A dead man was walking. He was alive and carried a sword that stopped at his ankle.
Ophelia didn't trust her own eyes. She believed they were betraying her. A hallucination, perhaps. Maybe Neil killed her and she hadn't even realized. But Neil was dead, nothing but a crumpled body soaked in blood on the tent floor.
Ophelia let out a gasp, staring at Neil's deceased body and unable to say anything. Finally, she tore her eyes away, her heart jumping in fear of what was to come.
"I-I uhm…" Ophelia's voice was caught in her throat.
Killorn was much more well-built and intense than she last remembered. He has dressed nothing like a man returning from battle. His ironed black tunic made him appear even more frightening. With cold and stealth eyes, he scanned her from head to toe. His gauntlet gloved hands tightened on his sword.
"I should've ripped his heart out with my two hands," Killorn said to her.
"P-Papa told me you were dead," Ophelia gasped out.
Killorn's eyes flashed with a warning, silver flames flickering. "On the day of my supposed death, you were going to be a candidate up for grabs at the ceremony?"
Ophelia stiffened. His voice was a dark and rough growl akin to running fingers against tree barks. She recognized him immediately as the man who saved her from Neil earlier. He was the presence behind her. How did she not realize it was her husband?
"I didn't expect warm wishes, but to think you'd be here without seeing my dead body." His solemn tone made her heart plummet all the way to her stomach.
Her husband had just arrived back from battle. The odds were against him—a human, but he had made it out alive. Yet, here Ophelia was, in bed with another man, not to mention, she had been presented as a candidate of the Decade Tribute Ceremony.
"M-Mavez werewolves," Ophelia stammered out in disbelief, her heart dropping with the realization. "P-Papa said y-you were human."
"I never said I was," Killorn deadpanned. "He just assumed when I showed up."
Ophelia couldn't imagine what was running through his head. What was she supposed to tell him? How could she explain her predicament?
"Y-you're alive too," Ophelia continued, much to his irritation. She had never received this kind of opportunity to speak for that long before. It suddenly crossed her mind that she was not sure of his title, which made her nervous. What was she supposed to call him? My Duke? He was the Duke's son at the time of their marriage.
"Evidently."
Ophelia flinched at his irritated voice.
His piercing gaze was beginning to unsettle her. Killorn looked like he could see straight through her and deep into her soul. Ophelia racked her thoughts for something else to utter. With a man as intelligent as him, she didn't know how to appease him.
Ophelia hoped no one in the world possessed the ability to read minds. She had heard there were mages who could control the elements, but none were mind readers.
"Are you not going to say something?" he deadpanned.
Ophelia shakily lowered her head in a greeting, despite sitting on the bed with her hands resting behind her and her knees braced in a backward crab motion. She was scrambling away from him and the position remained.
Ophelia licked her lips. His darkening gaze overshadowed his aloof expression but despite his arousal he remained composed and controlled.
Within seconds of their reunion, Ophelia felt like the worst wife in existence. Was it even considered adultery? Not only had she married another man, but they were in the process of consummating the marriage on the same exact bed she had been intimate with Killorn.
Killorn had now murdered her new husband right in front of her.
Ophelia finally noticed the blood splattering the ends of her dress. She nearly fainted at the stench of the exposed organs. Neil's heart on the ground gave a final beat.
Silence ensued. Finally, she realized Killorn was waiting for her to speak.
"M-my lord…" Ophelia whispered, her voice coming out as weak as the first crow of a baby bird.
"My lord?" he sharply repeated, his voice lowered and angered. "Am I already a stranger to you?"
Ophelia was petrified. Instantly, she bobbed her head to the left and right. His gaze darkened and she nearly passed out. She worried that she had managed to disappoint him further.
"No…" Ophelia squeaked out in a voice rivaling a mouse.
"No?" he echoed.
Killorn stared at her intensely. The room was thick with his presence. It would be impossible to escape him.
"You mean to tell me my wife willingly cheated on her husband?"
"No!" Ophelia shouted, her heart at her throat.
Killorn stepped closer, sword in hand, and pointed it straight at her.
"What are you doing?" Ophelia stumbled out, her throat running dry.
Ophelia stared at the tip of the sword straight in the eyes, still seeing the blood of her second husband coating the end.
In a swift cut, her dress was slit from the top down to her waist. It crumbled instantly, revealing her undergarments and breasts that heaved for air. She nearly passed out.
Despite ripping her dress, Killorn held her gaze with his heated one. For a split second, Ophelia saw a golden tinge that only Alphas possessed. Then, he blinked, and it was gone.
"Silver earrings," Killorn murmured.
Ophelia was exposed for him to see, her beauty breathtaking and brilliant. He was brutal with his actions, his lips thinning at her anguished stare.
"My l-lord…"
Exposed and chilly, Ophelia was growing dizzy from how stressed she was.
"The divorce papers weren't even drafted and you're already calling me a stranger." Killorn's tone dropped and grew deadly.
"No," Ophelia breathed out. "You're not… I-I mean…" her voice died.
Killorn grabbed her ankle, his long fingers easily wrapping around her thin frame. He yanked her underneath him, pinning her against the mattress. Her hair sprawled around her, revealing her shimmering gaze filled with intimate hesitation.
Ophelia froze. She gawked at the sword he grasped in his other hand. She stared up at him in disbelief. Was he… was he going to ravish her in the exact bedroom he murdered her new husband?
Ophelia's attention shifted to the large tent in his pants. It was still there, hard and heady. She knew exactly what he wanted. And he was going to get it from her—willingly.
Two long years at battle would make any insane man thirst for a woman.
On the night of their wedding, Ophelia's nursemaid was the one to guide her to their bedroom. He had ignored her the entire wedding as if she was any other pebble in the stone walls. That night, her nursemaid instructed Ophelia to remain obedient to whatever her husband commanded, no matter his actions.
"I-I, uhm," Ophelia couldn't even think properly.
"Have you already strayed from me?" Killorn bit out in an impatient voice. His piercing stare was as fiery as she remembered, a beautiful silver flame that she so wanted to touch.
Ophelia curled her fingers to her chest. She violently shook her head. Every nerve in her body was alert. She couldn't even breathe.
Beginning to grow lightheaded from holding everything in, Ophelia's anxiety began to consume her. Her pulse quickened. He saw it.
Killorn's eyes flashed, determined to get the truth out of her. He was magnificent, his masculine scent covering hers instantly.
"Ophelia," he growled, merciless in his pursuit for an answer. "Have. You. Strayed?"
Ophelia couldn't even think straight. Her senses were in overdrive. She was seconds from fainting on the bed, instead of servicing her husband.
"Y-y-you're s-still m-my h-husband…" Ophelia sobbed out.
"You stuttered every word in that sentence."
Ophelia blinked once and the dam broke. Tears freely cascaded down from her eyes.
All of her bottled-up stress erupted to the surface. The heartbreak of learning of his death this morning, the wedding she was forced to endure all afternoon, the near assault in the bed, and an alliance with Neil who'd treat her like a milking cow.
Ophelia let out a hiccup and a sob, unable to control herself.
Ophelia cried so hard that she couldn't even see her own hands in front of her. Her vision was blurry and she hid her face in her palms.
Killorn must hate her. Oh god, he was going to call her a whore. Ophelia wouldn't even blame him.
"Fuck."
In less than ten minutes they met, he was already cursing.
Ophelia heard the rustle of leather and his hand gauntlet hitting the floor loudly. He threw it without a care.
Suddenly, Ophelia felt a large hand grab her shoulder. She became still as a tree. He hauled her into a sitting position, kneeling in front of her. Heat traveled down her lower back.
Killorn rubbed her up and down, warmth seeped from his large body.
Killorn's caress was as scorching as the day he ravaged through her, primal and persistent, claiming all that was his. Now, the very man that should've canned her for adultery was comforting her.
Once Matriarch Eves hit her so hard, Ophelia fell to the ground.
Killorn was the tallest amongst the empire's army. A single blow from him… would Ophelia even survive it?
"I didn't even expect a welcome for our reunion, yet you're already crying in front of me."
"A-ah…n-ngh—I-I…" Ophelia tried to speak, to voice her thoughts, but her throat was thick with emotions. He was overwhelming her.
"Hush."
Ophelia clamped her mouth shut. She hiccuped. Then, another one. Until soon, she was sobbing again. Every emotion she suppressed bubbled to the surface.
"Did I bully you?" Killorn muttered, his voice low and tender, catching him by surprise.
"N-ngh…n-no…" Ophelia choked out. "N-no…"
"Look at me then." His sudden coldness was what he expected earlier. Yet, for a split second, he wavered.
Ophelia wanted to shake her head like a child. She had never once thrown a tantrum in her entire life. She learned as a child, the more she cried, the more she was punished and beaten. If she dared to throw a fit in front of her husband, how unbearable would his strike be?
"I-I can't."
"Why?"
Killorn filled her line of sight instantly. His body was large and powerful. His voice was colder than death. He looked at her square in her watery eyes. She was beautiful.
"You flinch in my presence as if you'd rather the geezer on the floor," Killorn pointed out.
"T-that's not w-what I m-meant…"
Killorn towered over her, even when seated. He was no longer kneeling. Instead, he criss crossed his powerful thighs on the bed.
Killorn was intently observing her. His wife was in tears and he didn't even have a handkerchief to offer her. He curled his fingers into a fist. If only he had one.
"P-please… c-can we t-talk?" Ophelia forced through her mouth, even though she was struggling to breath.
Ophelia saw his balled hands and knew he was going to hit her. She hoped it wasn't in the stomach. She was worried he'd only torture her if she was infertile.
M-maybe the face was better… o-or the legs… Yeah, the legs would be best. At worst, she would be bedridden. That should be fine, right?
Killorn reached for her. She flinched. He stilled. Instantly, he was offended.
"You think I'd dare to hit my wife?" his voice was still deadly.
Killorn gritted his teeth. His eyes were on fire, his jaw clenched so tightly it was a sharp glint. His mouth was in a firm line that made her forget about the tears dried on her face.
"You think I would have the audacity to hit a woman when I'd cut off the hand of any of my men for doing it?" Killorn uttered each word softly, despite his warning tone.
Ophelia was at his mercy. She was still his possession, his property. She was his. He could do anything he pleased with her. In this era, no one minded men lecturing their wives in the cruelest manner.
"If you won't answer my questions, then fulfill your duties."
Ophelia blinked. What? Were there duties she must do? She turned her head and gazed around the tent. H-here? She nearly screamed when she saw Neil's head poking out from the end of her bed. It was like a sick game of child's peek-a-boo.
Ophelia was searching for a broom. Or a mop of strained cotton. Was she to clean up the mess he made? Was she to wipe up the blood?
"Who are you looking for? Neil to help you escape? He's already dead."
"I wasn't going to escape from my own husband!"
It was the first time Ophelia stopped stuttering around a man. Killorn didn't even seem impressed.
"Then, strip."