Alastor's POV:
"The prince went to her cottage and fell in love at first sight with the child. He asked the dwarfs to let him take her, and of course, they couldn't refuse the prince. So, dejectedly, they accepted…."
"Then?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
It was amusing how she had become so engrossed in the story that she had momentarily forgotten her own question—the one I wasn't quite ready to answer.
Because, quite frankly, I didn't know how to.
The previous sacrifices had been sent away, hidden in forests near the ports before they could be discovered. But the thought of doing the same with her—it stirred something unsettling inside me.
A strange, unfamiliar fury.
I didn't want her to leave. I had already realized that much. But this feeling… this possessiveness… it was something I had never encountered before. Was this what they called fated mates? Was that why, in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, I had heard the voice in my mind whisper that she was mine?
As we stepped into the massive dining hall, I answered her question, my voice even. "Well… as he carried the coffin out, he stumbled. The impact dislodged the poisoned apple from Snow White's throat."
She was quiet for a moment before she asked, "And then she woke up?"
I nodded. "And then they got married."
"Oh…" There was a distinct disappointment in her tone, as if the conclusion had not met her expectations.
That made me smirk. Dragging out the chair next to mine, I settled her down gently before taking my own seat. "Don't fret. Our story is far more interesting than that grim fairy tale."
"O-our story?" she stammered, and her reaction was almost endearing.
I chuckled, choosing not to answer. Watching her blush was far too entertaining. Her pale neck turned pink, and for a brief moment, my eyes traced over the skin where my bite had been. The marks had already vanished, thanks to the rapid healing properties of a lycan's saliva.
The door creaked open, and Xavier entered, carrying a tray of food. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, his features chiseled. Contrary to what many believed, gargoyles—though deemed lesser than wolves and other supernatural creatures—were not grotesque monsters. In fact, their beauty often rivaled that of elves and vampires. They were simply larger, built like wolves and Lycans.
Xavier placed the tray on the table, revealing steaming bowls of rice, lentils, and some form of grilled chicken.
"Do we not have red meat?" I asked, noting the absence of the usual dishes.
"We'll need to go hunting soon," Xavier replied smoothly. "This is what's available for now."
I barely acknowledged his words, my attention shifting when I noticed her reach for the bowl with her bare hands. Instinctively, my hand shot out, wrapping around hers before she could burn herself.
"Careful," I murmured, my voice harsher than I intended. "It's hot… take this."
I handed her a spoon. She hesitated before grasping it, her fingers curling awkwardly around the handle. I watched her for a beat, noticing the slight tension in her posture.
"How do you usually eat with your eyes covered?" I asked, genuinely curious.
She hesitated before answering, "I… eat bread by hand. Sometimes rice, too. But I don't use a spoon much… I always end up dropping food." There was a tinge of embarrassment in her tone, as if she thought I would mock her for it.
The thought of her fumbling, struggling to eat in silence, made something inside me tighten.
Without thinking, I reached over and plucked the spoon from her fingers. "Then don't touch it," I said simply. "I'll feed you myself."
Her head snapped up, her lips parting slightly. "But… what about you?"
I smiled. "My stomach is quite full after the warm meal I just had…" I trailed off deliberately, watching as realization dawned on her face.
Her mouth dropped open. "B-but that was—"
"I'll still eat," I assured her. "Don't worry. I need it for nutrition, though regular food isn't particularly appetizing to me."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she allowed me to feed her, opening her mouth each time I brought the spoon to her lips. At first, she was stiff, uncertain, but soon, she ate properly, her cheeks growing full—like a chipmunk.
I had to resist the urge to poke at them.
Instead, I busied myself with contemplation. What was I to do with her? I didn't want her to leave. That much was clear. Even if I did, how would she survive, blindfolded like this?
And then there was the matter of the mark. She believed I had already claimed her, that we were bound together. Would she willingly leave a mate she thought she belonged to?
She had kissed me first. She had woken me first.
Wasn't it only right that I claimed her as mine?
Once the meal was finished, Xavier retrieved the tray, and this time, she didn't argue when I lifted her into my arms again. I carried her through the corridors, back to the room, my hold on her firm yet careful.
Upon entering, I set her down gently onto the bed. She remained still, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress as if unsure what to do next. I studied her for a moment before turning to the door.
"Zachary," I called.
He was already waiting outside.
"Get me something comfortable for her to wear."
He nodded before disappearing down the hall.
When I turned back, I found her sitting rigidly, her fingers curling and uncurling into fists. Her lips parted, but for once, she spoke before I could.
"Are you going to… drink my blood now?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, laced with unease. Yet, she didn't recoil. She didn't tremble.
Instead, she waited.
I tilted my head, my lips curling into a slow smirk. "Do you want me to?"
Her reaction was immediate—her face turned a deeper shade of crimson, and she jerked her head to the side.
"That's not what I meant," she muttered quickly, almost too quickly.
I chuckled as I watched her try to hide her embarrassment.
Yes.
She was mine.
And I had no intention of letting her go.