Adeline’s pov~
"So... what’s going on here?" Zyran asked, his deep, rumbling voice cutting through the quiet room. He tilted his head, his piercing gaze sliding from Blake’s guarded face straight onto mine.
"Anything spicy being discussed behind my back? Apart from the part where the quiet, pathetic hoodie girl turned into a little warrior, slicing an Alpha’s wrist open in broad daylight?"
What is he doing here? Here to mock and give death threats again?
Blake didn’t say a damn thing about what we were actually discussing. He just smoothed his expression into an easy, lazy mask and tossed out some bullshit excuse.
Blake doesn’t want Zyran to know that he was telling me about his sister or the part where he was defending Zyran about him not giving out the orders to those omegas for my execution.
"Nothing much, man. Just talking about her little stunt." Blake let out a low, amused laugh, shaking his head as he relaxed back into his seat.
Even with Blake talking, I could feel Zyran’s heavy, suffocating stare burning straight into my left cheek.
It felt like hot iron pressed against my skin.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
"Is that right?" Zyran murmured, his deep, rumbling voice dripping with that unbearable, arrogant smirk I wanted to rip off his face. I knew he was asking me, but I didn’t answer.
Blake replied to him smoothly, trying to ease the tension or... awkwardness, whatever it is.
"I was just telling our transfer student here that if she keeps drawing blood from highborns, even Raven won’t be able to keep her out of danger."
Zyran tilted his head slightly, leaning in just a fraction closer to me, his voice dropping into a low, mocking purr.
"Silent again, sweetheart?" he murmured, the dark smirk evident in his tone. "You had plenty to say to Logan when you were dripping his blood onto the floor. What’s the matter... did you run out of silver blades, or do you only speak when you’re busy carving up highborns?"
I forced my gaze to remain locked straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
His arrogance bled through every syllable, dripping with the effortless confidence of a man who believed the entire world bowed at his feet.
A cold, sharp disgust coiled tightly in my stomach.
Did he honestly think his little mocking performance was going to intimidate me?
"I don’t waste silver on dogs who bark without biting," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, icy register that sliced through his low purr. "And I certainly don’t waste my breath entertaining arrogant Kings who think their presence is some kind of royal gift."
Without waiting for his reply, I planted my hands firmly on the edge of the heavy wooden table and pushed back my chair.
Ugh... I just wanted to leave.
I stood up, turning my back on him to walk away.
Grab.
Before I could take a single step, Zyran’s large, warm hand shot out and clamped firmly around my left wrist.
My entire body went rigid. A violent surge of adrenaline hit my chest, my right hand instinctively flexing inside my pocket, ready to pop the silver blade out of my sleeve and slit his throat open right then and there.
My blood ran hot with pure, unadulterated instinct—slice first, ask questions later.
Did this bastard learn nothing from what I just did to Logan? Does he think his fucking royal title makes his wrist immune to silver?
He still doesn’t understand, does he?
I specifically picked silver blades because I knew a standard steel edge would heal in a fraction of a second on a highborn, leaving nothing behind.
In contrast, even a tiny, shallow silver scratch scorches straight through an Alpha’s rapid regeneration, leaving a lingering, black-edged burn that forces the wound to close agonisingly slowly over hours while searing a bitter, constant reminder of my defiance directly into his flesh.
A silver blade can kill a werewolf by entering the bloodstream or piercing a vital organ like the heart.
Zyran stood up slowly, his tall, imposing frame towering over me as he held onto my arm, but he didn’t use his Lycan strength to crush my bone or yank me backwards as Logan had.
His grip was shockingly... gentle.
I turned my head slowly, my dark eyes lifting to meet his in a lethal, unblinking glare.
"Take your hand off me, Lord Zyran," I whispered, my voice chillingly quiet, without hesitation. "Unless you’re eager to see if my silver cuts Lycan skin as smoothly as it cuts an Alpha’s."
I braced myself for the explosion.
I expected the arrogant roar, the overwhelming wave of King’s pressure designed to force me to my knees, or the sharp, mocking laughter of a ruler who felt challenged.
A reason to give him a demo of what all the fuck I can do with my silver blade.
Those dark eyes of his said something else entirely.
I was a bit confused when I realised his grip on my wrist didn’t tighten. In fact, his fingers loosened slightly, his thumb resting gently against the rapid, fluttering pulse beating beneath my skin.
"You don’t have to leave just because I’m at the table. I’ll leave now," Zyran said, his voice dropping into a deep, soft tone that lacked every trace of his previous arrogance.
It was quiet, soft, and carried an unexpected, heavy weight that caught me completely off guard.
What... What did he say?
"Sit back down, Adeline. Sierra will be here with your food soon. You need to eat."
I froze, caught entirely aback by his tone.
Where was the arrogant sneer? Where was the cold, mocking prick who looked at me like I was dirt beneath his boots?
He let go of my wrist immediately, taking a half-step back to give me space.
He was looking straight into my eyes, unblinking, unreadable, and completely stripped of his usual defensive, arrogant demeanour.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the few countable highborn students scattered across the distant tables staring at us in absolute, stunned silence. Whispers were already brewing in their throats.
Then, Zyran opened his mouth and said three words that completely shattered my world.
"I am sorry, Adeline."
What the actual fuck?
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