CHAPTER 66: THREE X

Rymora didn’t hesitate to give the order for the carriage to take her straight to Lord Drehk’s villa, which was situated quite some distance from the castle. She didn’t bother questioning the command—just gave it, fast and clean. Whatever Lord Drehk wanted, it clearly couldn’t wait, and there was no benefit in delaying, even if the sudden summons grated on her nerves.

The carriage ride was slow, creeping along the uneven road like it had all the time in the world. Inside, the silence was absolute. Rymora sat alone as the sole passenger, wrapped in her thick traveling cloak, the cold wood of the seat pressing against her back. Yet it wasn’t the chill that kept her tense. Her thoughts wouldn’t stop circling.

Why had he called her like this?

She had already agreed to work for him. There was no need to summon her in person—he could’ve just sent instructions. He didn’t need to see her. The fact that he had still called for her, with no explanation, infuriated her, no matter how carefully she tried to maintain a calm exterior.

It didn’t help that tomorrow was the day she was supposed to show up in the central city and report everything she had discovered. The timing couldn’t be worse. Every delay, every detour, pulled her farther away from her objective—and stirred up her unease even more.

By the time the carriage came to a halt in front of Lord Drehk’s estate, her nerves were frayed. Her heartbeat was no longer steady. Still, she composed herself and stepped down once she’d paid the driver.

Waiting at the top of the steps, as expected, was the butler. His uniform was tailored so sharply that even the folds in the cloth looked stern. His red eyes locked on her with a look of polite disinterest that barely concealed a deeper annoyance—one that might have flared into open disdain if not for the tight leash of professionalism he wore like a second skin.

He said nothing. He merely turned and led her through familiar hallways. She knew this path; she had been here before. She recognized the door long before they reached it, unsurprised when he knocked crisply, waited the briefest second after hearing permission, and then stepped aside to usher her in—without entering himself.

A lump rose in Rymora’s throat as she stood at the threshold. Swallowing hard, she took a breath and stepped inside, her knees buckling to the floor the moment she crossed into the room. She fell forward into a deep bow, lowering her gaze and waiting for him to speak. The silence was oppressive, but she endured it, hiding the growing fury in her chest as best she could.

She heard the sound of footsteps moving across the carpeted floor—measured, deliberate. A shadow fell over her, and to her dismay, she realized he was standing directly in front of her. And then he crouched.

She clenched her jaw.

Lord Drehk lowered himself to her eye level, something about the move deeply unsettling. She didn’t want to look up—but her curiosity got the better of her. Slowly, Rymora raised her gaze, and the instant her eyes met his, she regretted it.

His red eyes bored into her with a sharpness that felt more like a blade than a gaze. His expression was unreadable, cruel even, the planes of his face shadowed and intense. His skin was deeply tanned—almost dark—and up close, the size of him was overwhelming. Apart from Zyren, Lord Drehk was the tallest of the lords. But his build was far broader, his muscles straining beneath his dark clothes.

Standing above her, he made her feel small—not like a woman before a man, but like prey under the eyes of a predator who hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Then, without a word, a piece of paper and an inked pen were dropped beside her on the ground.

"Your mistress wants to kill the king?" he asked, voice low but piercing. "Why?"

There was no hesitation in Rymora as she grabbed the paper and began to scribble. Her fingers moved swiftly, her conscience barely twitching. She didn’t feel guilt. She was a spy. Her moral line had been crossed long ago, and she knew better than to hesitate now.

"He killed her father and brother," she wrote plainly, stating what Aora had told her directly. She paused, her eyes flicking up to Lord Drehk’s face, waiting for more questions. This couldn’t possibly be the only reason he had called her. It was too simple.

"Do you think she’ll try again?" he asked next, his voice calm—but laced with something heavier beneath the surface.

For a split second, Rymora’s instinct was to nod and answer honestly. But she quickly changed her mind. She shook her head instead and scrawled across the paper:

"She won’t. She’s learned her lesson."

It wasn’t necessarily true. But Rymora didn’t owe him honesty. She had no loyalty to the man standing over her. Why answer faithfully when there was no benefit?

"You’re not lying to me," he said sharply, his tone turning fierce in a heartbeat.

Rymora flinched just enough to show fear. She let her hand tremble as she shook her head in denial—though, inside, she couldn’t care less. His threats didn’t scare her. She had been through worse. Still, she knew how to act, how to play the part he expected.

But she was still bracing for him to continue with the questioning, perhaps dismiss her—when instead, she felt him rise to his full height. His towering presence loomed over her again as he turned, moving to lean casually against the table.

The next words he spoke were completely unexpected.

"You’re not a noble."

Rymora froze. Her breath caught. Her heart skipped a beat and then resumed, pounding twice as hard in her chest.

"I checked," he continued, voice brimming with certainty. "With your face and description—no one that looks like you is connected to any noble house. Which means you’re a commoner."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"This makes me wonder what you’re actually hiding—for you to make me think otherwise."

Rymora’s jaw clenched. Her entire body tensed. The insult was deliberate. Her anger, which she had worked so hard to keep buried, finally flared.

She raised her head, glaring at him with open defiance. The cold fire in her eyes was unmistakable. She picked up the paper from the floor and furiously scribbled:

"We had an agreement. I can’t think of a reason why my background would matter to you."

"It doesn’t," Lord Drehk replied instantly, barely glancing at the page. "But how am I supposed to trust you’ll work well for me if I don’t have leverage over you?"

His eyes bored into her again, darker this time.

"You mentioned a lover. Where is he?"

Rymora snapped.

Whatever restraint she had left vanished. Her mind raced with disgust. No one asked questions like that unless they wanted more than obedience. She saw through him instantly. If he wanted to make her life difficult, there was a reason—and it wasn’t about her loyalty.

She grabbed the paper again, this time writing slowly, deliberately, with sharp, angry strokes.

"If you want to sleep with me, all you have to do is say it."

She met his eyes as she showed him the message, her expression hard and defiant. Lord Drehk, still leaning against the table, folded his arms across his broad chest and stared back at her. His face was mostly unreadable—but a flicker of surprise passed through his eyes. She was sure he was faking it.

Everyone says he doesn’t like women, she thought bitterly. But here he is, doing the opposite.

Still fuming, she bent again and scribbled more onto the paper, this time in a quieter, more subdued tone:

"I can sleep with you until you’re tired of me. And we might as well cancel the agreement."

She knew vampires couldn’t impregnate werewolves. There was no risk. Once would be enough for him to lose interest—just like her lover had.

She still remembered that night vividly.

’You’re feeling pain because you’re too tight! Loosen up for me!’ he had complained.

She had gritted her teeth through the pain, swallowing every cry, forcing herself to endure it in silence. He had finished quickly and she had to beg him the next day to forgive her promising to do better.

He’ll get tired... and—

Her thoughts were still spiraling when she noticed the shift in Lord Drehk’s expression. His face darkened. His brow furrowed, and his hands gripped the edge of the table tightly—knuckles white, like he was fighting something inside himself.

Then, without warning, he beckoned her forward.

Rymora didn’t hesitate. She had already committed herself. She moved closer, ready to lie flat on the cold floor and let him do what he wanted, remain perfectly still like she was supposed to.

But just as she knelt again, ready to lower herself, his voice cut through the room.

"Please me then."

He gestured to his lower body.

For a full moment, Rymora sat in stunned silence, completely caught off guard. She didn’t understand what he meant—until she watched him begin to undo the buttons of his trousers, the movements brisk, slightly impatient.

His gaze locked on her with an intensity that made everything else disappear. He didn’t need to explain. She understood exactly what he wanted.

Her eyes widened. She was still frozen in shock. This was something she had never done before. She didn’t know what was expected of her—but she moved forward anyway, trembling slightly as she reached for his trousers.

She undid them with careful fingers... and then she saw it.

Her breath hitched.

What lay beneath was more than three times what she had seen in her lover.