Nyxpanther Draeven moved like a wraith through the dense underbrush, his body blending seamlessly into the darkness. The crescent moon above barely cast any light through the thick canopy of trees, but he did not need it. He was born of the shadows, molded by the art of silent predation and ruthless efficiency.
As the leader of the Shadowfang Order, an elite secret knightage of the Empire of Nyxaris, his duty was to eradicate every illegal merchant that sought to exploit beastmen. Their operations stretched across Vastoria, targeting those who dared to violate the Empire's sovereignty by trading their kind as commodities. Tonight was another such mission.
Draeven stood at the edge of a hidden ravine, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he observed the Black Fang Caravan, a notorious group trafficking beastmen into slavery. His sources had confirmed that this particular caravan was holding an illegal auction within a heavily guarded encampment. If his intelligence was correct, high-profile merchants and nobles would be in attendance, making this the perfect opportunity to dismantle their network from within.
This mission required patience. He couldn't simply slaughter them all—he needed information. He had to learn who among the higher-ranking nobility was funding these trades. And so, against every instinct in his body, he allowed himself to be captured.
The cold bite of enchanted iron shackles burned against his wrists as the caravan guards shoved him forward. His feline instincts screamed at him to kill them all, but he forced himself to remain passive, his ears flattening as if in submission.
A fat, lecherous merchant with gold rings on every finger walked toward him, examining his physique with a greedy gleam in his eyes.
"A rare black leopard beastman," the merchant purred, grabbing Draeven's chin roughly. "A fine specimen, lean and strong… You'll fetch a high price."
Draeven remained silent, allowing himself to be assessed. It disgusted him, but he needed to get inside the operation. The merchant, satisfied, gave a lazy wave, and the guards dragged him towards the other captives—some chained beastmen of various species, their eyes hollow with despair.
That was when he saw her.
A human woman.
She was unlike anything he had ever encountered in this world. Unlike beastwomen, who bore subtle animalistic traits, she was entirely human—delicate yet resilient, her long dark hair flowing wildly around her face, her soft lips trembling in defiance as she endured the degrading touches of the merchant examining her.
Rage burned in Draeven's gut as he saw the merchant pull at her hair, grip her chin roughly, and attempt to lift her dress. His body tensed, instincts screaming for blood, but he forced himself to wait.
Then, the moment came.
The merchant yelped, his guard collapsing with a scream as a flash of black fur lunged forward. A black leopard—one of his own—had snapped, its fangs sinking deep into the leg of a guard.
Chaos erupted.
The remaining guards drew their weapons, their blades gleaming as they moved to strike down the rebellious beast. But before the killing blow could land, the human woman threw herself between them, shielding the leopard with her own body.
Draeven's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anyone—least of all a human—risk themselves for a beastman.
Her courage was foolish, reckless… but mesmerizing.
"What is this?!" the merchant roared, barely restraining his fury. "You dare interfere?!"
The woman lifted her head defiantly, her voice steady despite the fear flickering in her eyes. "If you spare the leopard, I'll treat the wound," she offered, gesturing to the bleeding guard.
The merchant's eyes narrowed. "Are you a healer? A witch?"
"I'm a student nurse."
Silence fell over the gathered slavers. The word meant nothing to them, but they understood student—a learned one. Someone with knowledge.
Draeven observed as she pulled a small kit from her belongings and knelt beside the wounded guard. With practiced movements, she cleaned the bite, applied a salve, and used precise stitching techniques to close the wound. Her hands were steady, her touch confident.
The merchant's greedy smile widened. "You're more valuable than I thought."
Draeven clenched his jaw. He did not like the way the merchant was looking at her.
Later that night, inside the captive tent, Draeven sat in silence, watching.
The human woman—Melinoe—was curled up beside the leopard, her breathing deep and even as she slept. The creature, sensing her warmth, had instinctively draped itself around her protectively.
Draeven exhaled softly. Why was she here?
He had thought her mere merchandise at first, but something about her scent—something warm, intoxicating—called to him.
He had never been drawn to a woman before, never felt the need to possess like this. It was beyond logic, beyond instinct.
His people believed in the existence of soulmates—rare bonds forged in the very essence of Eden's magic.
Could she be his?
A movement outside the tent caught his attention. A masked nobleman entered, his gaze locking onto Melinoe. The merchant grinned, pulling on the chains bound to her wrists and ankles, forcing her forward. She stumbled, but before she could fall, the noble caught her—his hands lingering, his lips dangerously close to her ear.
A growl rumbled in Draeven's chest, low and menacing.
No one else was allowed to touch her.
The night was far from over…