreadable. She doesn’t ask why I saved her. She doesn’t thank me. Instead, she wipes the blood from her mouth with her hand, slow and deliberate, before tilting her chin.

"You enjoyed that, didn’t you?" Her voice is raw, scraped from pain but lined with something sharper, resentment.

I let my lips curl. "If I did, then at least one of us had fun."

Her fingers tighten around the dagger still clutched in her grip, knuckles pale from the effort. “You let him do this,” she mutters. “You let me be hunted like an animal."

"You are an animal," I murmur, voice deep, taunting. "A caged one, but an animal nonetheless."

She snaps.

With a sudden burst of strength, she swings the dagger upward, the tip aiming straight for my throat.

I catch her wrist mid-strike.

The impact stings, but not as much as the frustration burning behind her eyes. I don’t loosen my grip. Instead, I tighten it, feeling the fine bones of her wrist press against my palm.

Her chest heaves, her breath sharp, but she does not yield.

“Kill me, then,” she bites out. “If that’s what you want. If that’s what this whole damn game is about.”

I lean in, my nose brushing against her jaw, just enough for her to feel the heat radiating from me. She doesn’t flinch.

She should.

I could kill her.

I should.

Instead, I press my mouth close to her ear, my voice smooth, dangerous. “Where would be the fun in that?"

Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, and for a moment, I wonder if she hates me more for this, the way I refuse to let her have the control she so desperately craves.

"Let go," she grits out.

I do.

She stumbles back but doesn’t move to strike again.

Smart.

She won’t win this fight.

I straighten, towering over her. "You should rest," I say, motioning to the wound along her temple, the blood still drying at her hair. "If you drop dead before I break you myself, I’ll be very disappointed."

She laughs, but there is no humor in it.

“You think you can break me?" She tilts her head, silver eyes gleaming with something close to madness. "You think what you did tonight is enough? Naranus, you are going to have to try harder than that."

She is pushing me, tempting something violent, and I don’t know whether it’s from sheer desperation or if she truly does not fear me anymore.

I step forward, crowding her, forcing her to feel the heat of me, the sheer size of me. She does not back away.

"You want harder?" I murmur, voice low. "Careful what you wish for, little bride."

Her breath hitches, but she masks it quickly, shifting her stance.

"You don’t scare me," she whispers.

She’s lying, but she says it anyway, because she wants me to believe it.

I lift my hand. She tenses, expecting violence.

Instead, I drag my thumb along her jaw, tracing her throat, pressing just enough to feel her pulse beneath my touch.

Steady. Strong. Alive.

My chest tightens.

I let my fingers slip lower, grazing over the bruises that litter her collarbone, reminders of what she just survived.

I did this.

Not with my hands, but with my orders. I didn’t tell them to kill her though, nor let them hurt her. I ordered my kin to “capture” her if she tries to escape.

Still, she fights.

Still, she glares at me like she is waiting for the chance to slit my throat.

I exhale, dropping my hand, turning away before I let this thing between us fester into something I do not recognize.

She is mine.

But why does it feel like I am the one being pulled under?

I step away, my voice sharp as I give my final command for the night.

"Get some sleep, Eryss."

I leave, because if I don’t, I may not stop myself from finding out how deep this defiance of hers truly runs.