The soft click of computer keys echoed through the dimly lit study, only disturbed by the occasional low mutter from Cassian, who sat hunched over the sleek black monitor. Xavriel stood behind him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body drawn tight with a silent tension.
The screen displayed reams of decrypted data—pulled directly from Lord Azrel's encrypted phone. It hadn't been easy, even for Cassian, who was arguably one of the best hackers the Vampire Royal Court had ever employed. But what they had found in the past hour... it unsettled even Xavriel's steel-bound composure.
"Three days before the kidnapping," Cassian said grimly, highlighting a series of calls. "Your girl's father made multiple calls to the same unknown number. No records on who it belongs to. No call history before that week. Then, boom—sudden flurry of calls."
Xavriel said nothing, only leaned closer to the screen, his silver eyes reflecting the cold, blue light. His expression was unreadable — a masterful blankness that few could maintain under such heavy revelation.
Cassian, sensing the storm brewing beneath his prince's silence, cleared his throat carefully. "Should we tell her?"
For a long moment, the only answer was the low humming of the computer. Then, Xavriel straightened, fixing his dark jacket with an absent tug.
"No," he said at last, his voice cool and measured. "Not yet."
Cassian arched a brow, surprised. "You sure? She deserves to know, boss."
Xavriel's mouth twisted in a small, humorless smile. "I won't burden her with suspicions. Not until we have proof that will crush any hope of denial. She's already... dealing with enough."
There was a flicker of something raw in his tone, quickly buried. Cassian caught it but wisely said nothing.
Instead, he simply nodded. "I'll keep digging."
Without another word, Xavriel turned and strode out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality.
---
Hours later, the heavy silence of the castle was broken by the faint creak of the main door.
Xavriel, who had been perched on the velvet armchair near the large window, watching the moonlight stroke the stone floor, tilted his head slightly at the sound.
She was late. Again.
Not as scandalously late as last time, but still... well beyond the curfew he had set.
The soft rustle of her movements echoed in the vast hall before she appeared, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, her cheeks slightly flushed from the cold night air.
His gaze locked onto her immediately.
Zhera.
Small, defiant, stubborn Zhera.
She dropped her bag at the side, stretching her arms lazily as if she hadn't a care in the world. The casual attitude grated on Xavriel's fraying patience.
"Curfew was an hour ago," he said, voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade.
Zhera froze for half a second, then straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her jacket. "I'm earlier than last time," she said defensively, her chin tilting up stubbornly.
Xavriel stood, his movements unhurried yet carrying the lethal grace that only someone of his kind could possess.
He crossed the distance between them in a few strides, stopping mere inches away.
Too close.
The heat between them tightened the air.
"You seem determined to test my patience," he said softly, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice, like a dark ribbon threading through the words.
"I'm fully capable of protecting myself," she shot back, folding her arms across her chest, her golden eyes flashing.
Xavriel's expression shifted subtly — something between amusement and disbelief. His lips quirked into a smirk, the kind that revealed the faintest glimpse of a dimple on his right cheek.
It was unfair how he looked — devastatingly, sinfully unfair.
Under the dim light, his features seemed almost carved from some ancient, dark marble; High, sharply cut cheekbones. A strong, defined jawline dusted with the faintest shadow of stubble. Full lips that curved into smirks far too easily. A straight nose that gave him a regal, untouchable air. Thick, raven-black hair that curled slightly at the nape, tousled but somehow elegant. Piercing silver eyes that seemed almost molten in the dim light — ancient, calculating, unreadable.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, yet carried himself with the kind of lethal, fluid grace that marked him as a predator. His skin was pale, but not sickly—rather, it had the sheen of polished moonlight, smooth and flawless.
Altogether, Xavriel was the kind of man whose beauty didn't just catch the eye — it consumed you.
He wasn't pretty.
He was dangerous, magnetic, and impossibly, brutally handsome.
Zhera, despite herself, found her breath hitching for a split second.
Until he spoke again.
"Until you prove it," Xavriel murmured, tilting his head with mock thoughtfulness, "you're not going anywhere, princess."
Her mouth parted slightly, indignant. "Prove it? How exactly do you want me to—"
He interrupted smoothly, "We'll be having a little... combat training session."
Her eyes gleamed at the challenge. "I can't wait to take you down," she said sweetly, though there was a steel beneath her tone.
Xavriel chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating between them. His smirk widened, that damned dimple deepening, making him look almost boyish — almost.
But his eyes...
Those eyes remained cool and unreadable.
"Dream on, princess," he murmured, his voice dropping into something that brushed against her skin like velvet.
Zhera only then realized how dangerously close they were. She could see the faint shadows beneath his lashes, the fine lines at the corner of his eyes from smirks that were almost never truly genuine.
And God — he smelled good.
Dark, masculine, faint hints of sandalwood and something richer, more intoxicating — uniquely him.
Her heart thudded painfully loud in her chest.
For a frozen moment, she simply stared up at him, caught in the impossible magnetism of him.
The realization hit her hard.
She was dazed.
Embarrassed, she tore her gaze away, spinning on her heel. "Whatever," she muttered, cheeks flaming.
Behind her, she heard his soft, thoroughly amused chuckle, like a velvet rope wrapping around her throat and tugging tight.
She didn't look back.
If she did, she was certain she'd see that damn smirk — and she wasn't sure if she'd punch it off his face or kiss it.
---
Hidden in the dim hallway, Xavriel leaned casually against the wall, watching her disappear down the corridor, his arms folded loosely.
The amusement lingered in his eyes but something else stirred beneath it — something heavier.
Zhera wasn't as invincible as she pretended to be.
He knew she thought she was strong. Knew she wanted to be.
But the world they lived in wasn't kind.
And neither were the enemies moving like shadows in the dark corners of the kingdoms.
He wasn't trying to control her.
He was trying to keep her alive.
Because if anything ever happened to her...
If someone touched even a hair on her stubborn little head...
Xavriel's jaw tightened, the thought leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
No.
He wouldn't allow it.
Even if she hated him for it, even if she fought him every step of the way — he would protect her.
Whether she wanted it or not.
But then he remembered, the last time she was late, he warned her that she'll be punished the next time. His lips curved into a devilish smirk as he thought of the idea.
---
Dinner ended quietly, almost deceptively so. Zhera had just pushed back her chair and was gathering the last of the plates when Xavriel's voice, low and disturbingly casual, cut through the air.
"You do realize you're overdue for your punishment, Princess."
Zhera froze with a plate in her hand, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You're seriously bringing that up?" she scoffed, glaring at him over her shoulder. "That's ridiculous. I wasn't that late."
Xavriel merely shrugged, a dangerous gleam flickering in his silver eyes as he sauntered toward her. "Rules are rules," he murmured, each word dripping with ominous amusement.
Before Zhera could register what was happening, he closed the distance between them, scooping her effortlessly into his arms. She let out a shocked squeak, her legs kicking uselessly in the air.
"Put me down, you jerk!" she snapped, her fists thudding against his chest.
He didn't even flinch. Calmly, like she weighed nothing at all, he carried her to the velvet couch in the living room and dropped down, arranging her unceremoniously across his lap.
Zhera realized the... compromising position she was in — sprawled facedown over his thighs, her backside perfectly positioned — and her cheeks burned scarlet. She squirmed instinctively, trying to slide off, but Xavriel was faster. One strong hand pressed down between her shoulder blades, pinning her in place.
"Don't fight it," he said, his voice deceptively lazy. "You earned this."
Before she could bark out another protest, his hand came down — a firm, measured smack against her backside.
Zhera gasped, stiffening in shock. The sensation wasn't entirely painful. It was... sharp. Hot. Embarrassingly thrilling. A soft, involuntary sound — almost a moan — slipped past her lips before she could clamp her mouth shut.
Xavriel stilled. She could feel the sudden tension coiling in him like a wire pulled taut. His hand hovered for a moment above her before another measured slap landed, slightly harder this time.
Another strangled sound escaped her, and to her horror, she realized something else: the firm press of his body beneath hers was... changing.
Her stomach brushed something hard beneath the fabric of his trousers — something that definitely wasn't there a few minutes ago. Her face flamed hotter.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Dirty thoughts, wild and unwanted, flooded her mind — thoughts of him gripping her tighter, of him doing more than just spanking—
Xavriel's breathing turned shallow, and she could feel the rapid thud of his heart against her side. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, both acutely aware of the thick, electric charge sizzling in the air between them.
Abruptly, Xavriel shoved her off his lap, standing up so quickly it made her dizzy. He turned his back to her, raking a hand through his disheveled black hair, his broad shoulders visibly tense under his white shirt.
"You're lucky I'm merciful," he said roughly, voice a little hoarse. "Next time you're late... it won't just be a spanking."
His words dropped into the air like a stone sinking into water — heavy, loaded, impossible to ignore.
Zhera sat there frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs, her skin prickling with heat. She wrapped her arms around herself, glaring furiously at the floor even as the phantom sensation of his hand lingered.
Without glancing back, Xavriel strode out of the room and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking sharply behind him.
Inside, he braced both hands against the sink, glaring at his reflection. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. His silver eyes, normally cold and composed, were stormy with frustration.
Pathetic, he thought viciously. One soft little princess — infuriating, stubborn, reckless — and he was coming undone like some hormonal teenager.
He hissed under his breath, yanking open the faucet and splashing cold water onto his face. It did little to douse the fire raging beneath his skin.
His mind kept replaying it — the sound of her soft gasp, the way her body had tensed and shivered under his touch, the heated flush of her skin, the wide, stunned look in her golden eyes when she'd felt exactly how much he wanted her.
Growling under his breath, he gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to maintain control, to keep her at arm's length until he figured out what exactly she was hiding — if she was hiding anything at all. Yet here he was, barely able to think straight.
Get a grip, he ordered himself.
After a long moment, he exhaled, cold and furious at himself. But still — the lingering ache between his legs refused to be ignored.
Muttering a curse, Xavriel shoved his trousers down and gripped himself tightly, his mind flashing unbidden to Zhera's flushed cheeks, the way her body had felt against his lap. He worked himself roughly, punishingly fast, trying to drive her image from his mind.
It didn't work. When he finally came, muffling his groan against his arm, her name was a silent ghost in his mind.
Panting, he cleaned up quickly, glaring at his reflection like it was his worst enemy.
Never again, he told himself.
But a tiny, treacherous voice whispered in the back of his mind —
You're already lost.
Meanwhile,
Zhera sat frozen on the couch long after Xavriel disappeared into the bathroom, her heart still hammering wildly in her chest. Her skin tingled where his hands had touched her, her mind a chaotic mess of confusion, anger... and something far more dangerous. Shaking her head hard, she gathered herself, vowing to push every humiliating thought far, far away. Tomorrow would be different. She would show him — show herself — that she was stronger than this tangled, burning pull between them.
Tomorrow, everything would change.