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“He’s my dad, Xavier. I know he’s made mistakes, but he’s still my family. Despite everything, I love him.”
“He doesn’t deserve your love, and once I’m done with your brother, I will make sure your father pays for his actions.”
She shakes her head and lets out a sigh. “It’s impossible to have a reasonable conversation with you. It feels like I’m banging my head against a brick wall. Your stubbornness is pissing me off.”
“Me? I’m the stubborn one. Love, they shattered the mold when they created you.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she brushes off my retort, her hand finding a place against my chest. Her touch soothes the rabid beast inside me. “I understand the struggle of being eternally hangry, but I’m telling you now, if you harm my dad or brothers, I will leave and never come back.”
As her words linger in the air, I feel a surge of indignation rise within me. My brows furrow, and I clench my fists tightly, struggling to keep my composure. Reluctantly, I concede to her demand, although it stings to do so.
“Fine,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “If that’s what it takes to keep you with me, I won’t lay a finger on them. But if they dare harm you again, the consequences will be severe.”
Lyra shifts her position to straddle my thighs. Her hands glide up my chest, eventually reaching the nape of my neck where her fingertips trace patterns on my skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. No matter how many times she touches me, the sensation never fails to captivate me.
She leans in closer, her breath whispering against my lips. “I appreciate it.”
In response, my hands find their place on her waist, and a knowing smile plays on my lips. “I see what you’re doing, my mischievous wolf.”
“And what is that?” She presses her lips against mine, teasing me with a brief kiss before leaning back. I chase after her lips, longing for more.
My palms slide to her ass, cupping a cheek in each hand and squeezing them gently. “You’re attempting to divert my attention from my path of vengeance.”
A soft laugh escapes Lyra’s lips. “Is it working?”
“Oh, it’s most definitely working, love,” I reply with a dirty grin before capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss. Her lips are soft and warm; she traces the outside of my lips with the tip of her tongue, and I part my lips to let her in. The kiss fluctuates between slow, sensual exploration and rapid, passionate enthusiasm. We take our time, savoring the taste and texture of each other and taking in the sensations that ripple through our bodies. It’s enough to make me forget about everything else, even my thirst for revenge.
My cock hardens, and she grinds against me, causing me to groan—a low, throaty sound that she swallows.
“Verily, it seems that I have fortuitously stumbled upon a rather inconvenient juncture. Pray tell, does my mere existence bring forth any semblance of disturbance?”
Lyra scrambles off my lap at the sound of Marcus, and I’m forced to adjust my cock to a more comfortable position as I flash him an annoyed look. “Once again, your timing leaves much to be desired, Marcus.”
“You have beckoned me forth as if I were naught but a menial servant. Please forgive me if my timing proves unfavorable,” he replies, sounding just as annoyed as I’m sure I look. But the stern lines of his face morph into astonishment as he takes a moment to survey my living room. “What unfolded within these premises? I venture away for a mere span of forty-eight hours, only to be greeted by an unsettling tableau of a criminal act.” Gradually, the true horror of what he is seeing dawns on his face, and when his gaze lands on the severed arm of the hunter, he recoils in shock. “Indeed, Xavier, did you truly sever someone’s arm from their body? Do you not perceive such an act to be excessively drastic?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
“He tried to stake me, so no, he got what he deserved,” I retort, my voice cold and unapologetic. “They invaded my home without permission, intending to harm Lyra. They attacked both of us, and I couldn’t just stand there and let them kill us.”
Marcus glances at Lyra. “Indeed, it appears that you have sustained an injury, Lyra. One would expect Xavier to have administered his blood to facilitate your recovery. Prudence dictates that he should have taken such action to expedite the healing process.”
Lyra opens her mouth to respond, but I interject. “I wanted to give her my blood, but she’s stubborn. She insists on healing naturally, even though it takes longer.”
“We’ve been over this. Can we please move on to cleaning up your house?” Lyra gestures to the mess around us, emphasizing its undeniable presence.
Sighing, I lean back, meeting Marcus’s intense gaze. “I wouldn’t have summoned you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But this mess... it’s beyond my capabilities alone.”
“I possess formidable sorcery as a warlock of great prowess, capable of accomplishing extraordinary feats that surpass the boundaries of your imagination, old friend. I have not come forth to engage in menial household chores.”
“Sorry if I misunderstood, but let me get this straight: you’re saying you can’t just wave a magic wand and fix it, right?” Lyra laughs. “What’s the point of having a magician around if they can’t even clean up a little mess?”
“He can fix it,” I say, chuckling. “He is simply being difficult.”
Marcus stoops and picks up the severed arm, waving it in the air. “This does not constitute a minor disorder, Lyra Starling. Rather, it represents an exceedingly dire circumstance.” He drops the arm and rubs his temples, visibly drained by our banter, but he knows he isn’t going to win this because I always get what I want.
He rubs his palms together, and sparks of brilliant blue energy dance between his fingertips. With a determined expression, Marcus begins to pace around the room, his steps measured and deliberate. The floor beneath him seems to respond to his very presence, vibrating with a subtle hum of magic. As he moves, a wave of power follows in his wake—an invisible force that stirs the dormant energies of space. Raising his hands, Marcus gestures, and the scattered debris starts to rise from the floor, floating in mid-air. Magic takes hold as the objects spin and twirl. Books that were once strewn haphazardly stack themselves neatly on shelves, their spines aligning flawlessly. Shattered glass reforms, piece by piece, as if retracing its broken path, until it regains its original form. The stains on the carpet dissolve into nothingness, vanishing as if they were never there.
He shapes the swirling energy around us like a master sculptor, molding it to his will. With each gesture, the room transforms, as if guided by an unseen hand. The very essence of magic permeates the air, suffusing every corner with a sense of awe and wonder. But Marcus’s magical prowess extends beyond mere tidying. Fixing his gaze upon the lifeless bodies of the hunters, his eyes gleam with determination. With a commanding gesture, vibrant blue flames burst forth, engulfing the fallen adversaries in a raging inferno. The hunters’ bodies are consumed, reduced to mere ash that crumbles and dissipates, carried away by gentle currents of air.
As he brings the spectacle to a close, he turns towards us, a mixture of satisfaction and reverence in his eyes. “It is done; order has been restored.”
