CHAPTER 223: CHAPTER 224: TO MAKE THIS ONE MINE

But—but then she realized how stupid all of this was.

Her heart was still racing like a trapped bird inside her chest, but her legs... they weren’t trembling anymore. The ground beneath her was firm. Steady. Her balance had returned, the feverish fog finally thinning from her limbs.

She could stand.

On her own.

The realization struck like cold water.

She blinked and peeled herself off of Cyrus, whose strong tail reluctantly unwound from her waist like a creature loathe to let go of its prize. His arms, which had been a silent shelter, hesitated for a breath—just one heartbeat—before releasing her.

She didn’t notice.

Her thoughts were too loud. Her pulse too sharp. Her breath caught and jittered in her chest, overwhelmed by the humiliating memory of Zyran’s finger, his smirk, her moan.

Gods. What the hell was wrong with her?

"No, no—" she blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips as she took two wide steps back. "I’m not mating anyone!"

Her hands flailed dramatically as she turned sharply toward Zyran, ready to point fingers, accusations, anything—only to choke on her breath when she realized—

He was no longer leaning on the tree.

He was right behind her.

She barely swallowed a scream. Her whole body jolted like someone had dumped ice down her back. She jumped to the side in a full-body flinch and bolted toward Cyrus, practically diving behind him like a terrified kitten.

Her finger shot out, trembling slightly but bold. "You! You—stay over there!"

Cyrus blinked, stunned at first. Then something warm and soft passed over his face. Her choice to run to him—even if out of fear—was a declaration in itself. She chose him. Trusted him. Rejected Zyran to his face.

It was enough.

His chest swelled with silent pride, the protective warmth in his eyes nearly glowing.

But Zyran?

He didn’t even blink.

His smile widened, slow and devastating, curling like smoke around his sharp features. He stood straight and still like he had all the time in the world. That damned smirk held nothing but amusement... and mockery.

Isabella hated it.

"Oh, you better stay away from him," she warned, crossing her arms in a poor attempt to shield herself from the rising heat building between her legs just remembering his touch. Her legs pressed together instinctively.

And that was when her mind betrayed her again.

Images flooded back, uninvited and unrelenting—the feel of Zyran’s palm against her waist, the pressure of his fingers through her blouse, the possessive look in his eyes like he already owned every inch of her.

Her knees wobbled slightly.

She clamped her thighs tighter.

There was no way she was letting that happen again. Absolutely not.

The next time she let him near her, she might not stop until she found out exactly how he felt in bed—and that would be the end of her dignity.

Zyran let out a low, rumbling laugh. It started deep in his chest, rolling up through his throat and out in a devilish sound that kissed her ears like velvet and gasoline.

He bent forward slightly, ignoring Cyrus’ glare. "Don’t be so afraid, little temptress," he murmured, his crimson eyes locking onto hers like a predator circling prey. "I won’t bite..."

His smirk deepened.

"...Unless you ask nicely."

Isabella’s eyes flew open so wide she swore she could see heaven for a second.

Oh, this man was the devil.

There was no other explanation. A shirtless, red-eyed devil with a voice dipped in sin and a body built for punishment.

Cyrus tensed beside her, jaw flexing.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice calm but cold as winter steel. He didn’t bother hiding the venom in his tone. His pink eyes narrowed, the way they always did when he was on the edge of something dangerous.

"Yes, why are you here?" Isabella added immediately, puffing up like a tiny, overconfident cat defending its territory. Her arms crossed tightly under her chest—maybe a little too tightly, because now she was hyper-aware of the way her breasts were squished together, and gods, she hoped Zyran wasn’t staring at them.

(He absolutely was.)

She lifted her chin, determined to look unbothered—even though her voice was very much breathless and her heart was tap dancing against her ribs like it had been possessed by a squirrel on caffeine. Her left eye twitched slightly. Betrayal. Her own body was betraying her.

She glared up at him like she hadn’t almost melted into a puddle of hormones two seconds ago.

Her gaze flicked to Zyran, all narrowed eyes and silent curses, clearly saying: Say one dumb thing. Just one. I dare you.

A silent exchange passed between them. Hers said, "Pick your next words very carefully."

His eyes said, "Oh, I’m absolutely about to say the dumbest thing possible."

And he smiled.

Of course he did.

Smug bastard.

She braced herself, already regretting speaking at all.

But Zyran? He only tilted his head lazily, like her glare was a compliment. He didn’t even glance at Cyrus, though the man had spoken first.

Instead, his attention remained fixed on Isabella as he answered her, voice laced with something darker than desire.

"To make this one mine."

There was a beat.

Silence.

And then—

Isabella’s breath caught. The air left her lungs in a harsh exhale as heat exploded across her cheeks, down her neck, and lower. Gods, was it possible to feel your soul blush? (Sometimes I wonder how I come up with these y’all)

He was feeding on it. Her embarrassment. Her frustration. Her arousal.

He wanted her flustered.

And the worst part?

It was working.

Her temper flared to the surface.

She stomped forward, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. Her fists clenched at her sides.

Zyran raised a brow, clearly impressed. She was like a kitten trying to claw a lion.

Behind her, Cyrus’ hand twitched. He resisted the urge to pull her back, to shield her again. But his body was stiff, and his tail snapped behind him in tight coils of tension. His eyes darkened.

He had no right.

He was her worker. Her companion. Her protector.

Not her lover.

Not her mate.

Still, it took everything in him not to bare his fangs when she left his side.

"What?" Isabella snapped through gritted teeth, eyes wide and daring. "Repeat that, I dare you."

Zyran’s smile didn’t falter. Not even a little. He rose to his full, impressive height, towering over her like a wildfire that had learned to walk.

And he refused to look at her.

On purpose.

He turned his eyes instead to Cyrus, meeting him with a cold stare as he spoke—still answering Isabella, but making it perfectly clear that his words were also a challenge.

"I want to pursue this one."