A Wolf’s Table
1072 Words
The knock on the door was firmer this time.
Daphne, still standing near the fireplace, exhaled before turning. Luiza entered with purpose, carrying a neatly folded set of black garments.
"It’s time."
Daphne arched a brow. “Do I have a choice?”
Luiza gave her a knowing look. “He’s waiting.”
Daphne studied the attire: a deep black tunic with fitted pants, far more elegant than the elaborate robes an actual mage wore. But there was an elegance in the design that spoke volumes.
Black. A color possessed by authority. A color borrowed from wolves.
Daphne hesitated before she could reach for it.
Luiza, sensing her pause, studied her with quiet curiosity. “Why do you hesitate?”
Daphne stroked the smooth fabric, her mind ticking away. “I still have no idea what game he's playing.”
Luiza smiled slightly, though only in a very inconspicuous way. “Maybe you should find out.”
Daphne’s footsteps were quiet against the polished stone floor as she followed the corridor to where Lysander waited.
She was led to a chamber different from what she expected—not a grand hall, not a court filled with warriors. Instead, it was
intimate, yet undeniably powerful.
A long wooden table stretched across the center, candles flickering in dim light. The scent of roasted meat, warm bread, and red wine lingered in the air.
And at the far end of the table, Alpha Lysander sat.
He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes found her.
Daphne hesitated at the threshold.
Lysander’s gaze flickered over her new clothing, a hint of something unreadable in his storm-gray eyes. “It suits you.”
She resisted the urge to cross her arms. “It wasn’t my choice.”
Lysander motioned to the seat across from him. “Sit.”
Daphne walked forward, but with caution, lowering herself into the chair with a grace that mirrored the training she had received in court politics.
There was silence between them for a long time.
Then, she spoke first.
“What happened?”
Lysander exhaled, as if amused by her bluntness. “You fell. You would have died. I chose not to let that happen.”
Daphne’s fingers curled slightly. “And why is that?”
Lysander’s gaze held steady. “Would you rather I had left you there?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’d rather know why a werewolf saved a mage.”
A flicker of something crossed his face, but it was gone before she could place it.
“You’re not dead,” he said simply. “You should take that as a victory.”
Daphne leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Lysander picked up his glass of wine, taking a slow sip before responding. “You intrigue me.”
Daphne blinked, thrown off for just a moment. “Intrigue?”
Lysander set his glass down, tilting his head slightly. “You expect deceit. You expect cruelty. I could tell you that I saved you for strategy, for leverage, for information.” His eyes gleamed. “But would you believe me?”
Daphne’s heartbeat quickened, but she held her composure.
“You could at least try.”
Lysander gave a low chuckle. “Very well. What else do you wish to know?”
“Why am I still here?”
His expression darkened just slightly. “Because you’re not ready to leave.”
Daphne’s grip on the edge of the table tightened. “And when will I be?”
Lysander leaned forward this time, mirroring her stance. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you can survive outside these walls.”
His words carried weight; a warning disguised as a simple answer.
Daphne swallowed, then changed direction. “Why do you smell like honey and coffee?”
Lysander blinked, caught off guard for the first time.
Silence.
Then, the faintest smirk. “Does it bother you?”
“It confuses me.”
Lysander leaned back, his smirk widening just slightly. “Good.”
Daphne exhaled, shaking her head. “You enjoy being difficult, don’t you?”
Lysander chuckled; his voice was smooth. “I enjoy watching people try to figure me out.”
Daphne stared at him, searching for something in his expressional c***k, a glimpse of something real.
Then she asked the questions that had been sitting at the back of her mind.
“What do you want from me?”
Lysander’s smile faded. His fingers traced the rim of his wine glass, thoughtfully. “That, I haven’t decided yet.”
Daphne frowned. “You don’t just keep people here for no reason.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”
His honesty unsettled her more than any lie would have.
Then, as if sensing her rising tension, he tilted his head slightly.
“And what do you want from me, mage?”
Daphne held his gaze. “Answers.”
Lysander exhaled through his nose, considering her for a moment before speaking. “Then ask your last one.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Where are my chains?”
Lysander didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.
But there was something sharp in the air now, something heavier than before.
He held her gaze for a long moment before answering.
“Safe.”
It was the most infuriatingly vague response he could have given.
Daphne clenched her jaw, but before she could push further, Lysander stood. The dinner was over.
“Rest, Daphne.”
The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine.
She had never told him.
But somehow, he already knew.
Daphne let out a caught breath. Her name.
She rose abruptly, palms flat on the table, heart racing. “How do you know my name?”
Lysander held off from turning back straight away. He paused for a moment, as if considering his answer, then looked at her at last.
“A wolf does not forget a scent.”
Daphne’s stomach tightened. “That’s not an answer.”
Lysander stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, his presence thick in the air. “And yet, it’s all I’ve got for you tonight.”
He maintained his locked gaze on her for another long moment before walking out of the room and leaving Daphne with her idle thoughts and unanswerable questions.
- Writer
