Selara's POV
I followed after him, hurrying into the corridor since he moved in fast strides.
Outside the throne hall was silent, except for the groans of the heavy doors shutting behind us with a deep metallic thud that followed us down the long stone passage.
He walked ahead without once glancing back, his broad shoulders rigid.
I could see the tension in his muscles, the slight shifts in his posture. He was struggling not to turn, struggling not to look back at me.
I dragged my eyes from his back when, for some strange, unfamiliar reasons, they seemed to drag down to forbidden regions.
I threw them to the walls, letting my mind trail back to how much my life had changed from the bandit attack that pulled me from my home, to my capture by Darian's men, to my time in the cell, where I spent days grieving a man that was never dead, and plotting a murderous revenge on his behalf, then down to my conversation with Darian.
So much has happened to me in so short a time. I had been betrayed, captured, and imprisoned, and now, I was mated to the most notorious Alpha alive. The very one everyone avoids like a plague, because he was unpredictable.
Truly, he was. I lifted my head to him again, noticing the rather seductive swing to the way his shoulder girdle rolled against his tight Henley shirt as he walked. What wolf would ask his mate to hate him and still stay close? Not that I intended to truly be his mate, but still, what kind of…
My thoughts rolled to a stop when he shifted back to me. It was then that I realized my eyes were up again, and I quickly threw them from him to the walls.
Reluctantly, I watched as the palace corridor stretched endlessly before us, lit by tall iron braziers burning with blue flames that cast wavering shadows across the walls.
The place was enormous, tall, beautiful, and oppressive, just like him, except, of course, the enormous part.
I kept my eyes everywhere except him, until I heard the totter of his footsteps again.
Guards stood posted along the corridor. Every single one of them straightened the moment he passed, stiffening to rods.
"Alpha." One chanted.
"Good evening, Alpha," another chanted.
The rest said something similar also, but with little variations. Their voices were low and respectful, their heads bowed slightly. He truly had good control of his men.
None of them looked at me. But I could feel their curiosity.
Not at the scent of blood and dust that still clung to my torn clothes, and my wrists that were raw from the chains that had bound me earlier, or that I looked like a stray dragged in from the streets. Their cautious gaze seemed to be assessing me deeper than that.
I wondered if they'd already found out about the fact that, by some twisted sense, I had become their Alpha's mate. I'd lived as a Luna once to know how fast news travelled amongst the staff and guards.
Ahead of me, Darian slowed slightly to cut the distance between us. Without turning around, he spoke.
"You walk like someone marching to her execution." His voice was calm, but that did nothing to excuse the teasing.
I glared at the back of his head.
"Considering the day I've had," I muttered, "I think I'm allowed."
He gave a low hum, a little chuckle slipping in. "Fair point."
I wondered if he was always this cheerful and teasing or if this was exclusive to me. Sylas and some of the younger Alphas in his bloc had complained that he was cold and indifferent to them, the few times they'd met. Maybe he just hated their guts, because even I do, and I knew them. I had thought Sylas was different, thought he was the good egg in a basket of bad ones, turns out he was the worst, and that I get to find out in the worst way possible.
Thinking about him again made my eyes sting with moisture. I shut them tight and sniffed them away. The bastard wasn't worth a drop of tear from me again. I had married him when he was nothing, made him into one of the most important Alphas in the council, by marriage, and what do I get in return—betrayed and sold like livestock.
I had no idea that Damian had stopped working until I collided into him.
I stumbled back from the impact, and his hand reached for me. My body reacted before my mind could. I recoiled away from him. As if expecting his touch to scorch me again.
He glanced down at his gloved hands for a moment, and then pulled them back to his side, and his pale grey eyes shifted to study my face carefully.
"You're thinking about him again." He said. But he wasn't asking a question.
I lifted my chin stubbornly. It helps me in deflecting. "You seem very confident about your accusations."
"They're not accusations," he said evenly. "You have to stop thinking about him, except if those thoughts are about his murder."
My jaw tightened, and I continued past him. The urge to slap the infuriating calm expression off his face rose overwhelmingly in my chest. He could look cute at times, but most times, he was annoying.
He overtook me without another word, neither of us speaking. The tension between us thickened, heavy, I could almost taste it, just like I could taste his cologne—a strong, masculine, and woody scent that followed him like a shadow. It made me super aware of how God-awful I smelled. It been two weeks since I last had my bath.
I followed him reluctantly as he continued to lead me through corridors, until one eventually opened into a quieter wing of the palace. The guards were fewer here, the atmosphere calmer.
He stopped in front of a tall wooden door carved with intricate wolf patterns.
"This will be your room, mate." He pushed the door open.
I looked past the fact that he called me mate, and past his grin in acknowledgement of his crime, and I turned to the warm golden light spilling out of the enormous room.
A large canopy bed stood at the center, draped in dark velvet. A fireplace crackled softly along the far wall, filling the space with heat. Silk curtains hung beside a balcony that overlooked the moonlit valley.
I stepped inside slowly, while Darian leaned casually against the doorway, watching my reaction. "You look disappointed," he grinned.
The slight shift in his voice hinted at his sarcasm, if his grin didn't.
"I was expecting chains," I said dryly, to match his wit. If we were going to cohabit, I figured I had to start matching that side of him.
He lifted his upper lip in an exaggerated smirk. "Those can be arranged,"
I shot him a glare when I couldn't get to a quick comeback with that, and he doubled down with a soft chuckle.
Then, like he'd slipped on a mask, his expression shifted again, growing more serious.
"For now," he said quietly, "you're my guest. My mate."
"I told you," I said coldly, "that means nothing to me."
For once, he didn't respond immediately. His expression hardened again into a familiar unreadable mask. "Get some rest, Selara. We'll talk about that tomorrow, right after we discuss fixing your life." He said and pushed away from the doorway.
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
He paused halfway down the hall. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, making his grin more infuriating. "It means," he said calmly, "we're going to discuss how to destroy your husband, beginning with gatecrashing his wedding in two days."
"Two days," I repeated, my voice crashing low at the force that slammed hard against my chest. Sylas's wedding to Valentina was in two days, not months, but days.
"Yes," Darian repeated.
I swallowed my shock fast before he could turn into the next corridor and disappear. "I appreciate your help, Darian. But this is my war, not yours. Only I decide how this goes, and ends."
For a moment, he said nothing, silence stretching long between us, his broad shoulders stiffening. Then he said, "You are going to be using my munitions for the war, so as long as you promise to consider my inputs, then no problem," he said.
Before I could work out a rebuttal, he'd disappeared into the next corner.