A pensive expression instantly appeared on King Jared’s face even as he pushed himself to his feet. The movent was slow, deliberate, as though his body obeyed out of habit while his mind lagged behind, chewing on the weight of what he had just heard.
He wasn’t the only one struggling to process it.
Clara sat stiffly, her brows knitting together as she wondered how such a critical piece of information had slipped past all of them for so long. It felt like a failure—hers included.
"They are alive?" Jared asked again, his voice low, edged with disbelief as he turned back to Falson for confirmation.
Falson nodded imdiately, his grim expression deepening. "Alive," he said firmly. "His mother and his elder brother. They’re skin and bones, Your Majesty, but once they’re fed blood, I see no reason why we can’t use them."
Clara’s lips pressed into a thin line.
"The elder brother has strong shadow abilities," Falson continued, growing more animated. "Abilities similar to the forr king’s. He’ll be useful."
As he spoke, Clara slowly sat up straighter, ignoring the dull ache between her legs that was beginning to fade but had not disappeared entirely. Pain—or discomfort—had beco sothing she had learned to endure in silence.
"...You’re assuming his ntal state would be intact," she cut in sharply. "They’ve been locked away for decades."
Her voice was calm, but there was a bite beneath it.
All of them still appeared young, frozen in ti by supernatural longevity, yet their real ages far exceeded what their faces suggested. Vampires lived long lives—sotis endlessly—but werewolves weren’t bound by the sa limitations as humans either. Ti left its scars differently on each species, and imprisonnt twisted the mind faster than age ever could.
"He could attack us," Clara added, turning her gaze fully on Falson now.
Falson shook his head at once. "He’d want revenge against Zyren. Only a fool would turn on us in that situation."
"...And what if he is a fool?" Clara pressed, irritation seeping through despite herself. She hated the circumstances. Hated that they were dragging an unknown, volatile factor into an already unstable situation. "What if decades of isolation broke him?"
"I do not think—" Falson began.
"Shut up!"
King Jared’s sharp groan cut through the room like a blade. Falson imdiately snapped his mouth shut, his jaw tightening as he cast Clara a frustrated glance. It was all he dared to do.
Jared was alpha. Everyone knew it. And usually, he wouldn’t even bother considering Clara’s opinion. The lack of regard had never been subtle. But when he had entered the room earlier and caught the unmistakable scent of sex lingering thickly in the air, sothing had shifted.
She’s not stupid. Neither am I, he had thought then.
Now, he focused on her again, studying her as though reassessing a piece on a board.
His chest was bare, muscles still tense beneath skin marked faintly by old scars. A sheet was wrapped loosely around his waist as he paced the length of the massive, luxurious room they had paid handsoly for. The stump where his arm should have been was stark and unmistakable, but it did nothing to diminish the authority in his presence.
Despite the loss, his face remained vibrant, commanding. Handso. His light-gold eyes glead with a sharp intelligence as he finally spoke.
"I don’t think we should dismiss it," Jared said. "If they can be used, then we should use them."
He was referring to Zyren’s family, and Clara frowned deeply.
"...Let’s not forget how dangerous the previous king and his family were," she said, feeling compelled to remind them. "Not to ntion unstable. They cared about no one but themselves."
"They were maniacs," she added flatly.
Jared nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face—one that made Clara’s unease spike.
"Yes," he agreed. "But maybe a bit of madness is exactly what we need."
The smile widened as he nodded to himself, clearly enjoying the thought. He turned then to Falson.
"Make a plan," Jared ordered. "We’ll rescue them after we make contact with Lady Aira and determine where she stands."
Falson bowed deeply. "Yes, Alpha."
He briefly considered ntioning that finding Liora—Aira’s sister—would guarantee Aira’s cooperation. But he discarded the thought just as quickly. The vampires were already searching for her in large numbers. If they hadn’t found her yet, there was nothing Falson’s limited forces could do.
After bowing again, Falson turned and exited the room, Gregory following close behind. The door shut softly behind them, leaving the space thick with tension.
Clara remained seated, her expression colder now as she watched Jared turn toward her with a smug look on his face.
Most likely still savoring their earlier struggle in bed—sothing he had clearly enjoyed far more than she had.
"Do you really think dragging his relatives out of prison is a good idea?" she asked.
Jared shrugged, an easy, careless gesture. "As long as it causes more trouble for him than it does for us."
"If I could rge myself with the Zygons just to destroy him," he added, his eyes darkening with hatred, "I wouldn’t hesitate."
Clara didn’t doubt him for a second.
Slowly, she rose to her feet and headed for the door, relieved that Falson’s presence earlier had prevented Jared from doing worse. She reached for the handle—
"You won’t get pregnant."
His voice stopped her cold.
The words grated against every nerve in her body.
She turned slowly, frowning. He sounded certain. Too certain.
He had finished inside her. Even if he hadn’t rutted, there was still a chance. She could be fertile.
But the look on his face as he t her gaze was nothing short of cruel.
"You may leave," he ordered.
Clara didn’t hesitate. She closed the door behind her, forcing herself to believe he had only said it to frighten her.
Yet his words followed her down the corridor, sinking deeper with every step.
They only made her hate him more.
If you die, she decided bitterly, I’ll let another wolf impregnate instead.
"I guess I’m done being a good wife," she muttered under her breath as she headed back to her room.
And for the first ti since the night began, the thought brought her a grim sense of resolve.
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