Calla's pov
I glanced at the messenger who'd led me through the Lycan Kingdom's massive stone halls. Gladys's furious stare had followed me out the door. The messenger only shrugged and pushed open a huge, carved wooden door.
"Please." He held the door for me.
I stepped inside. The hall was grand and quiet, lit only by tall, flickering golden lanterns. The messenger left without a sound, sealing the door behind him. The sudden silence was heavy. I paused, wondering why I'd been summoned to such an empty place.
My eyes scanned the vast room. No one was in sight. Just as I started to turn back toward the exit, I noticed a figure standing near the far entrance. Not Apex, but someone just as chilling. The man was huge, dressed in black. He was the silent executioner I'd seen earlier, the one who stepped out of the shadows.
"He's my bodyguard." Avery Apex's voice was low and smooth, coming from behind me.
I swallowed, turning slowly. He stood close—too close. He had changed clothes. The bloody stains were gone, and his long hair was damp, freshly washed. His face was sharp, dangerously beautiful. He looked like a king, yet also like trouble. His nearness sent a flicker of heat through me.
Why did he call me here?
He just stared. No blinking. No shame. Just that intense, fixed gaze I'd come to know. Then, he moved. A slow, deliberate step closer. His hand lifted toward my face. I looked away just before his fingers could touch my cheek. He paused, his hand hovering in the air.
His warm breath fanned across my ear. It smelled sweet, like something between blood and flowers.
"How do I look?"
The question was unexpected. I frowned slightly, blinking at him. He was serious. His expression was intent, waiting.
"Handsome is too small a word," I said truthfully.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. I saw a quick flicker of relief in his eyes before he settled his features.
"I've never looked into a mirror since I was born," he confessed. "My sisters say I'm acceptable. I always thought they were just being kind." He paused, waiting for me to speak.
I stayed quiet, sensing there was more coming.
"Am I your type?"
I froze. His voice was calm, but the question felt sharp, cutting through the silence. He was deadly serious.
I lowered my eyes and shook my head once. "I want peace. A man like you brings danger—envy, rivals. I don't want those things. So, no. You are not my type."
His jaw tensed, but he didn't move back. Instead, he leaned in closer. "Maybe I can change that."
His gaze didn't waver. The air thickened between us, charged with a tension that felt like a quiet promise.
"Is that why you summoned me?" I asked.
He shook his head slowly. "I have a question."
I waited, silent again.
"Are you… immortal?"
The question hit me sideways. "What?" I frowned at him.
He sighed softly and looked down, a small frown creasing his brow. He looked troubled. Then, his hand gently brushed my arm, guiding me toward a stone table. The touch was casual, careful, but firm enough to steal my breath.
In one smooth motion, he lifted me and set me on the table's edge. His hand settled on my waist, steadying me. The touch was unnervingly intimate. He leaned forward, placing his other hand beside my hip for balance, caging me in.
"I have a curse," he said, his voice dropping lower. "When I look into someone's eyes, I see how they will die."
He locked his gaze with mine again.
"But when I stare at you, I see nothing."
My heart skipped. This was his curse? One of them? Suddenly, everything clicked—why he often kept his eyes down, why he always stared at me for so long, searching for something that wasn't there.
His eyes now were steady, soft. I found myself staring back, noticing how beautiful they actually were.
I swallowed hard. Was he only drawn to me because I was unreadable? I tried to pull my gaze away, but my eyes caught the silver rings threaded into his dark hair. I inhaled slowly, trembling slightly under the weight of his stare.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the space near my neck. I stiffened.
"A Lycan King shouldn't bother with a mere werewolf," I whispered. "Your father wouldn't be proud of this."
He paused. Then he pulled back, meeting my eyes with a dangerous softness.
"Mere werewolf? Calla Ashmere?"
My breath stilled, eyes wide. "How did… how—"
"You told me. That night. You dropped your parents' remains."
I searched my head, but there was no such memory. "I can't—"
"You were crying outside, and when I asked, you told me everything."
I went quiet. He shrugged. "How about a proposal?"
I didn't have any substantial words.
"Be by my side," he said, "until I become the kind of man you'd actually want."
The world felt still. Did he just… ask me to stay with him?
"I don't…"
"Think about it," he interrupted gently. "And while you do, keep this in mind—no man touches you. I'd go berserk."
I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat.
"That's a threat, Your Majesty."
He shook his head slowly. His voice came out like a sheet of steel. "No. It's not a threat. It's a promise."
Just then, the grand door opened. A young man entered, bowed low, and spoke. "Sire, it is time for rest."
Time for him to return to the Obsidian Keep. A curfew, almost.
Apex's eyes never left mine, and a look of deep regret shadowed his sharp features when he heard the messenger. He then helped me down from the table, his hands lingering at my waist a moment longer than necessary.
"You look like a smart woman," he murmured. "And I like that. A woman like you will make the right decision."