CHAPTER 263: THE POWER OF DRAVEN AND HIS RESTRAINT

Meredith.

"Confidence is one thing," she murmured, her eyes flicking between me and Draven, "but don’t mistake it for arrogance. Some places—some people—don’t take kindly to a misplaced sense of self."

The words were dipped in honey, but I heard the poison underneath. My lips parted, ready to answer, but then I felt it—Draven’s presence sharpening beside me.

He didn’t look at her or raise his voice. He simply set his wine glass down with the faintest click and said, "Enough."

The weight of that single word was enough to silence the entire table.

I picked up my fork again, the clink of silverware against porcelain sounding louder than before, or maybe it only felt that way because the tension had thinned.

No one else dared to speak out of turn after Draven’s warning.

I let the silence settle around us, savoring my food and, more importantly, savoring the look on my siblings’ faces as they tried to swallow their pride.

Gary kept his gaze lowered, though I noticed the stiffness in his shoulders. Mabel was the only one who glanced at me now and then, curiosity warring with disbelief.

Wanda, of course, sulked quietly, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Draven didn’t look at any of them. Instead, he turned his gaze to me, his expression softening, almost imperceptibly, as if to remind me that none of them mattered here.

At last, when the last plates were cleared away and the servants retreated, Draven leaned back in his chair. His gaze swept the table, slow and deliberate, ensuring he had everyone’s attention.

"Tomorrow, is a new day" he said, his voice calm yet commanding, "There are matters in Duskmoor that require all of us to be clear-headed. I expect discipline, and I expect respect."

No one argued. Not even Wanda who looked like she had a lot to say.

Draven’s gaze lingered on Gary and Mabel, the faintest glint in his eyes, as though he could see every thought running through their minds.

They both nodded stiffly, murmuring their agreement—proof that the undertaking was still working.

Finally, Draven pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. Instinctively, everyone else stood as well.

"Good night," he said.

Then he turned to me and let his hand, warm and steady, find the small of my back.

"Come," he murmured, low enough that only I heard.

I followed him out of the dining room, my heart full and my head held higher than any of them.

When we reached the master bedroom, Draven pushed the door open, holding it for me to step in first.

Almost immediately, the familiar scent wrapped around me as I entered—it was his scent, filling every corner, making me feel anchored.

As the door clicked shut, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"You handled yourself well tonight," Draven said, his voice calm but carrying that low rumble I always felt in my chest more than in my ears.

Then, he removed his jacket and set it neatly over the arm of a chair, his movements precise, controlled. "Your siblings expected you to falter but didn’t."

I smiled faintly, though my heart was still racing from the dinner. "I almost did... until you reached for my hand."

His eyes flicked to me then, sharp and dark, and I felt the intensity of his gaze as if it touched me physically. Slowly, he crossed the room, closing the distance between us.

"I didn’t reach for your hand to steady you," he murmured, standing before me now. "I reached for it because it belongs to me. And I wanted them to see that."

Heat bloomed in my cheeks, but I didn’t look away. His words seeped through the cracks of old wounds, soothing places that had ached for far too long.

"You’re mine, Meredith," he continued, softer now, his thumb brushing along my jaw. "And no one—neither your siblings, nor anyone else—can diminish that."

The last of my tension melted, replaced by a warmth that spread through my chest. I leaned into his touch, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"I was nervous," I admitted. "But when you’re near... it’s easier to remember who I am now. Not who they made me feel like back then."

His lips curved, not into a smile exactly, but something gentler, rarer. He bent, pressing a kiss to my forehead, lingering there as though imprinting the promise deeper into me.

"Good," he whispered. "You will need to remember that even more."

I slipped my arms around him then, resting my cheek against his chest. His scent, his warmth and his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

Then he tightened his hold, pulling me flush against him as though he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

Draven’s chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but I could feel the tension beneath—the restrained hunger he carried, even after the exhaustion of travel.

"Meredith..." he murmured, his voice low, warm against my hair. The sound of my name from his lips alone made something inside me tremble.

I tilted my face up, and before I could say anything, his lips descended on mine. The kiss was deep, unhurried at first, tasting of quiet longing, then it grew urgent, claiming.

His hand slid down the curve of my back, pressing me closer, while the other cradled my jaw, his thumb stroking lightly as if I were something fragile, precious.

I let my fingers thread through his dark hair, tugging gently and that earned me a low sound from his throat that made my knees weaken.

Next, he guided me backward until I felt the edge of the bed against my legs. Without breaking the kiss, he eased me down onto the bed, bracing his weight carefully so I felt both the power of him and his restraint.

"You’ve been on my mind every moment I was gone," he confessed between kisses along my cheek and down to the hollow of my throat.

His breath was hot against my skin, and I arched involuntarily, my pulse fluttering wildly.

"Every mile that separated us only reminded me how much I needed to come back... to this. To you."