C6 THE PRICE OF PROTECTION

Ava tensed up beside me, holding her breath. I reached out and found her hand in the darkness, holding it tightly. Even though we were on edge, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the intense scene unfolding in front of us.

Nathaniel, usually overconfident, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. The firelight reflected off the gaudy rings on his fingers. With a casual yet challenging tone, he asked, "Are you questioning our abilities, Lysander?" We've done everything to keep her safe, haven't we?"

"Safe?" Lysander's voice was chillingly low, barely above a whisper. He carefully set his glass down, the gentle clink resonating in the sudden silence. "Is that how you describe the minor incident tonight?"

I watched as Nathaniel's confidence faltered for a moment—a flicker of fear crossing his face before he covered it with a sneer. "She might have been a mess. But, damn, your fiancée is stunning." He licked his lips, and I felt queasy. "Maybe she just needed a real man to show her a good time."

The chamber fell silent, and I sensed a drop in temperature even from our hiding spot. Lysander's eyes gleamed menacingly in the flickering light, his expression a mask of icy fury.

"A real man?" He repeated, his voice almost above a whisper. He stood slowly, his motions deliberate and fluid. "Tell me, Nathaniel, what precisely does a real man' do?"

Nathaniel, either too intoxicated or too ignorant to see the risk, persisted. His sentences were blurred as he spoke, bravado overwhelming common reason. He grinned lazily and continued, "I could break her in for you. Maybe I will even forward you the video."

Next happened so quickly that I nearly missed it. Lysander was across the room, moving in a blur. The air filled with a painful crunch, then Nathaniel's agonizing scream. There was a flash of metal.

I gasped, my palm shooting to my mouth to muffle the sound. Beside me, Ava whimpered and straggles while her nails dug into my arm.

Over Nathaniel, who was holding his hand to his chest, Lysander stood. Blood spilled over the pricey carpet, each drop a striking red against the white fibers. Lysander had a knife in his hand; its red firelight glinting blade was visible.

Lysander continued, his voice unnaturally calm, a sharp contrast to the brutality of his actions. "If you ever look at her like that again. I'll end you. Do you grasp?"

Nathaniel nodded furiously, his face pallid with fear and pain. The smug swagger gave way to naked horror.

I became ill. The savagery, the cavalier manner Lysander had disfigured Nathaniel—too much. I wanted to run, hide, and forget what I had witnessed. But unable to look away, I froze in place. I was planning to wed this man. I was stepping into this planet.

One moment, a hand snatched my arm. I almost yelled, but another hand closed over my lips. I squirmed, panic starting in my throat, until I heard a familiar voice.

"Shh, Kylie, it's me," my father hissed. His face was a mask of rage, his eyes flashing. "What the devil do you think you are doing?"

He was hauling us both from the passage into the lounge before I could respond. I was momentarily blinded by the startling light, then faced Lysander and his troops when my vision came clear.

The room went quiet. Every eye on us, the tension in the air palpable. I knew I would have bruises tomorrow when my father's grasp on my arm tightened agonizingly.

Rising his hand, he spat, "I should have known it was you causing trouble again." Bracing for the punch, I flinched but it never came.

Opening my eyes, Lysander was standing between us with his hand tightly clutching my father's wrist midway through the swing. The two men fixed each other, a wordless struggle of wills playing out across the distance between them.

"That's enough," Lysander murmured, his voice both dead and calm. His comments had weight and a threat of violence barely under control.

Veins pulsing at his temples, my father's face turned a terrible purple tint. Growling, he said, "This is my house, my rules," yanking his arm free.

But Lysander moved not at all. When his eyes locked with mine, they were inscrutable. Anger, possessiveness, and something else I couldn't quite define churned in their depths. Quietly, he whispered, "Let it go," not looking back at me.

Standing in the midst of violence and danger at that moment, I felt an unusual sense of security. It was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. It was then that I realized I was truly seeing Lysander for the first time as I looked into his eyes.

I was entering a world unlike any other. A world of power, conflict, and unspoken rules. In a place where a man could easily cut another's finger and then protect me in the next breath. In a society where kindness was a rarity and loyalty was critical,.

I was going to be Lysander's wife after all. In this universe, that meant something as well. Something risky, exciting, something I was only starting to comprehend. Standing there, stuck between Lysander's protection and my father's wrath, I sensed something change within me. A steeling of will, a hardening of will.

Once more, marking the passing of another hour, the grandfather clock chimed. For me, though, it signalled the start of something else. something harmful. anything exciting.

The room had obvious tension—a live creature coiling around us all like a serpent. Frozen between my father's wrath and Lysander's cool headiness, I stood. The air smelled of blood and booze and unspoken threats, thick and heavy.