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A sardonic laugh escapes me at his idiotic question. “Where do I begin.” Immediately, my attention slips to little moon and an irate growl builds in my chest. The sound is loud, reverberating throughout the large banquet hall and many whimper. Not her, though.
Isabella sees right through me while I catalogue every smudge of dirt and the injuries on her wrists and ankles. Both look sore; my female is hurt, and that’s unacceptable.
The one thing I’ll never allow is Isabella to be put in physical danger, much less by my people.
I’ve done more than enough if my assumptions are true.
Remove those fucking shackles. Be careful not to hurt her.
Cain nods and moves to pull a key from his pocket, one that only the three highest ranks have, but before he touches the metal, they fall to the ground. Both sets. Isabella makes it a point to those here that she’s no one’s prisoner and she let them subdue her.
Why, though?
Since the stolen moments inside my office, the doubts have grown more. Morphed and turned like an invisible force that, coupled by the anger in her eyes, then and now, gnaws at me. Feels like a thousand-pound weight inside my stomach.
Have I been wrong?
I take a step in Isabella’s direction with Timoth still in my hold, my grip cutting of his air supply, and she stiffens, her displeasure tickling my nose. I stop immediately, biting back the uncontrollable need to bring her comfort—to say something. It’s the wrong time and I know that, but her emotions are mine. Even without trying, fighting this bond, it’s grown and overrides everything.
Her reaction pains my wolf while I’m beginning to question those around me.
The warlock has refused to answer my questions no matter how he’s tortured, but I see the change in him at the mention of her name. Something about Isabella and her sister, the mere thought of them, causes a high level of distress.
My acknowledgement of our mate bond.
How I can sense his imminent death.
All of it terrifies him.
I need them both in the same room.
“Answer me this,” I hiss through clenched teeth, digging my claws deeper into his neck. Blood spurts from the gouges, landing on my face, and my wolf rumbles in approval. Her scent is still on him. His disgusting paws touched her. “Who the fuck told you to step inside my private quarters? To go anywhere near what’s mine?”
15
XADIEL
“Who, my King? I’ve disrespected no she-wolf.”
Not denying he’s been on my floor. Tainted our space.
Jealousy is an unforgiving emotion, and right now, it dominates my rationale. Wolves are territorial. Possessive, especially with our mates.
“Isabella Moore.” Bringing his face close to mine, I retract my claws while ripping a piece of his flesh and then tossing it aside like the rubbish it is. He, on the other hand, scrambles back after meeting the floor. Closer to my aunt. “You overstepped, Beta. Put your hands on my mate.”
Gasps rise from the crowd at her full name. A few whisper at my declaration.
“Nephew, what’s the meaning of this?” Mum’s sister steps tentatively closer to me and with a hand held out. She attempts to touch my arm but doesn’t at the last second when I snap my teeth in her direction. “Xadiel, what’s going on? This isn’t like you.”
“Don’t.” Volatile emotions swim within my veins; I’m more than ire. I’m a fire that’s been stoked for too long and my failure is currently smacking me in the face. I’m starting to see my mistake, at least where Isabella is concerned.
“My King, please.” It’s a mixture of a startled noise and high pitch, the shock on Theresa’s face pronounced, but nothing pisses me off more than her stance. Almost irreproachable. “This is your beta you’ve attacked. A member of our family you’re mistreating for a witch.”
Fear. Animosity. Challenge.
All three found in that one word.
One would think it’s because her mate was killed by one or by the decree of a Wiccan royal, but not me. Her time of mourning lasted days. That’s it. Since then, her attention turned to filling the position her sister held within the werewolf community, and I let her because I had no mate.
