"Are you okay?" Arman asked, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced at Leila. Her uncharacteristic quietness unsettled him.
Leila nodded, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. They walked slowly, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Despite her attempt to appear calm, her mind was filled with concern for their mother. She hated leaving her alone, especially when no one else was there to prepare her medication.
"Are you angry?" Arman asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks.
Leila halted as well, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. His question caught her off guard, but his anxious expression quickly drew her into the memory of the day's events. A frown formed, her brows knitting together.
"Of course, I'm angry!" she snapped, her voice rising as she slapped his shoulder. "All of this happened because you dragged me to the village with you. Do you even respect me at all? How could you be so thoughtless?"
Arman flinched under her words, his shoulders slumping.
"I'm sorry…" he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Mother was right, you should have never told me anything about your powers. I didn't even stop to think how it would make you feel when I asked for your blood. I just… asked, like it didn't matter."
"What?" Leila's anger faltered, confusion flashing across her face. His words didn't quite make sense to her.
Arman's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he continued. "I forced you to save my friend, Leila. And now… now that I'm thinking about it, I realize how selfish I've been. Taking too much of your blood could…" He hesitated, his voice cracking. "It could make you like Mom. Weak. Sick. I didn't care about that—I only cared about getting what I wanted."
The weight of his words sank in, and Leila felt her chest tighten. It wasn't anger that consumed him now—it was guilt.
"There's no difference between me and the Shah," Arman said bitterly, his voice thick with emotion. "I used your powers for my gain. I blackmailed you, just like he would."
"No," Leila whispered, stepping closer. Her anger had dissolved, replaced by a surge of empathy. "That's not true, Arman." She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a firm embrace. "You are nothing like the Shah. If you were, you wouldn't care. You wouldn't feel guilty, and you wouldn't be crying right now."
"I did what I did because I wanted to help your friend," Leila said, her voice steady but edged with weariness.
Arman's guilt seemed to deepen, and he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration directed at himself. "But I didn't think about how my selfishness could have endangered you," he muttered, his tone heavy with regret.
"You're right," Leila said, meeting his eyes. "If it were you in place of your friend, I wouldn't care about the crowd or the Shah. I would always save you first. Every single time." She stepped closer, rubbing his back soothingly. "But don't cry, Arman. I can't bear to see you like this."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling. "For taking you to the village without asking, for putting you in danger. I was only trying to protect you, but I went about it all wrong."
Though a flicker of anger still burned within her, Leila softened her tone. "You can't protect me by making decisions for me, Arman. That's not how this works."
He nodded, his gaze falling to the ground.
"And tell me this," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "Why do you think joining the Crown Prince's harem would make me happy?"
Arman stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes.
Leila sighed inwardly. She knew why he thought it was the best choice. The prince's offer was enticing—pardon for their crimes and protection from the Shah's wrath in exchange for her agreeing to become his wife.
"If you're truly sorry," she said after a pause, her voice firm, "then promise me this—you'll never try to force me into anything again. Do you understand?"
Arman looked up at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I promise," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
A faint smile curved Leila's lips. She reached for his arm, holding it tightly as they walked side by side. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of their bond, the simple comfort of knowing they still had each other despite everything.
Leila's body was screaming for rest. Every muscle ached from the relentless running and fighting, and her thoughts were clouded by exhaustion. All she wanted was to slip into a warm bath and let the world fade away for a little while.
But just as they neared their home, Arman stopped abruptly, his hand clutching her arm.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing toward the house. His voice was sharp with alarm.
Leila followed his gaze, and her heart sank. The talisman that Arman had hung above the entrance was destroyed, The frontage of their house lay in ruins—splintered wood and scattered debris littered the ground.
"Mother!" Leila screamed, her voice echoing, as she bolted toward the house. Her feet barely touched the ground, moving with desperate urgency.
"Leila, wait!" Arman called after her, his voice laced with panic. He chased her, his legs burning with effort, but she was too fast. He cursed under his breath. She always had a reckless streak, but this was beyond reason.
Arman's chest tightened as he thought about the talisman. For eighteen years, it had stood as their shield, its magic impenetrable, even by lower-tier demons. Whatever—or whoever—had destroyed it had to be something terrifying. A top-tier demon. Perhaps even something close to the mythical dragons of old, beings said to rival gods in power. And yet dragons didn't exist… or so everyone believed.
"Leila!" he shouted again, his voice bitter with frustration. "We can't go inside! Whatever's in there—it would've killed Mother already!"
But Leila didn't stop. She couldn't. Her mind raced with frantic prayers to the goddess, pleading for her mother's safety. Please, don't take her too. Not her. Not again.
Ignoring her brother's warnings, Leila barreled through the ruins of the house, heading straight for her mother's quarters. The world blurred around her as she moved, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The sharp smell of burned wood and ash filled her nostrils, but she paid it no mind.
Finally, she reached her mother's room. Her heart pounded violently as she stood at the threshold, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space.
There, on the bed, lay her mother, seemingly untouched, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Relief surged through Leila, but it was short-lived.
She wasn't alone.
A man stood by the bed, his back to the door. He was tall—easily over six feet—and clothed in tattered, ragged garments. His shoulders were broad, his posture eerily still, as though he were carved from stone. The dim light from the cracked lantern illuminated strands of his dark, matted hair.
Leila froze, her breath catching in her throat. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, and she strained to make out more details. The man didn't move, didn't speak—he only stared down at her mother, who remained oblivious to the intruder's presence.
Behind her, Arman finally caught up. He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he grabbed Leila's arm to steady himself. His eyes followed her gaze into the room, and when he saw the man, his face drained of color.
"That's a man-like demon—don't be deceived by its appearance," Arman warned, stepping in front of Leila. His voice was firm, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. If nothing else, he would protect his sister, no matter the cost. His gaze locked onto the intruder. "What did you do to our mother?"
The figure's lips curled into a faint sneer. "You humans never keep your promises, do you?"
Leila's breath hitched, her eyes widening in recognition. That voice. A name escaped her lips, barely above a whisper. "Shahkhur?"
The weight of realization crashed over her. She had agreed to meet him tonight, but the chaos of the day had distrupted all her plans.
"Shahkhur?" Arman repeated his tone a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He glanced back at her, trying to piece together what she meant.
The figure shifted, turning slightly toward them. The dim light caught his face, revealing his sharp features and glinting eyes. There was no mistaking it—it was Shahkhur.
"I am sick and tired of you trying to play on my intelligence," Shahkhur growled, his voice low and menacing.
He strode toward them, each step
purposeful and unrelenting. Arman instinctively moved to shield Leila, his arms spread protectively.
"Stay back!" Arman ordered, but his defiance was met with cold indifference. Shahkhur didn't slow. With a single swing of his arm, he swatted Arman aside as though he were nothing but a fly.
"Arman!" Leila screamed, her voice raw with panic. Her eyes darted to where her brother had landed, his body crumpled against the far wall.
She took a step to rush toward him, but Shahkhur was faster. He blocked her path, his towering frame looming over her. Before she could react, his hand shot out and closed around her neck, lifting her off her feet effortlessly.
"What is this I smell on you, mate?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom.
Leila's eyes widened in shock and confusion. His golden eyes darkened, shifting to a crimson hue that glowed faintly in the darkness. The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
Gasping for air, she clawed at his iron grip, her fingers scraping uselessly against his skin. "Ugh… I… ah…" she choked, her voice barely audible.
"I smell another male on you," Shahkhur hissed, his face inches from hers. His words were laced with accusation, his tone tinged with a dangerous edge. "What have you been doing?"
Leila's brows knitted in disbelief, even as she struggled to breathe. What is he talking about?
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of his words. Then, a thought struck her—she had heard tales of tigers being fiercely territorial, especially with their mates. It was said they would fight to the death to assert dominance if their mate bore the scent of another male.
Now, it seemed that Shahkhur was territorial over her.