The continuous, thunderous shouting echoed throughout the hall, giving Nyell a headache. The foreigners, especially those of noble descent, were vocal about how unjustly they were being treated by Allen's men, protesting so loudly that the walls seemed to shake. In contrast, the few werewolves who had participated in the auction were mostly silent, shivering in fright in corners, often curled up into a ball. They couldn't handle Nyell's show of dominance. It was too much for them to bear, and even scrambling as far away as possible from the stage didn't help. None knew how to face the overwhelming fear that had surged throughout their bodies, courtesy of their instincts, and they were reduced to a pool of tears and urine. In this enclosed place, it didn't take long before the acrid odor assaulted Nyell's nose.
"What a mess," he clicked his tongue, pinching his painful nose. The screaming was never-ending, and curiosity got the better of him. He peeked over his shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of Layla as she quickly subdued people, leaving Myrven to guard the door. Her face usually showed a clueless expression. Sometimes, it was even blank. But today, her eyes brimmed with a rage that bordered on madness. Nyell frowned before glancing at Allen, asking, "Will she be alright…?"
"Don't worry about her," the shaman smiled coldly, seemingly unbothered by the chaos unfolding behind him. "She's only venting a bit of frustration."
"Is that so…"
Although unconvinced, Nyell decided not to probe further. Even if he was curious about Layla's past, he didn't want to ask indiscreet questions, especially not in front of an audience. Miell was a kind soul, but he didn't need to know about Layla's life. The same could be said for Yohan. And as for the bastard… Well, he didn't need to know anything about anyone. He was the one who would have to do the talking later on. Nyell had a hunch that was the only reason Allen hadn't yet shredded him to pieces: because even now, and despite the cold mask the shaman wore on, he could tell he was still furious. Nyell could feel it deep into his bones, and goosebumps broke out on his skin. Even he felt oppressed, so he didn't want to imagine how others felt.
'Staying near him is so freaking suffocating,' Nyell thought as he snatched the keyring on the bastard's belt to unlock the cuffs that were still sapping at his strength, gradually rendering him weak in the knees. He then massaged his mistreated wrists. It wasn't like snapping the chain in half had been easy-peasy, and the shackles did dig into his skin as he forcefully pulled them apart. The movement tore his skin, drawing tiny beads of blood. Not a big injury, just an annoying one that should heal in a day or two. But regardless of his thoughts on the superficial wounds, Allen stretched a hand and asked to see them.
"Show me."
"It's nothing."
"Nyell, show me."
The stern voice made Nyell purse his lips. He didn't like that commanding tone, even if he knew deep down that Allen was merely worried. He squinted his eyes at his fated man, staring at him for a moment. In the end, he decided to ignore him altogether. As far as he knew, he wasn't made of glass, and they had things left to do. One of the top priorities was to provide help to the unfortunate and most likely traumatized individuals sold during the auction. Nyell turned his back on Allen to do just that, leaving him alone on the stage. Because he had his back to the man, he couldn't see the unfathomable but undeniably ominous look twirling in the depths of his mesmerizing eyes. If he had, he might have taken another course of action instead.
In a few hours' time, Nyell would be wondering why the heck he hadn't. But for now, he went about doing what had to be done, starting with unlocking Miell's and Yohan's shackles, as he had the keyring. Once they were free, he invited them to follow him to remove the shackles of the other unlucky souls. He used the logic that since he had been up on stage with Miell and Yohan who had visibly been enslaved, they would feel more at ease with them than with complete strangers. Miell also spoke many languages, which proved helpful in due time.
A certain man's gaze followed him all along, but Nyell pretended not to notice the burning sensation on his back. Even when Miell tried to point it out, he told him to shut up. Yohan snorted, but thankfully didn't comment. Nyell didn't want to deal with his sharp tongue while he was still brooding about the inevitable. He was stalling, trying to figure out how he'd handle Allen, once they were alone in his house. He couldn't avoid him forever: Allen's patience had its limits.
***
It took all night to take care of the immediate aftermath and bundle up all the known parties involved in the auction. Nyell hadn't been sure about what would happen to them, but he overheard hunters say that the dungeon would be crowded for a time, and another responded that even if they packed these guys like sardines in a cell, it didn't matter. Considering they thought of other people's rights as non-existent, shouldn't they extend the courtesy and do the same? It was an interesting statement that had picked Nyell's interest. He had been curious about the offenders' fate and thought about it most of the night, letting his vindictive and sadistic imagination run free. Although right now, he wasn't the least bit interested in their future and had forgotten everything about them. How could he care about their fate when he was potentially facing the biggest crisis of his life yet?
'Should I make a run for it?' Nyell thought as he glanced at the door, the sole exit of the bedroom. 'Can I even outrun him to begin with? No, probably not. That guy's a monster.'
"So?"
The open question seemed to rub salt into the wound, and Nyell couldn't help but wince. His uncle had made him painfully aware of Allen's seething anger these past few days, and he felt it for himself at the auction. Yet, like a fool, he had hoped that he'd give him a pass, just like he had done until now. However, that was impossible. If Nyell had been in his shoes, he'd have been just as furious, if not more. There was a difference between playing bait with a certain level of safety and jumping headfirst into danger without even discussing it with your partner first. He knew Allen wouldn't be pleased with this little stunt of his, but did it anyway. The end result didn't matter: he still took unnecessary risks.
Even if Allen believed in his strength, he certainly wouldn't be thrilled with him courting danger and pushing his luck. Nyell wasn't invincible, and he could only imagine how his fated mate had felt when he stood on the stage, presented as a valuable good to greedy and lecherous buyers. To add insult to injury, the clothing he wore barely covered anything, and he had lowered his head and shoulders in a submissive gesture. Even if Allen knew it was all pretense, the sight was bound to agitate him, and his inner beast must have been enraged beyond words.
Nyell wasn't a fool. Werewolves were possessive of their mates, and Allen obviously considered him his partner. He was not crossing lines out of respect for Nyell, who wasn't very enchanted with the fated mates bullcrap. But it wasn't because he didn't act upon his feelings of possessiveness and jealousy that it meant they weren't there, twisting his guts. Werewolves' instincts were to keep their mates at their sides at all times and chase away all perceived threats by any means possible. The protective instinct was overbearing and borderline controlling. Yet, up to now, Allen hadn't shown a hint of these traits and buried these feelings deep inside, pretending they didn't exist. But after seeing Nyell being put up for bid tonight, the building-up of emotions was about to explode, and Nyell could tell as much.
"Look, hum," Nyell rubbed his neck, unsure what to say. He had always been reckless since childhood, but his parents never berated him about it. At most, they might have slapped his wrists once or twice. Not too surprisingly there, he had no idea how to handle someone who had been worried into anger because of his brashness. He was usually the one who berated others about it. "I'm sorry…?"
"What are you sorry for, exactly?"
Uncomfortable. This felt too uncomfortable!
"I guess avoiding you and running straight into danger without warning you first? But! You know, I had confidence you had a ghost on my trail and that you'd come pick me up in the worst case scenario, so–"
"Nyell," Allen interrupted him, beckoning him to come closer. He hesitated but ultimately complied. "You do realize I'm not omnipotent, right? I can't teleport myself to your side, and Dangu still has difficulty controlling himself. The children aren't fighters, Myrven is duty-bound, and Layla isn't immortal. Things could have turned terribly wrong if that man had realized who you truly were. He wouldn't have used downgraded shackles, and if he had an inkling of how important you are to me and what I'm ready to give up, my own end wouldn't have been pretty. Oh, and if you must know, I could only enter the auction with so much ease because of unexpected help."
Allen paused for a second before adding, "You played with fire and almost got yourself burned."
To Nyell, this sounded pessimistic and improbable. He was aware he wasn't invincible, but perhaps, deep down, he thought of himself as untouchable. He was among the strongest warriors in the jungle, if not the strongest one, and that might have clouded his judgment. He didn't want to admit that Allen was right, though. It was childish, but he couldn't help it. He did have his pride.
"Then what was I supposed to do?" Nyell snarled back, now only a few inches away from Allen, who was sitting on the bed. "Pass up the opportunity and wait for another? Yeah, sure! How many lives would have been destroyed tonight if I had?! You'd better get used to it, because if a situation like that were to happen again, I'll do the gooddamn same thing. I am your mate whether I like it or not, which makes your tribe my responsibility, too!"
"I have no intention of restraining your actions! I just want you to be careful and not get yourself killed. Is it that hard to understand?! What's the point of protecting my people if you die in the process?! Can you tell me? Because I don't see it!"
When the shaman lost his cool and finally snapped, Nyell froze. He opened his mouth, yet no words came out. It dawned upon him that it wasn't only worry that had been tormenting Allen these past few days, but also the deep-rooted fear of losing him. Werewolves were prone to insecurities toward their mates, and any negative feelings tended to be amplified exponentially. Now that Nyell thought about it, hadn't it been the same for him when Allen decided to confront the daemon on his own? He had tried to deny it with every fiber of his being, yet worry and a sense of loss had haunted him night after night until he met Allen again in the memorial cave and was reassured of his well-being.
"Then don't do anything stupid yourself!" Nyell exploded, forgetting to rein in his own emotions. He had been holding onto them for far too long, just as Allen had. It wasn't for the same reason, but they had also been there, piling up in the pit of his stomach. Now, he couldn't resist unleashing them. "You've got no right to criticize me when you were the first to jump headfirst into danger back in my tribe! You went after a daemon on your own, remember? But in my case, my targets were living, breathing, mortal beings whose flesh makes them quite fragile to lethal wounds. And don't you dare use the excuse of being a shaman! I had a week to discuss with my uncle and Miell about daemons and just how powerful these types of spiritual beings are. I'm not that ignorant! Do you think you're the only one who worries about the other?! I know you're crazily monstrous and barely anything rivals you, but so what? You're not immortal either! You can die too!"
Nyell barely took a breath throughout the whole tirade. Once he was done giving him a piece of his mind, he was heavily breathing, his chest moving up and down. Whether it felt good or not to empty his heart, he didn't know. But it did feel liberating to admit he had been worried, to accept that he, too, didn't want Allen to die. Not anymore, at least.