The doors of the western room were entirely, completely sealed.
Not a single sound escaped the thick stone framework. The toxic-green ward had dissipated, but Syris had seamlessly replaced it with a heavy, sound-dampening spell the absolute second the deadbolt had clicked into place.
Outside in the hallway, Torian paced back and forth, his boots making a rhythmic, agitated thud, thud, thud against the floorboards.
His arms were crossed tightly over his broad chest, his jaw clenched so hard his fangs ached, and his blue eyes were completely fixed on the impenetrable doors. He knew it was biology.
He knew the Snake King was starving. But the sheer, audacious visual of his Matriarch being violently snatched into the darkness by a giant serpentine tail was completely short-circuiting his possessive instincts.
From down the hall, the quiet, heavy footsteps of the Dragon King approached.
