Chapter Sixteen
Chapter
Sixteen
ASHER
The chaos unfolding around me is exactly my kind of entertainment—warlocks scrabbling over one woman, their carefully cultivated composure shattered in an instant. It's almost comical.
Almost.
I lean casually against the carved stone column at the edge of the balcony, overlooking the marble hall below.
Malachi, Gideon, and Elias have formed a loose perimeter around Sage, clearly attempting to shield her from the inevitable onslaught of our kind that cannot resist the pull of her powers.
Even from here, I sense the faint vibrations of magic around them, sharp and protective.
I myself am having a hard time keeping away from her. But, my bloodline, like Malachi's and Elias' is quite old, and with it comes a certain level of control over the magic that thrums through us.
She stands at their center, breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath that emerald gown that clings to her body in ways she's entirely unaware of—but I can't help noticing. Her eyes flash with a mix of fear and irritation, the kind of stubbornness that makes my lips curve upward.
I shift slightly, watching the scene unfold below. She's different, this one—this Sage Holloway. She hasn't yet realized how thoroughly she's disrupted the equilibrium of this carefully choreographed ritual.
Malachi glances toward Elias sharply. "What did you think you were doing back there? She's mine."
Elias doesn't back down, calm as ever, though the way he straightens his glasses gives away his tension. "You don't own her, Malachi. You can't simply stake a claim and?—"
"I paid for her," Malachi snaps, the ice in his voice clear. "Three million. And I will do whatever I must to protect what's mine."
Gideon remains silent, his stance defensive and watchful. Always the loyal shadow, never choosing sides openly, but I see the subtle flicker in his expression. He'll follow Malachi to hell if asked—but even he can't ignore the pull of the woman between them.
Malachi steps closer to Elias, voice dropping dangerously low. "Do not challenge me tonight, Elias."
Elias, ever composed, lifts his chin defiantly. "She's not a possession, Malachi."
"No," Malachi growls softly, taking a threatening step forward. "She's much more than that. She belongs with me."
Sage's head snaps up sharply, her fists clenching at her sides, anger blazing in her eyes. Oh, they've done it now. This isn't a woman who wants to be spoken about as if she's not even here. Interesting.
I lean forward slightly, watching as Sage takes advantage of the men's distraction. Her clever fingers begin working deftly at the seams of her gown, tearing the fabric away at the hem until it hangs just above her knees, giving her freedom to move. The fabric rips audibly in the tense silence.
My grin widens. Resourceful girl.
They don't even notice, too wrapped up in their petty conflict to see her preparing an escape.
I chuckle quietly to myself, pushing off the column as I watch Sage glance between them, eyes narrowing with contempt.
"I'm right here," she says sharply, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Stop talking about me like I'm some piece of jewelry you're fighting over."
The men pause, finally registering her anger, and I see the faint flash of guilt cross Elias's face. Malachi remains rigid, his expression hard and unyielding.
"I don't belong to anyone," Sage says coldly, her tone firm and clear, her voice echoing slightly against the marble walls. "And certainly not to you."
Before any of them can respond, she spins on her heels, bolting towards an open window and jumping.
They move to follow, but it's already too late. Sage is quicker than she looks, disappearing into gardens below. I hope she made the fall. Would be a lot less fun if this is how it all ended.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. She's got fire in her, more than any of them realize. A deliciously dangerous combination of stubbornness and spirit.
Malachi shouts something after her, his voice furious, but she's already vanished into the shadows.
Good for you, Sage.
I straighten, buttoning my jacket casually. If they're too blind to realize their squabbling is the exact thing pushing her away, then they deserve to lose her.
But maybe it's for the best.
Because now, I'll have my chance.
Without another glance toward the trio of warlocks still fuming in frustration, I slip from the balcony, melting quietly into the darkness, my footsteps silent as I move down the hidden staircase and out into the gardens.
I might not have been the highest bidder, but there's more than one way to win.
And I've never been very good at losing.
She's quick, I'll give her that.
I wait in the shadows. I know exactly which way she'll come—she's following instinct rather than logic, and instinct always leads people straight to me.
Sage rounds the corner at a run, nearly colliding with my chest. Her startled gasp echoes sharply in the brisk night air, her wide eyes meeting mine with instant recognition—and anger.
"You!" she shouts, breathless, voice tight with accusation.
I step smoothly into her path, catching her gently by the wrists before she can bolt again. "Easy now," I murmur, careful to keep my grip loose, non-threatening. "I'm not here to hurt you, Sage."
She jerks back instinctively, but I'm ready for it, anticipating her every movement. Her pulse races beneath my fingertips, quick and frantic. I feel it through her skin, warm, alluring, alive with energy.
"Let me go," she demands, struggling lightly against my hold, but not truly fighting—not yet.
"I will," I tell her calmly, "but first, I just want to understand something."
She glares up at me, defiant and suspicious. "Understand what? What's there to understand? You and your friends bid on me like I'm property?—"
"Malachi bid on you," I correct gently. "And believe me, I'm just as curious about that as you are."
Her expression falters slightly, uncertain. "Then why did you bid against him?"
I give her a half-smile. "Curiosity. I don't like to lose—and Malachi doesn't like to share. Watching him squirm was an unexpected pleasure."
Her brows furrow slightly, confusion mixed with lingering distrust. But the tension in her body lessens, just enough that I release one wrist, though I keep a gentle hold on the other. She doesn't pull away immediately.
"What's happening here, Asher?" she asks softly, eyes searching mine for honesty. "I can't make sense of it."
I lift a shoulder in a casual shrug. "It's the Ritual—an old tradition. Powerful men bid on beautiful women. It's supposed to be a transaction, a trade. But you..." My voice trails off deliberately, inviting her closer, pulling her in with quiet curiosity. "You're something else entirely."
She exhales softly, her expression shifting from wary to vulnerable. "I don't even know what that means."
"Neither do I," I admit quietly. "But unlike my colleagues, I'd rather discover it gently than force it."
She watches me for a long moment, assessing, weighing my sincerity. The subtle way her lips part, the slight tilt of her chin—she's tempted to trust me. I see it plainly on her face.
Good.
I shift closer, just enough that our bodies brush lightly, her warmth radiating through her thin, torn dress. My pulse quickens at the way her breath hitches softly. She's aware of me now—not as a threat, but as something else entirely. Something tempting.
"You feel it too," I whisper, lowering my voice to a low rumble, thick and coaxing. "That pull, Sage. That need to know what lies beneath the surface."
She shakes her head faintly, denial flitting across her eyes even as she shifts toward me instinctively. "I can't trust you."
"Maybe not," I say, my voice gentle now, my hand moving slowly to brush her cheek. She trembles faintly under my touch. "But you want to."
She doesn't deny it. Her eyes soften, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before lifting back to mine, uncertainty warring with desire in the quiet depth of her eyes.
And just like that, my restraint snaps.
I tilt her chin up, leaning in to press my mouth to hers.
Her gasp melts quickly into something warmer, more welcoming.
I deepen the kiss, pulling her flush against me, savoring the way she softens, opening beneath my touch, her mouth moving eagerly against mine.
Her lips part, inviting me deeper, her taste intoxicating—sweet, like something forbidden.
Her free hand grips my shirt, pulling me closer as if she's as lost in this moment as I am.
I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her firmly but gently, deepening the kiss until she moans softly into my mouth, the sound setting my blood on fire.
But before I can lose myself completely in her, footsteps approach, and then strong hands wrench us apart.
Malachi's furious face fills my vision, eyes blazing with barely-contained rage as he shoves me backward.
"Get your fucking hands off her," he snarls.
Sage stumbles back, eyes wide, mouth swollen from my kiss, breath uneven as Elias quickly steps in, shielding her protectively.
Gideon's grip tightens around my shoulders, yanking me further away, his expression coldly furious.
"You know better," Gideon growls low, voice tight with warning.
I chuckle breathlessly, fixing Malachi with a mocking stare. "Just offering a bit of comfort. Someone had to."
Malachi's jaw clenches sharply, eyes darkening dangerously as he shifts his gaze back to Sage. Something possessive, almost feral, flashes behind his controlled exterior.
"She's not yours," Malachi says quietly, deadly calm now.
I grin despite myself, straightening my jacket, forcing a casualness I don't feel. "Not yet," I reply smoothly, eyes meeting Sage's again. "But the night is still young."
Her gaze doesn't waver, defiant but still uncertain. And beneath her confusion and fear, I see it clearly now:
Desire.
She felt what I felt. She wants what I want.
And no matter what Malachi thinks, Sage Holloway isn't finished with me yet—not by a long shot.