Page 127 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
I step over a corpse, boots squelching in the spreading pools. The metallic scent of blood mingles with the acrid stench of burned magic. Some of the witches believed their magic could stop me and tried to fight back. Their efforts are scattered across the floor in charred remains.
“Where is she?” My voice echoes through the vast space, flat and emotionless.
The handful of survivors huddle against the far wall. Kitchen staff mostly, judging by their simple clothes. Their eyes are wide with terror, tracking my every movement like prey watching a predator. But their mouths stay sealed.
“I asked a question.”
One of them—a young maid with blood splattered across her apron—meets my gaze for a moment before looking away, her lips pressed together in a thin line.
I advance another step. Glass crunches under my heel where I shattered a decorative mirror against someone’s skull. “Lady Zari. Where is she?”
Silence. Absolute, defiant silence.
The bond in my chest pulses with Astra’s fear, her pain. Every second I waste here is another second she suffers. Another second that pathetic bitch thinks she has won.
“Her father, then. Lord Vance.”
Still nothing. These aren’t cowering servants begging for mercy. Even terrified, even facing death, they remain devoted totheir house. The Tashina family breeds loyalty as effectively as they breed magical talent.
Lord Vance’s estate is known for having very faithful employees. Guards, servants, witches—all bound to the house by more than just their salaries. Blood oaths, magical compulsions, generations of family service. They’d rather die than betray their masters.
The corpses scattered around me are proof of their devotion.
I could torture them, tear the information from their brains piece by piece. But I don’t have time for games, and their stubborn silence tells me everything I need to know anyway.
Zari’s not here, and neither is her father.
The sound of boots on marble makes me turn my head. Seth drags a man into the hallway by his collar—thin, pale, with the sharp features of magical breeding. A witch. His robes are singed, one sleeve torn completely away, but he’s alive.
“Your Highness.” Seth’s voice is carefully neutral. He steps around a dead body without looking down. “We’ve searched the entire property. Empty. Except for this one we found hiding in the wine cellar,” he reports, shoving the man to his knees before me.
The witch looks around with terrified eyes. His gaze takes in the blood covering me and the bodies scattered around us, and he starts to shake.
“Test his signature,” I order my own witch.
The man I brought with me steps forward, his face pale but determined. He extends his hands toward the cowering prisoner, golden light flickering between his fingers as he reads the magical traces clinging to the man’s aura.
The light flares brighter for a moment, then dims to a soft glow. My witch’s eyes widen in recognition.
“It’s him,” he says, his voice tight. “This is the signature from the inn. He cast the wards. This is the man who took her.”
Ice forms in my veins as I focus my attention entirely on the kneeling witch.
“Look at me.”
The man’s head snaps up. Tears stream down his cheeks, cutting tracks through grime and soot. His lips tremble as he tries to form words.
“Please,” he whispers. “Please, I’ll tell you anything. I’ll help you. Just don’t kill me. Lady Zari only wanted to punish the whore who had seduced the Prince! She was worried about dark magic being cast on you!”
I go very, very still. “Dark magic.”
“Yes!” He nods frantically. “She said the woman was using forbidden magic to cloud your mind. That she was dangerous. I was helping protect you from dark enchantment!”
“Can you sense any dark magic on me?” I demand.
He blinks, confused by the question. “I—What?”
“You’re a witch. You can read magical signatures, detect enchantments. Can you sense any dark magic on me? Any trace of magical coercion or manipulation?”
