Draven's pov
The office was dead quiet, save for the low ticking of the grandfather clock by the bookshelf. I sat behind the wide oak desk, my hands steepled beneath my chin, my eyes fixed on the darkened window. I wasn't looking at anything in particular,just the reflection of a man who was no longer sure if he was the predator or the prey.
Eira's voice still echoed in my ears. Cold. Sharp. Commanding.
"Eat it."
Two words. That was all it took to bring an entire room to its knees.
Even now, I saw the way the maid's face had crumbled. The tremble in her hands. The way her eyes darted from me to the guards to the untouched tray of food. The desperate denial in her voice as she stammered, "I would never!"
But Eira hadn't flinched. Not even for a second. Her face was unreadable,like stone carved by centuries of war. There was something ancient in her gaze. Something that demanded blood.
