Theo stood in the mountain passage, hesitating before the hidden garden in Fen's territory.
This time Fen had gone in alone.
If he followed in secret, he might finally get answers about the place.
But discovery meant death was certain—if the alpha ever suspected his alliance with Eira.
So far he had blended in well enough with the pack.
Still, he cherished everything tied to their arrangement to withdraw from this for his own safety.
His eyes drifted to the rock entrance. He checked his surroundings once more.
The wolves present in the mountain weren't many.
Even if he escaped after being discovered, there was nowhere to truly disappear.
Too few faces. Too few places to hide.
Wouldn't Fen even scent him out?
Theo clenched his fists.
Then, finally, forced himself to move, swallowing his fear and uncertainty.
Slowly and carefully, he crouched through the pile of rocks and slipped inside.
On the other side, moonlight spilled over him before he dropped into the foliage he had used as cover before.
He sank into the shrubs, forcing himself to stay still then voices reached him.
Fen's voice—distant and unclear. Deeper in the garden.
Theo inhaled sharply. The scent of mint filled his senses as he turned toward the tangled path ahead—the only route that made sense now, the one his survival depended on.
He needed to get closer. Eira had not been pleased about discovering it was just a garden.
Theo exhaled and lowered himself onto his belly, supporting his weight on his forearms as he began to crawl.
Thankfully, the ground beneath was sand, soft enough to mute his movements.
Dew-heavy leaves clung to the surface, helping him stay quiet.
Still, tension coiled in his spine from the uncertainty around him.
Beyond the path, space opened into something deeper—green vines glowing faintly, threading through branches and shadow.
His mind flickered with the possibility of an escape route that way, just in case.
Theo looked down as his shoulders brushed a thicker vine half-buried in the sand.
More stretched ahead, growing larger and denser as they dominated the path toward their source.
A tree.
Ancient.
Massive.
Theo recoiled instinctively at the sight, his heightened vision sharpening the detail.
His resolve wavered.
Then—
"My body is divine," Fen's voice cut in from the side, clearer now. "Perfect for whatever spell you think is above me."
Theo froze and pressed himself flat. This range was enough for him, at least anything to stay away from the vines ahead.
"I understand but—" another voice replied. A man. The mage.
"I don't think you do," Fen snapped, his voice heavy with threat. "It was all lies then, lies about how far your capabilities go."
"No—please! Rushing the ritual could kill us both!"
"A true sorcerer would not waste my time."
"I studied your rival!" the mage's voice trembled. "He seeks me because I managed to control him…but to a point. Would you..would you risk someone who knows nothing about your war?"
"Bloody runt," Fen snarled. "You know nothing about my war."
Theo shifted further a bit, straining his vision past the thick foliage before he finally got a glimpse of Fen's back, standing rigid and unmoving.
"I know you aim to be on his level," the sorcerer continued. "A true sorcerer would not lie to you in order to defeat a common enemy. If you fail, I fail."
Silence followed.
Theo held his breath.
What exactly were they talking about?
Had that sorcerer truly controlled Azael?
That alone could explain why Azael had sought him out to the point of nearly killing Fen over it.
"Speak," Fen barked.
"The blood of the innocent is required," the mage said, voice breaking. "An altar must be used to honor the demon's response. And the one performing the ritual must enter the realm where soul and demon merge before manifestation."
Theo's breath caught.
A demon?
"Why an altar when we have the garden?" Fen asked.
"The garden only holds a physical manifestation," the mage replied. "The demon's soul requires proper execution of the ritual…or there will be consequences."
Fen turned to the tree behind him.
Theo lowered himself further into the leaves, tiny branches pressing against his jaw.
"Mistress!" Fen called, spreading his arms.
Silence answered him.
"Demons are spiritual entities," the mage continued. "They dwell where the world sustains them without truly belonging to it…"
A faint rustle shifted nearby.
Theo turned sharply toward the part ahead.
Without waiting, he began backing away, dragging himself through the sand as quietly as possible.
"Her true powers would be yours too," the mage continued. "Every sacrifice worth the ambition to defeat Azael."
Theo's fear deepened as he retraced his path toward the entrance.
His ears had heard enough.
His body held too much fear to remain and test what lay deeper within the garden.
As he crawled further away, a sharper rustling sound came from behind him.
He paused.
Looking ahead to make sure he had not been spotted, he saw no movement.
Fen still stood facing the tree, arms spread, eyes darkened.
Theo turned forward and continued crawling. This whole thing was getting too deep.
And he was terrified of discovering just how deep it went.
At this point, a werewolf was the least dangerous thing in the food chain.
The rustling came again.
This time Theo didn't look back.
He only increased his pace, trying to control his breathing as the rock wall near the garden entrance finally came into view.
Then he felt it.
A thin wrap and a subtle pressure around his ankle.
Fear seized him instantly.
Theo jerked his leg free from whatever had touched him and scrambled onto all fours, hurrying toward the exit.
He reached the rock wall and spun around with his back against it.
Swallowing hard, he searched the tangled leaves before him.
Nothing.
Only disturbed foliage and the trail left by his own retreat.
No sign of what had touched him.
It had to be those vines, Theo thought.
Finally, he turned toward the hidden rock entrance and slipped out.
Theo moved further away from the garden.
This war was getting out of hand.
He could already feel its consequences closing in despite not being a player in it at all.
Perhaps it was time Eira stepped back as well.
**
"Your body's condition seems better," Azael's words trailed down her neck, making Elana's eyes fly open.
She lifted her head, turning away from his chest, her hands slowly releasing his arm, yet she remained trapped within his hold.
She pressed her thighs together and lifted her knees.
The awareness of the slickness between them, and the damp spot beneath her, made her flush.
To hide her burning cheeks, she raised her hands to her face.
They were still in her room in Lumere—her voice could easily have been heard.
"Master," she said softly. "It's too quiet here."
His cold fingers—the ones that had just been inside her—gripped her bare hips.
Gently, he pulled her onto her back against him.
The moment she felt the hardness beneath his trousers, her core tightened.
"Too quiet for you," he whispered into her ear.
His palm beneath her cupped her breasts, kneading gently as his fingers grazed her nipples.
Elana shivered, unable to contain the excitement building at her core from his touch.
Cold lips dropped soft kisses down her shoulders as his hand at her hip traced upward to her waist, then her arm, slipping the robe sleeve from her hand to expose the part of her body pressed back against him.
She pushed back into him, wanting him too badly for her privacy to matter.
Maybe she could keep her voice low.
Her face turned upwards toward him, and his cold breath met her skin.
"I'm not sure you care too much about who overhears you," he said. "And I don't care at all."
Elana whimpered, biting her lip as she pushed her hips against him again.
He inhaled sharply against her face, while her hand wandered between them, settling on the clasp of his trousers.
He didn't stop her, only pressed closer, exhaling softly against her cheek.
Elana liked it—the way she affected him, or perhaps it was the only way he ever admitted how much he wanted her, never in words.
"I…I haven't felt the fever in a while now," she said, her voice heavy as her hand undid the clasp of his trousers.
"But I'm a man who wants your sounds as much," he replied.
Elana's hand froze as memory resurfaced, reminding her how unrestrained her voice had been the night he'd taken her, countless times in his castle.
Would anyone—even Cara—suspect the reasons for her cries?
She groaned and shifted upward, her lips unintentionally grazing his. "But not here. We can do it in the castle…just like…just like last time," she said.
He pressed closer into her hand, which brushed the hard V-lines of his lower stomach and the edges of his open trousers, silently urging on.
"Nothing's stopping me now," he whispered, intentionally grazing her lips in return.
Elana wasn't sure how to handle her mounting shame. She pushed against him, trying to retract her hand, but felt his grip tighten around her wrist.
"You should fear me more than your shame, little one," he said, nipping gently at her earlobe.
She gasped, letting out a frustrated whine as he guided her trapped hand lower down the hard planes of his stomach.
"You make everything sound like a threat," Elana whined. "It's just decency."
Azael scoffed. "Decency wouldn't be in your thoughts now if I had listened to your earlier pleas…to have me inside you."
Elana flushed. She had forgotten how shamelessly she had pleaded for him.
Her fingers grazed his hardness and she tensed.
Her breaths came faster, her lips parting in anticipation of feeling him again.
But her hand didn't move.
She noticed then that he wasn't holding her anymore; instead, both his hands had moved to her breasts as he pressed tighter against her from behind.
Elana's hand stayed still, contemplating whether to pull away entirely or slide downward . She swallowed as his fingers pinched the aching tips of her chest.
She shut her eyes, savoring the sensation and barely resisting the temptation to grope him.
Harder than wood, he filled her palms as he gently sprang free, and she flinched when he brushed against her.
"Your assumption of dictating situations is maddening," he whispered, kissing a path down her chin to her neck.
"At least you're reacting to something else about me…other than t-touching me," she replied, shifting to retract her hand as he pressed her back against the intimidating strength between his thighs.
"Perhaps," he said, sliding a leg between her knees. "Perhaps you underestimate my influence. Over every life around you. The unimportance of their opinions as well."
Their bodies locked in.
Her hand reached for the sheet, and Azael moved closer, until she felt the steady pressure of his presence between her wet thighs.
Elana's lids hung half-opened, caught in a trance as her mind fixed on the steady, agonizing brush of his hardness against her sensitive core.
She moved her hips back, hoping her body could communicate her need to him.
But he kept sliding forward, still missing her entrance.
Whether intentional or not, her frustration had peaked.
Her hand left the sheets, but before she could reach where they joined, Azael seized it, pinning it to her chest.
He slid himself higher between her thighs, along the slick slit of her core.
"And if I change my mind about taking you right now," he said into her ear, "not even your shameless pleas would convince me otherwise."
Their breaths mingled, hers turning into moans while his remained quiet but hoarse.
"Even now, you threaten me instead of agreeing with my argument, master," she whined.
There was a sudden pause.
It made her nervous the moment his hands began to loosen around her chest.
Had she finally crossed the line?
She let out a sharp yell as his hand pulled her up fast by the arm, dropping her onto her chest against the soft mattress.
Before she could turn, his frame pressed down lightly behind her.
"Master…" Elana barely whispered before she felt him settle at her entrance.
She tensed and shivered as both his hands traced down the sides of her body to her waist.
Elana clenched the sheets beneath them as he dragged her back against him.
She didn't want him to stop, and even if she did.
She wouldn't, of course, stand a chance against his strength.
She subtly pushed her hips back to aid him, flinching as his hardness stretched further between her thighs.
The sound of his breathing behind her made her ache deeper, and she pushed back against him again.
He let out a shaky exhale, maintaining his gentle grip on her hips.
"Elana…" he whispered into the air mixed with lavender and wisteria.
Despite her movements, he frustratingly denied her the satisfaction of moving into her.
She reached back to guide him inside herself but he seized her hand instantly, bringing his face right to her ear.
"Don't you dare provoke me like that again," he said, his tone lethal.
Elana whined in frustration, genuinely wanting him to keep going.
"If you really want to hate me so much," she began with a slow wriggle, "then you could start by not doing these things to my body."
Azael pressed his body closer, but remained at her entrance.
Elana let out a quiet groan.
"I own this body," he hissed, almost seeping into her entrance.
She moaned. "Yes!"
This time he didn't pull back. His cold breath brushed her ears as his breathing grew heavier.
"You'll be highly mistaken," he said in a lower tone, "If you think you can…"
His voice trailed off into controlled breaths as he advanced forward.
Elana let out a soft moan into the pillow beneath her as he slid deeper, his grip on her hand loosening.
Her subconscious flickered back to life, reminding her of the consequences of him proceeding.
Before her hand could slip back to push him away, he moved further into her—deep enough to make her return to clutching the sheets instead.
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to stifle her voice from escaping as he slowly and completely filled her from behind.
…
Vivianne stood with her fists clenched, frozen just after the door of Elana's room as the girl's noises grew louder within the walls.