A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 69 - 68

Chapter 69: Chapter 68

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, striding toward him. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.

He didn’t bother to answer right away. Instead, he took his time, dragging his eyes over me like he had all the time in the world. "If your father has chosen not to inform you," he finally drawled, his tone laced with mockery, "why should I?"

This... This was the guest? Alpha Alaric!

Alaric stood here, smirking like he had some grand secret and wasn’t going to share. My hands balled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to steady my nerves.

You were supposed to await your summons in the antechamber," I hissed, each word dipped in venom. "Remove yourself from the training grounds."

His smirk deepened. The bastard.

When he didn’t move, my frustration boiled over. I marched up to him, grabbed a fistful of his tunic, and yanked him toward me until our faces were inches apart. "I said, leave."

For a moment, his expression didn’t change. Then, slowly, his hand shot up, and before I could react, he wrapped his fingers around my throat. He didn’t squeeze—at least not enough to hurt—but the weight of his palm sent chills racing down my spine.

His eyes locked onto mine, unyielding and dark. I wanted to flinch, to pull away, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

"You should be grateful your father is around to protect you," he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me. "Because if it weren’t for him, you would already be dead." His lips curved into a cold smile as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear. "And who knows? I might still end up being your match. Maybe you should start worrying about that instead."

His words crawled under my skin, twisting like a knife. The thought sent a wave of cold dread through me, but I clenched my jaw, determined not to show it.

"Let her go!"

The sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade, shattering the standoff. Both of us turned our heads toward the sound, and my heart sank when I saw Lylda standing there.

He looked so out of place, his frame tense, his hands clenched at his sides. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, yet here he was, glaring at Alaric with a fire in his eyes I had never seen before.

"Let her go before I make you," Lylda said. His voice was steady, even defiant, but I could see the way his hands trembled.

Was he insane? Did he want to die?

Alaric laughed, low and mocking, his grip on my throat loosening. "And how exactly," he asked, turning his full attention to Lylda, "would you make me? I’m genuinely curious."

I barely had time to step back before Alaric released me entirely. I stumbled, clutching my throat as I sucked in a shaky breath. My pride stung more than anything else, but I couldn’t think about that now.

"Don’t," I started, but my voice faltered as Alaric strode toward Lylda.

He moved with the kind of predatory grace that sent a shiver down my spine. Lylda didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even as Alaric reached out and grabbed him by the throat with one hand.

With terrifying ease, Alaric lifted him off the ground. Lylda’s feet dangled as he clawed at Alaric’s arm, his face red from the strain, but his glare didn’t waver.

"You really need to teach your servants their place," Alaric said, his voice calm, almost bored.

"Drop him!" I commanded, my voice sharper this time, cutting through the tension.

Alaric glanced at me, one eyebrow arched as if amused by my audacity. For a moment, I thought he might listen. But then he scoffed and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed Lylda to the ground like a rag doll.

The sound of Lylda’s body hitting the dirt was sickening. I winced despite myself, my heart pounding as I watched him crumple to the ground. For a moment, he didn’t move, and panic seized my chest.

Then, slowly, Lylda pushed himself up, his movements stiff and pained. Despite the blood dripping from his lip and the way he cradled his ribs, his glare remained defiant.

Alaric laughed softly, brushing off his hands as if Lylda were nothing more than a nuisance. "You should really choose better company," he said, turning back to me.

"You fucking bastard," I spat, my voice trembling with rage.

His smirk returned, and he gave me a mocking bow. "You’re welcome to try and do something about it."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his broad shoulders disappearing through the archway.

I stood there, trembling with fury, my hands clenched at my sides. My chest heaved as I fought to calm my racing heart, but it was no use. Every nerve in my body felt raw, frayed, and Alaric’s smug expression was burned into my mind.

Lylda’s soft groan snapped me out of my seething thoughts. He was still on the ground, crumpled like a discarded rag. For a moment, I considered leaving him there—after all, he had brought this upon himself—but then guilt twisted in my chest. The idiot had stepped in for me, unprompted. Sighing heavily, I dragged him upright by his arm.

"Come on," I muttered, half-carrying him toward the shade of a corner away from prying eyes.

"My lady, there’s no need—" he started, his voice weak but insistent.

"Shut up," I cut him off sharply. "You’re bleeding, and I don’t need a servant fainting on me today."

I eased him down, his back pressing against the cool stone wall, and knelt before him. He winced as he shifted, his face pale but stubbornly set. Without waiting for permission, I reached into the pocket of my pocket, rummaging through my sash until my fingers closed around the small jar Gwen had given me the day before.

"Take your shirt off," I ordered briskly, not looking at him.

"W-What?" His voice cracked, and when I glanced up, I saw his cheeks flushing a deep red.

"I’m not asking," I snapped. "Take it off before I tear it off myself."

He fumbled with the buttons, muttering something under his breath about propriety, but I ignored him. When he finally managed to remove the torn fabric, I grimaced at the sight of the bruises already blooming across his chest and ribs.

"Idiot," I muttered, opening the jar and scooping out some of the cool, sticky ointment.

"My lady, I—"

"Save it," I interrupted, pressing the ointment against the darkest bruise with more force than necessary.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he yelped, squirming under my touch. "That hurts!"

"Oh, does it?" I said sweetly, pressing harder.

He groaned, his head falling back against the wall.

I rubbed the ointment into his skin with firm, precise movements.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by his occasional winces and my quiet muttering about his lack of self-preservation. His skin was warm under my fingers, and I tried not to think about how close we were, how his eyes kept flickering to my face as I worked.

"What were you even thinking?" I demanded, breaking the silence. My fingers dug into another tender spot, earning a hiss from him. "Challenging an alpha! Do you have a death wish?"

"I couldn’t let him harm you, my lady," he said softly, his voice steady despite the pain.

For a moment, I froze. His words hung between us, heavy and sincere. I cleared my throat, focusing back on the task at hand. "Guess you’re not as spineless as I thought," I muttered, trying to mask the slight tremor in my voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, but it was quickly followed by a wince. "Glad to prove you wrong, then."

"Hold still," I ordered, pressing a particularly swollen area just below his ribs. He groaned, his head tilting back as if to escape the pain. "I’ll send for a physician later. This ointment will do for now, but you’ll need proper care."

"I’ll be fine," he said stubbornly, though the wince that followed betrayed him.

I finished applying the ointment, wiping my hands on the hem of my skirt before standing. "Stay out of trouble, Lylda," I said, brushing imaginary dust off my hands. "And stop trying to get yourself killed."

As I turned to leave, I hesitated, my hand tightening around the empty jar. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but they felt heavy, awkward. Finally, I glanced back at him.

"Forgive me," I said, my voice quieter than before. "For condemning your bloodline"

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"And," I added, the words tumbling out in a rush, "thank you for... standing up for me."

Before he could respond, I spun on my heel and stormed off, my cheeks burning.

What was wrong with me?