June 11 2026, 2:46pm
"She is here."
The words sounded like drumrolls of doom hinting at the beginning of a series of unfortunate events. It echoed throughout the packed room, slicing through the air that felt so dense, Draven could literally taste it in his mouth.
His body recoiled into itself, burning with a rage so fiery as he watched two of his and his brothers’ most trusted bodyguards, Silas and Rowan, march into the hall like soldiers on their way from a battle.
And in Silas’ arms however— sleeping peacefully— was the girl.
Nyx’ara or whatever she was called, not like anyone cared, was also the girl who had caused him more pain than the ’plague’ that haunted his brothers and him.
She was a girl whose existence had brought them nothing but anguish and despair.
His hands clenched into tight fists, digging into the soft cushiony material of his throne until his claws protruded to tear through the soft material.
He didn’t flinch.
"She is a cast out from her pack... a runt. And from what I have gathered so far, this is not her first rodeo." Rowan bellowed and as soon as the words rang out, Draven’s body stiffened.
Shocked gasps rippled through the air like waves on water, but all he felt was silence.
Not peace. Silence.
It felt as though all the chaos happening around him did not reach him. Like he was lost in a bubble of his own while everyone else scrambled around with a desperate need to be heard.
His ears rang in that same manner they have been ringing ever since the night his parents died... the night they were murdered in cold blood... and now, his sister— their sister— is dead too.
Leilani Jr is dead, all thanks to this hungry-looking bitch cradled against Silas’ chest as she belonged there. This lowlife who, at a critical moment such as this, is fast asleep.
At the thought, Draven’s head whipped towards Silas only to watch him drop her unceremoniously on the floor like she was nothing more than the trash he believed her to be. She landed on the floor with a slight thump, hitting her head against the cold marble, but for some reason, she didn’t wake up. She didn’t even stir.
His eyebrows raised.
"What do we have here?" He hissed, glaring at the fragile yet demonic woman lying on the floor, her silver-blonde matted hair covering most if not all of her face.
She appeared so dead that he didn’t notice the steady rise and fall of her chest until he stared for a moment too long. And then he frowned. "Why is she... unconscious?"
"We had to drug her," Rowan cut in quickly, his voice sharp, "...it was meant to keep her docile because she was causing so much trouble back at her pack and that was the last thing we wanted on our way back here."
His reasons sounded plausible and for that reason, Draven didn’t hold it against him. He simply let his eyes dart over to the girl’s sleeping form one more time, hating the way it made something in his chest twist painfully.
He also noticed to my horror that it wasn’t just rage he felt. It was despair and anger curled up together until one could not be separated from the other. It was curiosity and a need for revenge so twisted, he didn’t know where one started and where the other ended.
He felt pain, guilt, frustration all at once... then there was this strange possessiveness. This weird tight feeling in his chest that reminded him of—
His breath caught when she... at that moment chose to stir in her deep sleep, causing some of her matted hair to fall to the side. That action exposed her pale creamy skin.
It exposed her beautifully delicate facial features and exposed Draven to feelings he’d rather leave unnamed.
He cannot lie... she was a beautiful specimen.
Very beautiful.
But she also looked very pathetic.
From here, he caught a whiff of something pungent yet metallic emanating from her. It smelled like blood mixed with dirt but the blood in the scent was stronger. More potent.
And strangely, it made his beast go wild.
He froze.
Draven’s hands, resting on the armrest, stiffened when he was hit with that same intoxicating yet soft scent, and like a man under a spell, he slowly rose to his feet, not believing the horror story unfolding itself in front of him.
Not understanding why his beast was acting so protective... possessive... towards the girl who murdered his sister.
’Fenrir, behave yourself!’ He growled at his beast, into their link.
He was, however, jolted out of his inner turmoil when he felt movement beside him.
"Show her face!"
That was Rhys, the third brother. His voice was so cold, it thundered across the room, and from the sound of it— the tenseness Draven could hear in his tone— he instantly knew that there was a problem.
That this Nyx’ara girl would be a problem.
So he sneered; "Take her away!"
As soon as he said those words, Rowan leaned forward, first to brush the hair out of the sleeping girl’s face then to pick her up; But just as his hands skimmed over her delicate body, causing her to stir yet another time in her sleep, Draven’s beast snarled protectively, shocking him and everyone else.
What was that?
"Alpha, should I take her away or should I leave her here?" Rowan asked confusedly. Worriedly. His eyes were wide with apprehension as he watched Draven like one would watch an approaching wounded tiger— with care— but he made no move to go near the girl even as he spoke.
"Do you want me to...?"
Once again, Draven’s eyes landed on the girl— on the murderer, sleeping deeply on the floor, and he felt something shift drastically within him.
Almost immediately, he decided there and then that she could not be killed. Not easily anyway. Not after taking the only beam of light in this dark pack... and definitely not after confusing his beast as she had done just now.
Rowan mistook his silence for agreement, therefore leaned forward to pick up the damned girl one more time. However, as his arms circled her back and the back of her knee in an attempt to lift her, Draven inched even closer.
Goddess, what is happening?
Draven’s beast stirred so violently it almost broke out of the confines of their bond, and in the process of trying to clamp down on the array of emotions surging through his body, the veins lining his body all poked out aggressively due to the rush of noradrenaline pumping through his veins.
He tried to hold back but holding back felt like he was being exposed to naked fire. It burned. It was scorching. It nearly made him go mad.
He descended the stairs in one swift move and the next thing he knew, his fingers were wrapping tightly around Rowan’s neck. In a fit of rage, he pulled Rowan upward until his legs were dancing in the air; and then sneered in his face;
"Take your hands off the girl! She is my damned MATE!"