His cold eyes cut into Irene, and before she could retreat, his hand wrapped firmly around her wrist. In one swift motion, he dragged her across the room, ignoring her startled gasp.
"I'm sorry." Irene cried as she was dragged up the staircase, through the corridors until he got to their room. Her heart thumped hard against her chest. The mere thought of what he'd do to her was enough to give her a heart attack.
Yin pushed open the door, dragged her in and pressed her against the wall.
The wall's chill seeped into her back as his body loomed over hers, trapping her in the narrow space between his frame and the stone. His breath ghosted over her cheek, his fangs peeking dangerously as if daring her to test his patience.
"You thought this was amusing?" he murmured, voice low, laced with menace but threaded with something unspoken—something softer he refused to name. His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. "You dare serve me poison in my own house?"
"I–I didn't know…" Irene's voice trembled, her eyes wide. "Valda was the one who helped me. I only wanted to make you breakfast." She explained.
Valda? He thought. It then occurred to him that she was Lucian's daughter. He'd deal with her once he was done with Irene.
For a moment, his eyes flickered—not with rage, but with a sharp pang he quickly masked. He released her abruptly, stepping back as if the closeness had burned him.
"Next time you'll make my meals alone and on no account must you seek help from anyone." Irene nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Turning to the window, he braced his palms against the sill, staring out into the dusk-lit gardens. She looked so vulnerable and it made his heart ache. No! She deserved no pity from him.
Silence stretched, broken only by her unsteady breathing. Then, Irene gathered courage. She had thought of it all night, knowing fully well that he might severe her head off for making such a request.
"I want to continue my studies," she said softly. "At the university. Please."
Yin let out a sharp laugh, though it lacked true humor. He looked at her trembling self, amused by her audacity. "And who, little wife, will pay for your precious schooling? Do you imagine knowledge growing freely in this world?" he asked. "Do you have the money to pay your fees?"
Irene shook her head. "I...." Her lips quivered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Something inside him twisted at the sight. He turned his head slightly, catching the vulnerability in her expression. His jaw tightened, and he cursed himself under his breath.
"Fine," he muttered gruffly. "Tomorrow. But my guards will follow your every step. Don't mistake this for kindness, Irene—it is only precaution."
Her eyes lit with relief, and she whispered, "Thank you…"
He didn't respond, only waved her away. Yet when she left, a storm brewed behind his gaze.
Later, in his private office, the shadows clung to him like old ghosts. He sank into his chair, the weight of centuries pressing down. Then, unbidden, memories flooded—five hundred years ago, when fire and betrayal tore everything he ruled apart. His fists clenched until the wood beneath his palms splintered, and with a roar he swept the contents of his desk onto the floor.
He could feel his bloodhound increasing. He'd barely fed since his return.
The door creaked, and Lucas, his adviser, slipped in. He'd decided to make the short man who'd brought him to the mansion his adviser. He seemed like the only trustworthy person around.
"Again?" the chatterbox muttered before he could stop himself. "And why, my lord, do you still insist on dressing like some medieval relic? This is the Victorian age—your wardrobe screams museum piece."
Yin's glare was deadly, and he rose with dangerous intent. Lucas paled and raised both hands quickly, realizing that he was playing with fire. "Forgive me!" He smacked himself on the head. "You don't need to listen to a foolish person like me."
With a strained laugh to cover his nerves, Lucas hurried on. "There's an invitation. From the Winthrop family, one of the wealthiest families around. They seek peace with one of the new rulers." he informed him.
"I am the ruler," Yin hissed. "This city was mine, I don't know what you all have done to it."
"Yes, well," Lucas said lightly, though he wisely kept his distance, " Humans, wolves, witches—everyone has their own leaders now. We can't change things now, but everyone still holds you with high respect, that's why they've specially invited you.."
After a long pause, Yin's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Very well. I'll go. Let us see how these humans amuse themselves."
The next evening, preparations began. Maids swarmed his chambers, adjusting and smoothing his dark coat with gentle hands under Lucas's over-eager instructions.
In Irene's chamber, Valda pulled at the strings of her corset, her face devoid of sympathy.
Irene winced as her ribs compressed. "It's too tight," she whispered, struggling to breathe. She barely wore clothes like these because she found them uncomfortable.
Valda smirked faintly. "Tighter is better. A true lady suffers for beauty. Besides, your lord husband should see what he possesses."
Her words stung, but Irene bit her lip and said nothing.
When Yin appeared at the grand staircase, dressed in severe black with silver embroidery, Irene descended slowly in her suffocating gown. His eyes lingered on her—just for a heartbeat too long—before he turned away, masking whatever thought crossed his mind.
They set off in a gleaming carriage driven by beautiful black horses. The night air was crisp, the forest looming dark as they passed beneath twisted boughs.
But midway through the woods, a sharp crack split the silence. The carriage lurched violently, the wheel snapping against a hidden stone. Irene struck her head hard against the door.
The horses reared, and the driver shouted, struggling to steady them. The carriage halted.
"What's going on?" Yin demanded from the coachman who had stepped out to assess the damage.
"A wheel came off, sire." He replied.
Yin stepped out first, scanning the shadows with narrowed eyes. The forest was too quiet. He looked around. He felt as though he was being watched and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Then—between the trees—two luminous green eyes gleamed, unblinking, fixed directly on them.