She was right.
It wasn't a risk worth taking. If he allowed his emotions to control him, he would only be doing more harm than good—not just to her, but to himself as well. The thought weighed on him as he forced himself to release her.
His grip loosened reluctantly, and he stepped back, though the tension in his body remained intense.
Her hand shot to her neck, fingers brushing over the fresh bruises left by his grasp. A strained cough escaped her lips as she straightened, eyes narrowed with defiance despite the pain.
"If you want my help," she began, her voice sharp but unsteady, "Then you're going to have to prove you deserve it." She inhaled deeply, her gaze locking onto his with unwavering determination. "If you expect me to help you find the shaman, you need to stop threatening me and start acting like you value my assistance."
His expression darkened, frustration evident in the way his jaw tightened. "And if you had kept your word—if you had come to find me like you promised—then I wouldn't have had to resort to violence," he retorted sharply, his voice laced with accusation. His anger lingered, simmering beneath the surface, but it was clear her words had struck a chord.
Leila held his gaze, her brows furrowed in a mixture of anger and something else—perhaps guilt or lingering fear.
"I didn't come because I was scared," she admitted after a tense pause. Her tone softened slightly, but there was a bitter edge to it. "I was terrified you'd actually kill me, and that maybe… maybe the only reason you didn't finish me off before was because you pitied me." Her voice faltered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, refusing to appear weak before him. "You've proven you're capable of anything when it comes to getting what you want."
He let her words hang in the air, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, though it was clear her explanation didn't completely satisfy him.
"Perhaps," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "But you weren't wrong about one thing—your blood is indeed remarkable." His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his thoughts seemed to drift elsewhere. "When I drank it," he continued, his tone almost reverent, "I felt strength like I've never known. Power coursed through my veins, and for the first time, the curse… it was suppressed. Completely. For an entire day."
Leila stiffened at his words, the color draining from her face as realization dawned on her. He had taken her blood—her mother's warnings ringing loudly in her ears. She had been cautioned time and time again, forbidden from letting anyone taste even a drop of her blood, no matter the situation.
'Humans are greedy creatures,' her mother's voice echoed in her mind, 'and the kind of power your blood holds will only fuel their greed. They will take, and take, until there is nothing left to give.'
Her heart pounded as she stared at him, her unease growing with each passing second. She didn't need to hear more to know her mother had been right. The hunger in his eyes confirmed it. He had tasted her power, and now there was no guarantee he wouldn't seek more.
"So, what are you going to do?" Leila demanded, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.
He regarded her with an air of cold arrogance, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "I will ask that you give me your blood. Just occasionally," he said, his tone imperious, as though he were granting her some grand privilege. "It's quite an honor, isn't it? For a man like me to request something from someone like you."
Leila bristled at his words, irritation flashing in her eyes.
"No," she snapped, her voice firm. "I don't want to give you my blood." Her chest heaved with restrained anger as she glared at him.
His pompous attitude grated on her nerves, his complete lack of respect infuriating. He carried himself with the entitlement of a king, yet acted more like a beast.
The air grew thick with tension, and the silence that followed was heavy and menacing. Leila instinctively took a step back, the words the ladies in the red light district usually tells her hovered ominously in her mind: 'Big, strong men don't like to take no for an answer. When they want something, they'll take it.'
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to remain composed.
"What happens if I refuse to give you my blood?" she asked, her voice calm yet tinged with defiance. She squared her shoulders, meeting his piercing gaze head-on. "Are you going to kill me? Because if you do, the curse won't be broken forever. It will only last for a few months at best, and after the powers of my blood is exhausted you will return to your animal skin."
"A few months is more than enough time to achieve what I need," he replied coolly, stretching his hand toward her again. His confidence was unnerving, as though he had already calculated every possible outcome and come out victorious in each scenario.
"You wouldn't dare…"
"I wouldn't?" he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. "You owe me your life. Why would I bother to preserve it if you're no longer useful to me?"
Leila's breath hitched, her confidence faltering as he closed the gap between them. His presence loomed over her, suffocating and oppressive. She swallowed hard, her bravado crumbling under the weight of his intensity.
"You haven't even thanked me properly," he murmured, his tone dark and laced with menace. "For sparing your life."
Leila's heart raced as she realized she had underestimated him.
"But thanks to me, you were able to break your restriction to the forbidden forest," Leila shot back, her voice steady despite the tension crackling between them.
Shahkhur halted mere inches away from her, his gaze boring into hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "That's why I'll pay," he said smoothly, his tone laced with confidence. "I might not look it, but I come from a wealthy family. When the spell is fully broken, I will reward you handsomely, all I ask is that you serve me with total dedication."
Leila blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard. She had expected another threat, another display of his domineering nature. Instead, he was offering her a deal—negotiating rather than demanding.
"And from the looks of it," he continued, his eyes sweeping over her disheveled figure, "you could use the money. You look like someone from a very poor background." His gaze lingered on the remnant of her torn clothing, the faint smell of soap, oil, and alcohol clinging to her. She stiffened under his scrutiny, feeling exposed. "You probably mingle with merchants, maybe even deal in illicit trades. But if you help me, I'll overlook it all. I'll make you rich."
His next words struck like a thunderclap. "One hundred thousand pieces of gold."
Leila's eyes widened in disbelief. The sheer enormity of the sum left her stunned. Her gaze flicked back to him, searching for any sign of deceit. He was unlike anyone she had ever encountered. His strong accent, commanding demeanor, and air of superiority set him apart from the men she interacted with daily.
She couldn't help but question the truth of his claim. Even the wealthiest ministers in the Reza Empire would balk at offering such an exorbitant amount to a stranger. If Shahkhur could promise such a fortune so casually, it meant his resources were vast—perhaps beyond anything she had imagined.
"What is it?" Shahkhur asked, tilting his head slightly. "Is that too little?" His lips curled into a faint smirk, and his tone turned almost mocking. "I'm willing to offer more if that's what it takes."
Leila swallowed hard, her thoughts racing. Was he genuinely this rich, or was this another ploy to manipulate her? Either way, she realized she was treading dangerous waters.
"What?" Leila whispered, her voice barely audible, her mind racing as she tried to piece everything together. If he was offering more without hesitation, then he wasn't bluffing—he was truly wealthy. But there was only one man in the entire empire who could afford to squander hundreds of thousands of gold pieces so casually.
The Shahan Shah of Reza.
"No…" she murmured, her voice uncertain. She glanced away, her thoughts clouded with doubt. "Even if you offered us all the wealth in the world, it wouldn't matter to me—or my family."
"Why?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.
Leila sighed heavily, her troubled expression deepening. If he was pretending to be clueless, then it was better to clear the air before she even considered helping him. "Because we are banished," she admitted, her voice small but steady. The words hung heavily between them, carrying the weight of her family's misfortune.
His brows furrowed, but he said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.
"Helping you will be difficult for me," she continued, her tone tinged with frustration. "I can't move freely like others. Haven't you wondered why I'm always lurking around the forest in the middle of the night? Why you never see me during the day?"
Shahkhur paused, his gaze sharpening as her words sank in. He brought a hand to his jaw, stroking it thoughtfully. The air grew still, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was calculating something, his mind turning over the implications of her confession.
"That's true," Shahkhur replied, just as Leila thought he might finally give up on his desperate attempts. "Then I'll make sure you and your family are pardoned from whatever crimes you've committed."
Leila's nose scrunched in disgust, her frustration bubbling over, all the negative emotions she had been feeling seemed to bubble over and explode. It was clear now—he was grasping at straws, spinning beautiful lies that he could never hope to fulfill.
"And who are you to make such promises?" she snapped, her voice sharp with irritation. She had grown tired of people treating her as if she were naïve or gullible, assuming she would fall for their hollow words. "The only person who could afford to pay over a hundred thousand pieces of gold to a worthless serving girl—and even promise her freedom from a punishment decreed by the Shah—is the Shah himself."
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, her defiance evident in the way she stared him down. Shahkhur's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing slightly at her sudden outburst.
"Are you telling me that you are greater than the Shah?" Leila pressed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "What makes you so confident? What gives you the right to make such careless offers without a second thought?"
His silence stretched for a moment, his gaze locked on hers, unyielding. Then, with a calm but commanding voice, he said, "Since you've asked, I have no reason to keep my identity a secret any longer."
Leila's heart thudded in her chest as he stepped closer, his posture straightening as if to emphasize the weight of his next words.
"I am Sharyar Milad Reza," he declared, his tone regal and unwavering. "The first crowned Prince of the Reza Empire."