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~Aspen

My gaze drifts out the window, watching the rain glide down the glass in thin rivets.

I press my hand deeper into the cluster of ice in front of me, wincing. This time, Oliver chose a unique punishment. One that can be attributed to a domestic mishap, if anyone pries.

My eyes squeeze shut as images of me holding that hot poker with a tight grip while Oliver slowly counted to five flash through my mind.

The accompanying clatter of the hot iron as it hit the kitchen floor a moment later has haunted me all day.

"There's going to be a Noble joining us for this dinner here that you haven't met before."

I turn, looking toward Oliver. He leans against the kitchen counter, watching me swirl my swollen, red hand around the ice water.

"Who?" I mumble mindlessly.

"Kastriv."

I shudder. Just what I need. Another Noble.

Noble's used to frighten me. Unprecedented power flows through their veins, magic unrivalled by anyone else in this Territory. I've met a few now due to my husband's political position, and most have been kind and gentle. Nothing to be afraid of.

But meeting a new Noble is always frightening.

"The one who can summon spirits to life?" I ask in such a way that doesn't reveal my apprehension, or make it sound as though I'm privy to most of the rumours.

He doesn't like me knowing too much.

"It is only rumoured that he has done that. You have no reason to fear him,” he says.

I pull my hand from the ice, resting it on a towel next to it.

"I suppose..."

Oliver approaches as I drape each edge of the towel over my hand, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I don’t react as he braces his hands on the counter next to me, leaning down. "Don't so much as flinch in his presence. That level of disrespect will not be tolerated."

My head bows. "Of course."

His gaze assesses me for a long moment before he pulls away again. I release my held breath in a long, subtle exhale.

"He mostly communicates with them. He doesn't summon them,” he mutters.

I don’t care about Kastriv. My fear for him and his power does not amount to the fear I have for my husband. Noble’s are not known to be unnecessarily cruel.

Oliver points out the window. "Would you look at that, they have arrived."

Raising my head, I watch three figures emerge from their transportation, heads bowed against the onslaught of rain. Each are tall, with broad figures and an ease about them that you only have when your power rivals all others.

Grabbing my lace glove, I carefully slide my hand into it, biting down on my lower lip at the pang of pain.

We entertain political figures in this Pack often, and it’s my job to ensure their time here is beneficial for my husband.

Maintaining the ruse that Oliver and I are a happily married couple is essential to that goal.

Right as we enter the foyer, Oliver grabs my arm, yanking me to a stop. 

"Remember our deal?" He murmurs into my ear.

I could recite this warning with no faults. He tells it to me each time someone important graces our home.

"Yes, Oliver,” I mumble, as knocks from the door echo through the foyer.

"It's more important than ever that you are agreeable, since we are meeting a new Noble." His grip tightens, and I swallow thickly.

"Of course."

"If one of them so much as suspects our relationship is anything other than perfect, the agreement will be over, and I will expect you to enact your wifely duties,” he hisses.

My stomach turns with disgust. "Yes, Oliver."

Were I anyone other than me, I believe Oliver would be a doting, kind husband.

I'm a Demon. Or at least, I have remnant's of Demon blood. And there is nothing more that Oliver despises more than Demon's.

He took me in to dominate me, to own me.

In some sick, twisted way, he enjoys inflicting pain upon me because of who I am. He genuinely believes I'm incapable of loving, of being loved, and that he is doing me a favour by making me his wife, keeping me safe from other men like him.

He lets me go, and I absently rub the spot where his grip seared me.

One day…one day I will watch him bleed out on this very floor, begging for mercy while I watch, holding the very knife that will end his life.

Shaking my head slightly, I watch the three Noble’s emerge through the door.

Oliver isn’t a bad looking man. He has a wide, charming smile and captivating blue eyes. But the coldness to them is unmistakable.

But each time I see a Noble, I become hyper-aware of how bland he appears.

Ellard walks in, clasping my husbands hand in greeting. "Oliver, it's wonderful to see you."

He bows his head, feigning honour. "You too, Ellard."

I stand silently by the wall, admiring Ellard’s warmth and grace. He’s the gentlest of the Noble’s that I have met, and I’ve allowed myself, for fleeting to moments, to wonder what kind of lover he is.

Another Noble removes his damp coat, slinging it on the hook next to the door. "Hello Oliver."

"Daxen, how are you?" Oliver greets. He likes Daxen. Mostly because Daxen is easygoing and attentive. But not attentive enough to look twice at me, to see the darkness simmering in Oliver and I’s relationship.

I don’t take it personally. I’m masterful at blending in.

His cool, deep brown eyes look toward me. "Hello Aspen."

I nod my head once, averting my eyes. But not because I’m being polite.

But because I’m looking at the Noble who walks through the door, shaking his head slightly, droplets of rain falling from his loose curls.

My husband wastes no time in catching the Noble’s attention. "Kastriv, it's so wonderful to meet you. I'm Oliver."

Kastriv.

I’m overwhelmed by how beautiful he is.

He sweeps his hand back through his hair, which is shockingly white, raining down over his ears and forehead. Those gentle curls are shaped perfectly, despite the rain, despite how often he appears to run this hands through them.

"Nice to meet you,” he murmurs , but doesn’t reach out to shake Oliver’s hand. He has a sense of wariness about him, a skepticism.

Oliver seems taken aback, almost stuttering as he sweeps his arm back to encompass me.

"This is my wife, Aspen."

I nearly collapse as Kastriv’s eyes sweep to mine. The shadows under his eyes accompany his pitch black irises, complimenting them.

He strides forward, a quiet confidence. Most Noble’s own their power outwardly, although it appears Kastriv enjoys his privately.

My eyes follow his gloved hand as he extends it to me in greeting.

Instinctively, I rear back, just as Dax’s hand shoots out, grabbing Kastriv’s arm, pulling it back.

They share opposing glares, Kastriv frowning while Dax’s eyes flare, a silent warning.  He knows how it goes around here.

Oliver speaks up before the silence becomes uncomfortable. "Apologies, I don't like it very much when people touch my..."

He breaks off, lost for words for the briefest moment. We must all share the same thought.

My property.

"My wife,” he clarifies, looking at me. That wasn’t my fault, but I will likely be punished for it regardless.

The conversation mercifully lightens as we enter the dining room. I keep my eyes pinned to my empty plate as Kastriv sits opposite me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so intimidated by a Noble. He’s breathtaking.

"I wanted you all here to give you an update on our attempts to eradicate the remaining Demon population in Territory One,” Oliver starts, as a staff member rounds the table, filling each of our glasses in then.

"How is it going?" Ellard asks. His golden eyes look distant. I don’t think he actually cares much about Oliver’s political ideology.

If only the three here knew the hipocracy of Oliver wanting all Demon’s eradicated when he is married to one.

I would laugh, if I hadn’t lost that ability years ago.

"I'm afraid we are going to need more money for more men. These Demon's are extremely powerful. In fact, I believe we will need Angel-bloods..."

Daxen frowns. "I don't think that would work."

I glance at Kastriv.

He take a long drink from his glass, watching Oliver with painful scrutiny. What is he thinking?

I know what I am…His lips are invitingly full, and the graceful slant of his cheekbones to the strong edge of his jaw is frankly unfair.

"It's not easy for us to get our hands on Angel-bloods. Most will not desire that work,” Ellard explains.

The Noble’s themselves are Angel-blooded, but unlike most of those who share the trait, they have such large quantities of the magic in their veins. It’s why the rule here.

All seven of them. Each with unique, horrifying magic.

"Then make them. Demon's are killing innocent people in this Territory, and gaining more power. They could rival you, Noble's,” Oliver reminds them.

I always think that grin he uses is so goofy, so unamusing. He truly believes he is capable of outsmarting Noble’s.

"I've met a Demon. They were an isolated creature, very wary of people. They did not have an aggressive nature,” Kastriv muses.

He’s looking at me. I’m screwed.

I know nothing about my own kind. It was my father who graced me with the gene, and since his death, my mother has been punishing me for having it.

It’s why I’m married to a monster. 

"They must have been a rare case. I can assure you, almost all of them desire blood. Especially Angel blood.” Oliver’s voice is tight. Doesn’t matter who it is, he hates being wrong.

Kastriv leans back in his seat, stare unrelenting in the way it assesses my husband. "Hmm."

"You know of the infamous Demon, Keo, do you not? They are all like him,” Oliver nearly hisses.

The horror stories I’ve heard about that Demon, Keo. Oliver tells me of all the lives that one man has taken, and how I would devolve into such a state without him.

A shadow passes over Dax’s eyes. "We truly despise Keo, trust me."

Oliver plasters that stomach turning smile on his face. "Let me try with a band of Angel-bloods. I'm sure our success rate at capturing them will be far higher.”

"I want them alive, and brought to one of our private prisons,” Kastriv voices.

Oliver laughs. "Alive? What value is a Demon alive?"

"I want them alive. Understand?"

For a long pause, Oliver and Kastriv stare at each other. Fire versus ice.

Not surprisingly, Oliver concedes. "Of course, Kastriv..."

The softest smile pulls the corners of my lips up, but only slightly. Oliver will rant to me all evening about how unlikeable Kastriv is, how pretentious he believes Noble’s to be.

All because he was bested by him.

Kastriv’s fingers tap next to his plate, captivating me. "And I wish to talk to you privately, next week."

"Absolutely. Come to my office-"

He raises his hand, cutting Oliver off. "No. You will bring yourself and your wife to my private home at the edge of Territory One. For a night."

A night? With me?

My heart flutters against my ribs, but I keep my breathing steady. I thought tonight would be the last time I would lay eyes on such a man, and yet it seems I am wrong.

Oliver glances at me, sceptical. "Are you sure?"

Kastriv bows his head. "Yes. There is much to discuss."

The rest of the dinner is uneventful. Kastriv speaks little, and for most of the evening, I find myself taking swift glances in his direction.

When he isn’t monitoring the conversation, or staring blankly at his plate, he’s looking at me with an intensity that could have me on my knees for him, begging him to show me what more a Noble is capable of.

Each time I catch him examining me, I look away instantly, willing my cheeks not to flush with heat.

By the end of the night, we walk the three to the door.

Oliver stands at the door, discussing something with Ellard and Dax. I linger back, as I usually do, tensing as Kastriv does the same, turning his attention to me.

"What happened to your hand?" He nods down to it. I instinctively tuck it behind my back.

I will myself to be calm, although his proximity is unnerving. "My hand? Nothing, it's fine."

"Really? You were favouring it at dinner." His tone is flat, accusatory. He senses I’m lying, which I’m usually masterful at.

Kastriv’s dark gaze alone strips me bare, has me fumbling for excuses.

"I'm left handed."

I draw my hand out from behind my back, knowing it’s covered in a pretty, lavender lace glove, turning it over for him to examine.

He reaches out, grabbing it tightly with a hand that is overwhelmingly larger than mine, squeezing tightly.

The pain that lances through me is not the kind of pain I can mask. Instead, I yelp helplessly, yanking it away from him.

Fuck. That hurt. Tears begin to form in my eyes as I fight to urge to peel the glove back and cradle my injured hand.

"It's fine, is it?" He sounds breathless, a darkness to his tone that is otherworldly.

What is he trying to prove?

"I burnt it cooking,” I mumble, swallowing my tears, ignoring the painful ache in my throat from holding them back.

He leans closer. “Then why lie?”

I gape at him.

"Kastriv my friend,” Oliver says, clapping his hands together, breaking whatever spell was between Kastriv and I.  “I cannot wait to see you next week for our meeting. I hope it will be productive."

Kastriv takes one last look at me. "Oh, it definitely will be."

Without another word, he shrugs on his black coat, and disappears into the night.