Page 13 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Six

AMIR

I remained seated, my posture rigid as the heavy oak door shut with a resounding thud, sealing Elizabeth’s departure from the dining room.

Thomas Alexander’s domain was cold—the cold that seeped into your bones and never left.

Just like the man himself.

The others resumed their banter, oblivious to the injustice that had played out before them. Elizabeth’s humiliation was a trivial spectacle to them, a woman’s place reaffirmed with laughter and condescension.

But I couldn’t shake the image of her retreating.

The slight quiver in her frame.

The way her breath had hitched, just for a moment, before she forced herself to remain composed.

Her father viewed her as chattel, an asset to be bartered and controlled—a tool to strengthen his empire.

But Elizabeth… she was an anomaly.

A spark flickering against the wind of tradition, against the weight of a world that sought to smother her into submission.

That spark should not have mattered to me.

And yet?—

It did.

I had strict orders—do not get involved.

But watching her stand, her voice trembling yet resolute in the face of ridicule had stirred something within me.

A dangerous, unwelcome feeling.

How arduous it must have been to dare to speak against the tide in a room where her words were meant to be dust beneath their boots.

My chest tightened with a foreign instinct—an urge I had no right to feel.

Protect her.

Shield her.

It was an impulse that should have died the moment it was born.

This was not my battle.

This was not why I was here.

I was The Black Wraith—a specter, a shadow, a force of reckoning, not a man who tangled himself in sympathy.

Detachment was my armor.

My survival.

And yet?—

Here I was.

Watching.

Waiting.

Knowing that, despite every warning in my mind, despite the danger of my growing awareness of her?—

I was already too close.

“Lord Hassan, do you fancy another glass?”

The voice interrupted my thoughts, its edges laced with a sneer. One of the men, his smirk curled with amusement.

My spine straightened. Across the table, Thomas Alexander’s glacial gaze scrutinized me, assessing, calculating.

“Thank you, but no,” I replied evenly, masking the tumult inside me.

It took every ounce of discipline to remain composed, to silence the clamor in my mind, to smother the reckless pull of something that should not exist within me.

I waged a war in the quiet of my skull.

Each rational thought clashed against the unbidden empathy that had taken root.

And deeper still?—

Something altogether forbidden.

Desire.

It was a sickness festering beneath my skin, growing stronger with each stolen glance, each unspoken moment between us.

Lady Elizabeth had awakened an avalanche within me—one of lust, of longing, of something far more dangerous than my mission itself.

I could not afford distractions.

I was a weapon, an instrument of vengeance, honed and sharpened for a singular purpose.

My resolve, once impenetrable, splintered beneath her weight.

Her anguish was an ache I wanted to soothe.

Her beauty—an opium I wanted to devour.

And my desires were savage.

A primal hunger coiled in my gut, clawing at my insides.

I yearned?—

To ravage her.

To consume every inch of her, to unearth the fire hidden under her delicate frame, to leave her trembling and breathless beneath me.

To ruin her in the most exquisite way imaginable.

But I was a man who existed in the shadows.

And she was a woman drowning in chains.

As the dinner continued around me—a theater of hollow civilities—I made an inward vow.

A silent oath that transcended orders, duty, and the carefully constructed walls of my mission.

I would protect Elizabeth.

Regardless of the cost.

Regardless of the chaos it would invite.

I could not stand idly by while she suffered, while men like her father and that creature she was promised to continued to tighten the noose around her.

With every clink of silverware against fine china, I reminded myself of the dangerous game I was now playing.

I was The Black Wraith, bound by shadows and secrecy.

But perhaps, in the darkness I inhabited, there existed a sliver of light—one that could, in some small way, illuminate the path for a soul as undeserving of cruelty as Lady Elizabeth Alexander.

I surveyed the room from my vantage point, noting each man’s carefully arranged mask of civility.

At the head of the table, Thomas Alexander sat with an air of cold calculation, the strings of power wrapped around his fingers like a master puppeteer.

In contrast, Lord Winston’s facade of nobility barely concealed the rot festering beneath.

I watched him. Studied him.

And in doing so, I felt it.

The cruelty simmering beneath his skin.

The perverse enjoyment he derived from the power he wielded over Elizabeth, from the knowledge that she would soon be his possession.

An icy sensation ran down my spine, despite myself.

And a thought crept into my mind—unbidden, undeniable.

He is more of a monster than I am.

The dinner concluded with Alexander rising from his seat, his movements crisp and deliberate—a signal for us to retire to the smoking room.

A transition from one chamber of power to the next.

From the stark grandeur of the dining hall to the thick, heady warmth of a room where men held power as if it were their birthright.

I stepped inside, the massive stone fireplace commanding my attention, flames crackling, casting elongated shadows along the paneled walls.

A fire meant to warm—but here, it only made the room feel smaller, more suffocating.

Cigars were passed around—symbols of status, camaraderie, and unspoken alliances forged in smoke and ambition.

I accepted one out of necessity, rolling it between my fingers, but my mind was elsewhere.

Somewhere beyond this room.

Somewhere in the moonlit garden, a woman was alone—trapped in a life she did not choose.

And for the first time in my life, I questioned what was stronger?—

My duty.

Or my desire to burn this world to the ground for her.

One by one, tapers caught fire, dipping into the roaring hearth, igniting the cigars in their hands.

Flames flickered, reflected in the cold glint of their eyes.

Men lounged in overstuffed armchairs, exhaling smoke like a dragon’s breath, the haze thickening around us, distorting, softening the brutal nature of the company I kept.

The scent of tobacco curled through the room, rich and intoxicating, masking the stench of power, corruption, and quiet cruelty.

Laughter rumbled low, conversations laced with conspiratorial whispers. Deals were forged beneath the guise of leisure, empires secured between the exhale of smoke and the clink of crystal glasses.

Yet none of it could distract me.

Not from her.

Elizabeth’s face hovered in my thoughts—grace and boldness entwined, her blue eyes carrying the weight of her suffocating reality.

And now, she haunted me.

After what could be considered appropriate discourse, I moved to stand.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, but I must be off,” I announced to Lord Alexander, my voice tempered, unwavering—though inside, everything churned.

The room quieted just slightly, enough for his gaze to settle on me.

For the flicker of surprise to cross his features—so fleeting it might have been imagined.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Masked beneath the cold veneer of a man who wielded control like a weapon.

“Please, stay.” His voice was smooth, casual—a well-played move in a game where every word carried intent. He gestured toward the grand staircase beyond the door. “We have lovely accommodations upstairs.”

A calculated offer.

A leash disguised as hospitality.

“No, thank you.” My refusal was firm, my intent unshaken.

“I appreciate your generosity, but I have secured lodging elsewhere. However, I will return tomorrow to discuss our plan more.”

The words were carefully chosen, maintaining the delicate facade of a guest—when, in truth, I was anything but.

A silent beat stretched between us.

Then, with a curt nod, I excused myself, stepping away from the smoky sanctuary and its denizens lost in their revelry.

The fresh air of the foyer met me like a balm, a welcome reprieve from the suffocating chamber of cigars and secrets.

Then—

A flicker of white.

Through the ornate window, her silhouette was unmistakable.

Elizabeth.

Wandering through the garden, her figure ghostlike beneath the moon’s silver glow.

She moved like someone untethered, lost in a world that no longer belonged to her.

A prisoner without chains.

My chest tightened.

How I yearned—to have shielded her from the indignity she had suffered, to have been her advocate amidst the throng of wolves.

But I had stood in silence.

And that silence seared through me.

With a final glance at the window—now clouded by the shifting shadows of the night—I made an impulsive decision.

She needed someone.

And despite every instinct screaming for caution, despite the weight of my purpose pressing against me like an iron chain?—

I committed to be that person.

Stepping across the threshold, the crisp night air bit against my skin—a stark contrast to the suffocating warmth I had left behind.

I welcomed it.

I welcomed its clarity and a cold reminder of the world outside those walls.

My footsteps were quiet against the stone path, each step carrying me further from the manor’s oppressive grasp.

And yet?—

The more I walked, the louder my mind rebelled.

The conflict within me reignited a battle of duty and something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that whispered in the voice of a woman who had been alone in a room full of men who had already decided her fate.

“I am here for one reason,” I muttered as if saying it aloud would reinforce my purpose.

As if the words would anchor me back to the mission that had once been everything.

But logic was overruled by the sight of her?—

Standing alone beneath the moonlight, Elizabeth’s sorrow was woven into every delicate line of her frame.