Page 121 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Not captor and captive. Not enemies.

Partners.

I don’t realize I’m shaking until his hand cups my jaw.

"Are you afraid?"

I let out a breath.

"No."

That is the truth.

"Do you trust me?" Veylan asks.

"No," I repeat.

He smirks. Approving. "Good."

Trust doesn’t matter anymore.

Only survival.

45

VEYLAN

Sera moves behind me, silent, watchful. She does not trust this place. She does not trust my brothers. Good. She shouldn’t.

We’re under House Drazharel, an underground tunnel known only to me and my brothers. We reach one of the bunker rooms, and I turn to her, “Stay here. Rest. I’ll meet my brothers in the underground war chamber.”

“Okay,” she replies but her eyes are wary and anxious.

“I’ll be back,” I reassure her before leaving. Ten minutes later, I step inside the underground war chamber. The past greets me like a blade to the throat.

The table, the maps, the stone walls stained with memories of blood and power. I grew up in this room. I learned how to kill in this room.

I have come back to end it.

They are already waiting.

Five shadows. No. Four.

The air shifts as Maelrik moves first.

The assassin. The liar. The blade in the dark.

"So," he drawls, leaning against the stone table. "The exile returns."

Vaedros chuckles from his seat, swirling a goblet of stolen wine. The opportunist. The strategist.

"I was wondering when you'd crawl back."

Xalith does not speak. The brute. The warhound. His fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword. A threat. A promise.

Drathis leans against the far wall, arms crossed. The cold one. The calculating one. His silence is worse than their words.

I exhale. This is not a reunion. It is a battlefield.

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