CHAPTER 244: FANGS

In the carriage, Rymora lowered her head even further than before, her chin almost brushing her chest as her heart pounded a heavy rhythm beneath her ribs. Aira sat opposite her on the other side of the carriage, while Rymora herself occupied the same seat as Lord Drehk. Every now and then she could feel the weight of Lord Drehk’s attention sliding toward her, like a faint touch she could not shake off. Yet Rymora did not dare lift her eyes to meet his gaze. Instead, she fixed her eyes firmly on the view outside, staring at the road ahead as the carriage rumbled and swayed over the uneven ground.

It did not take long before the carriage rolled to a halt at the base of the castle steps. One by one they all descended, the cold air brushing against their faces as they stepped onto the cobblestones. Behind them, another carriage came to a stop, carrying the other lords who had been traveling with them. That second carriage drew up only moments after the first, its occupants stepping down almost in unison, their movements echoing the tense atmosphere that clung to the group.

Together, without the need for words or instruction, they moved toward the castle doors. Their steps were measured and purposeful, as though each of them already knew where they were heading and who would be waiting for them there. The heavy doors of the throne room swung inward at the push of the guards’ hands, the sound of iron hinges filling the hall. Inside, Zyren was not seated upon the high throne as he so often was, but on a simple chair set before a massive table at the foot of the stairs that led up to it. The table was spread with papers, maps, and seals—documents he had clearly been examining until the moment they arrived. Now, though, he stood waiting, an amused expression flickering across his face, his crimson eyes alive with interest.

"I suppose I was right," Zyren said in a low, deliberate voice that carried through the room. "Something did happen after all. It was only a matter of time." His words held a quiet satisfaction, a certain inevitability. Aira, walking ahead of the others, felt her lips press together into a thin line as annoyance flickered across her features. She inclined her head in a short bow, echoing the motion of the other lords who followed a heartbeat later.

"We brought her directly here, along with her maid," Lord Drehk began, his voice formal, "because we weren’t entirely sure if..." He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, but he did not need to finish the sentence. Every person present understood what hung in the air—the unspoken suspicion that the Aira standing before them might not be Aira at all but a Zygon wearing her face, having devoured her body.

Drehk had barely spoken when Zyren stepped forward from the table, the subtle curve of a smile touching his mouth. His voice was calm but edged with curiosity as he fixed his gaze directly on Aira, meeting her eyes without blinking. "You smell of blood. Are you injured?" he asked, the question cutting through the stillness like a blade. Aira gave a small shake of her head, a controlled gesture meant to deny without revealing too much. Zyren nodded once, as though satisfied with the answer.

"You may all leave," he said after a beat, his tone decisive. "It is Aira. I am certain of it." His declaration fell into the air like a stone into water. The silence that followed made it clear the others had been expecting at least some explanation of how he could be so sure, but no such explanation came. They did not dare to press for one. Instead, they bowed once more and began to turn toward the doors.

"Rymora is herself as well. I am sure of it," Aira said suddenly, her voice crisp as her eyes flicked toward Lord Drehk, who had beckoned Rymora’s maid closer to his side. Zyren’s gaze shifted fractionally at the sound of her words.

"Yes, she is. I have already confirmed it," he replied smoothly. As the last of the lords filed out, the heavy doors swung closed with a muted thud, sealing the chamber. Still, Zyren’s eyes did not leave Aira’s face, holding her in place with an intensity that made the silence between them stretch and deepen.

"What happened?" he asked finally, the question simple but charged. Aira lifted her chin, her answer ready.

"The lords practically explained everything that happened," she said, but Zyren took a slow step closer to her. Even without words she recognized it as a threatening movement, one designed to remind her of the difference in their power. His eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Do we keep secrets between us now?" he asked softly. "These are dangerous times, Aira, and you may not believe this, but I am trying to protect you." His tone was low, almost intimate, though Aira had to fight back the urge to scoff at his claim.

"I was attacked," she said steadily. "But I managed to jump out of the carriage with Rymora. The guards killed our attackers, and I survived. They were mercenaries—I have no clue who could have hired them." She kept her gaze locked on his as she spoke, trying to project confidence despite the tremor in her heart.

Zyren shook his head lightly. "Is that why your maid smells like a werewolf?" he asked, and Aira felt her chest tighten. She had assumed that since the lords had not noticed, no one would. She had underestimated him.

"My senses are extremely sharp," Zyren went on, his voice even. "It was difficult even for me to pick up, since she still smells more like an ordinary human without the full stench of the beast. But it is there." He turned from her then, his attention seemingly drifting back to the papers scattered across the table.

Aira, however, could not remain calm. Her eyes fixed on him, waiting for more—an accusation, a demand, anything. But Zyren offered nothing further, his silence deliberate, a wall between them.

"I know your distaste for werewolves," Aira began, forcing her voice to remain steady, "but Rymora is—"

"The law says they should be killed on sight," Zyren interrupted, his words cool and final, cutting off whatever defense she had been about to make. Yet his expression remained composed, almost indifferent, and because Aira knew him so well, she recognized the absence of true anger.

Again the space between them filled with silence. Aira’s mind raced furiously, weighing her options. Then, almost on instinct, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Zyren’s focus stayed on the papers even as she drew nearer, until their bodies were nearly touching. Her heart betrayed her with its quickened pace, thundering harder simply from his nearness. It grew worse when he finally turned his head, his red eyes locking with hers, pinning her where she stood.

On impulse she rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his. Her heart pounded still harder when he responded instantly, meeting her kiss without hesitation. She slid her hands beneath his shirt, her fingers moving down toward the waistband of his trousers, her movements bold, deliberate.

Then she felt it—his fangs scraping her lip, sharp enough to draw a bead of blood. Startled, she instinctively pulled back. His fangs were usually retracted; she had not expected to feel them now.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked, his voice low and unreadable. Aira nodded, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand.

"Your fangs..." she murmured, pointing at his mouth, but before she could finish he lifted her easily, setting her on the edge of the table and pressing her gently back against it, his presence towering over her.