Hellfired

Burnt Line Over Bruised Hand

“Why standing around, my dear?”

Before she could reply, Rayven tugged her hand without warning, making her stumble and land on his lap. Her face was very close to his–

“I’m sorry!” Arien squeaked, scrambling away from him, but his hand was adamantly holding her down. “Please let me go!”

Torben chuckled, and it broke whatever fantasy Rayven had. He quickly released her from the dangerous part of his body, but didn’t let her stand again. Instead, he brought a hand around her shoulders, pushing her close to him.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Arien shuddered when she felt his hot breath caress the back of her slightly exposed neck. She fiddled with her fingers, and didn't know what else to do with them. It was definitely awkward, being stared like this by the retired alpha of the Grimcrest Pack.

Even so, she preferred this awkwardness than being treated like a rag.

“Remind me, when did you two mate again?” Torben asked, innocently like those worried parents she didn’t have.

However, she could feel Rayven’s muscles becoming rigid under his suits. He was holding his breath, hiding his nervousness. Yet, for anyone else, the Alpha appeared composed.

“Last June. Why?”

The retired alpha hummed. “Was I wrong to expect a cub any day now?”

Rayven’s chest rumbled when he answered, “You care far too much, old man. It’s none of your business.”

“It's the pack’s business.”

“You’re not the Alpha anymore. I am.”

The air thickened with stifled anger. A few of Torben’s inner circle were ready to shift into their wolf form from the small clash. If it went like this, she feared for her own safety.

Just when one of Torben’s men rose to his feet, the door opened again. Two young female servants came, bringing a tray of uniformed drinks. By the smell, she was a hundred percent sure it contained a higher alcohol level than what was sold legally in the store.

“Ah, yes. Please come in, dears.” Torben’s sweet voice travelled through the lavish room.

But, the servants further kept their heads down, afraid of even making eye contact. They didn’t speak, but the tremble in their hands was clear. They served the drinks with fearful precision, and Arien kind of knew why they were this nervous.

“Careful, my dear,” Torben said when one of the servants lowered the tray in front of him, softly as before.

However, the opposite happened.

One of the servants stumbled, losing her balance and grip on the tray.

Crash!

It clattered on the floor, along with broken glasses and spilled alcohol. The servant cowered, tucking her head between her knees. Her partner kept her gaze lower, trembling intensified as she bit her lips. It was clear that both servants thought their life was on the line.

“Look at what you’ve done to me!” One of Torben’s men shouted, pointing to his wet pants. He stood up, reaching for the guilty servant’s hair and jerked her close. Saying it through gritted teeth, Mr. Wet-pants treated, “How would you take responsibility for this?”

‘No, that’s not right …’

“Ah!” The guilty servant shrieked. “Please forgive me! Please! I will do anything for you sir!”

“Anything?”

Arien got a bad feeling about it, but the servant nodded, tearful face looking up with horror. “A-a-anything si-sir …”

Mr. Wet-pants smirked, dragging her to the side of the room away from the fireplace. He pushed the servant down before taking off his leather belt. “You’ll learn how to be a good servant with a tap of this.”

‘That’s not how it happens …’

No one said anything. But they all must have seen it. Of course, they did. She saw it.

Mr. Wet-pants looped his leather belt round his hand, leaving the long piece to smack the air to warm up. The servant was shaking like a leaf. She couldn’t let this happen.

Crack!

Arien bit her lips, stifling the pained squeak that would be released from her mouth. “You can’t do that to her. You know it’s not her fault,” she said before her brain could catch up with her heart.

“What?”

Now, all eyes turned to her, except for the overly frightened servants and Rayven. The Alpha was sipping his drink calmly, as if only his body and not his mind were present there.

“What did you just say?” The wet-pants repeated, as if he was deaf to begin with.

Pumped with justice juice and unknown bravery, Arien marched on before her cowardice fell on her. “I saw you hold out your leg and trip her. So, it’s not her fault.”

They all knew this, but no one was pointing it out. Or precisely, no one bothered correcting Mr. Wet-pants.

“You–“ Mr. Wet-pants fell silence, eyes darting to Rayven, as if asking for his permission.

Unexpectedly, the Apha merely raised his half-full glass. “I believe I have no say in this.” He said, right after almost picking a fight with the retired alpha.

The wet-pants grinned, catching on his meaning. Arien was on her own. “What did you say again, missy?”

She frowned, not liking this turn of event. “I said, it’s not her fault that you got your pants wet because you intentionally tripped her.”

“Is that so? Let’s see … who of us here can verify the lady’s claim?” Wet-pants looked around the room, and Arien knew that no one would back her statement. They pretended to be busy with themselves. “No one. So, move around, lady. I have business with her.”

Arien glowered at him, the unfairness of it all tasted ugly in her mouth. “If you want to hurt her, you have to face me first.”

Several surprised gasps filled the lavish room. Rayven said nothing, but his silence was enough to cement her belief that he was the real coward this time around. Either that, or he just didn’t care for her. Not even if this would bring shame to him if the entire pack knew.

Either way, the Alpha completely turned a blind eye on her. With that revelation, Mr. Wet-pants went on full rampage. He cracked the leather belt in the air again, and then lashed it right on her. Arien took a defensive stance, but her already bruised body would not stand a chance of the impact.

Crack!

“Ah!” She couldn’t stop the shriek then. The servant she was protecting cried out, finally looking up at her as she shook her head.

Mr. Wet-pants laughed maniacally. And on the third strike, he suddenly stopped.

Arien was breathing heavily. Her vision blurred from the tears brimming on her eyes. She tried to focus on something, just so her brain didn’t have to deal with the searing pain on her hand … on her hand.

“What’s that?”

All eyes turned to her.

Precisely, to her arm, where a charred black line stretched over her inner forearm. A stark contrast against her blue and yellow bruises.

Torben, the retired alpha, asked what everyone was thinking about. “Are you a Summoner?”