Chapter 55: An... assassin?

Della could feel a sting on her cheeks and blood trickling down her face.

The knife had gone through her cheeks a little. Next to her, Beatrice was still dumbfounded and was still staring at her in absolute shock. And it was not because Della had pushed her out of the way despite everything.

It was the speed and strength behind that push. She might be hallucinating, but Della might have reacted like a typical werewolf right there. Like, her powers might have surfaced for one second.

"No...," Beatrice shook her head, "It can’t be."

"Are you okay?" Della asked her, eyes wide with worry and panic.

Then, she looked back at the end of the corridor they were standing. A shadow was lingering around suspiciously, and Della didn’t even waste another second.

She shot up to her feet and ran down the corridor, pursuing the person. The moment she moved, the shadow also moved and bolted away from her.

The distance between them was long, so Della couldn’t catch up quickly. She noticed the person lingered more around the shadows, like an assassin, avoiding areas where servants and guards would be, as though they already knew the ins and outs of the castle.

"Stop!!" She yelled as the shadow vanished behind another corner, "I said, stop right there!" She cried.

She suddenly turned the last corner and saw the back of the person. They were wearing black clothes, and had just leapt down the large, open balcony that was at least five stories high.

She ran to the balcony and looked down, then watched as they landed on their feet. They were wearing very thick, black leather shoes, and their face and hair were covered completely.

But for a moment, the person glanced back up at her, and she noticed that in the open space for their eye, the person had a little scar right there. Particularly closer to their ear.

Then, the person was gone again.

Della sighed.

She had lost them.

A wolf assassin.

Could possibly be the one who had slit Cornelia’s throat.

Someone suddenly touched her from behind, and with Della’s alert instincts still all, she panicked again and whirled around, sending a fists straight to the person’s face.

Cassian caught it before it hit.

Della froze.

He gently pulled her hand down, then smiled at her, "Someone’s aggressive today. Did your wolf go bunkers or something?"

"Oh my God," She quickly bowed, cursing at herself, "Pardon me, Alpha. I didn’t realise that you were —"

She didn’t get to finish because he brought a palm to her cheek and moved her head back up so she was standing straight again. His eyes narrowed at her cheek, "What happened here?!"

"It was an assassin," She replied, pointing down the balcony, "They threw a knife at us, and I chased them all the way here. Unfortunately...I can’t jump that high,"

"You were attacked?"

"Yes, just know," She replied.

"Did you see who it was?!" Malachi appeared out of nowhere behind her, and Della’s attention was completely drawn to him again.

Beside him was Beatrice. Again, she had that annoying innocent expression on her face like she’d never a fly before.

"No, Alpha," Della replied, "Their face was covered."

In Malachi’s hands was the assassin’s knife. "Why did you do such a stupid thing?" He suddenly asked.

"What?"

He stopped in front of them, staring only at Della like Cassian didn’t exist, "Running after him. What if he had suddenly turned around and attempted to kill you again? He would have succeeded because he is stronger."

She didn’t say anything.

He was right about it.

But still, could he for once not criticise and blame her?!

His gaze fell on her cheek, and his hands twitched by his side to reach for her face. To wipe the blood off. And maybe to...pull her into his arms.

Instead, he faced Beatrice and asked sharply, "There is no saying who they came after between you and her. So he very careful from now on and keep your eyes open and senses sharp wherever you go in the castle."

"Yes, Alpha," Beatrice bowed, then she calmly turned to Della and asked, "Della, are you okay?"

One of Della’s eyes twitched, and she simply ignored the damned devil.

Beatrice then took a step forward, like a dramatic innocent noblewoman she’d always faked to be, and reached out to take one of Della’s hands in hers.

"Don’t touch me!" Della snapped, glaring at her hard. The next second, she was slipped between the three of them and was striding back to her room.

Cassian seemed to care.

Beatrice was a fake.

And the one person whom she had wanted to care didn’t even bat an eye at her but instead, had blamed her. Cassian didn’t do that.

Malachi should learn from him.

Her legs took her to Malachi’s room — her humble abode where she had to share the same air with that man.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She sat down in her corner, then she reached out slowly to touch her face... wanting to see how bad it was.

The cut was two inches, and a little deep.

Just then, the door opened again and Malachi walked into the room. They didn’t say anything to each other and that was what she wanted.

Maybe not.

Who cares?!

He moved straight to one of his drawers, and she looked away pretending he wasn’t here at all. This mate of hers... would actually sacrifice her body to hundreds of men without even... fighting for her? And if she was being sincere to herself, Beatrice was right.

A wolf’s curiosity often surpassed the instinct of caution or fear.

Fucking a rotblood was probably somewhere in their hidden bucket list, and they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to tick it off and leave her corpse on that table.

"Come here,"

She looked toward Malachi and saw him now sitting on the bed, staring back at her.

Then, she ignored him and turned away. The same way he had walked away from her not long ago after shattering her heart again.

He didn’t say anything again, and she tried hard not to look at him and see what he was doing.

But in the next two seconds, more darkness that it one already in the room covered her, the heat from his closeness already curling around her skin.

When she finally looked back, he was bent over and their eyes met.

"What do you want?!"

"For you to keep still," He replied, gently dabbing her cheeks with a wet towel to wipe off the blood.

But she instantly smacked his hands away from her face, "No, it stings!"

"It will sting. It’s an open cut,"

"Well, thank you for your generosity and hospitality!" She pushed his returning hands away, trying to keep the scornful expression out, "But I don’t need your help,"

"Moonfire," His face was expressionless.

She looked away again, pretending he wasn’t there.

Then, he brought the towel again and continued wiping off the blood like nothing had happened.

She looked at him like he was out of his mind, then grabbed his hand again to stop him, "You know...," She said, "Masters don’t usually treat their slaves like they’re carrying an egg. From what I’ve read, they’re a little more... impatient and aggressive, and they don’t care if that slave crumples to the door and just die,"

"Moonfire," He said again, this time deeper.

"You’ve already made up your mind, and you told me the option you were gonna choose very clearly. I get it, I understand that it’s the choice you have to make for your Pack, but could you do a little something for me too?" The anger in her voice shone through, and she gripped the collar around her neck, "Treat me properly. Don’t pretend you do not give a fuck for me outside there, and then when we are alone...you start to do all this. It’s disgusting. It’s annoying. It makes me wanna tear off my skin!"

"I’m not—"

"You’re not what?!" She shot back before he could finish, tears blurring her eyes again, "You’re not gonna reject me seven days from now?! You’re not gonna divorce me seven days from now? You’re not gonna sit and watch as hundreds of men strip away the very little that’s left of who I am...ten days from now?"

Malachi’s expression turned raw with something she couldn’t decipher, and he placed both hands on her shoulders. It looked like he wanted to say something to her — something that might just change her perspective on all of this — but nothing came out.

And whatever emotions that had surfaced were locked back in.

"Yeah," Della murmured, getting up to her feet. His hands slipped off her shoulders, "I thought so, too,"

She walked toward the door, intending to leave.

Maybe she might even attempt another escape again. And this time!! This time, without any doubt in her heart, she would turn around and walk away from him even if he started to vomit his brains out.

A large body came over her from behind suddenly, and her lips parted, a small sound making it out as Malachi wrapped his hands around her stomach, his head falling into the crook of her neck.

"Don’t...," He murmured into her neck. His voice was low, hoarse.

She held her breath, "Don’t what?"

His lips parted.

Closed.

Opened again.

The man had faced Alphas. He had killed countless wolves and brought multiple packs to its knees.

He had slaughtered mercilessly.

Yet standing behind one woman, he found himself unable to form a single sentence.