The more Zyren spoke, the more incensed King Jared became.
It was written plainly across his face—the tightening of his jaw, the twitch of his lips, the way his golden eyes sharpened into something feral. He glared openly at King Zyren, his stare heavy with barely restrained fury. Zyren, however, did not look bothered in the slightest. If anything, he appeared almost bored.
"What the hell are you sprouting?" King Jared snapped.
His voice cut sharply through the gathering, loud enough to draw attention from every vampire and werewolf present. As he spoke, Zyren took a deliberate step forward, moving until he stood directly in front of Aira. The action was subtle but unmistakably protective. Zyren went so far as to nearly roll his eyes, as though Jared's outrage was tiresome rather than threatening.
Behind Zyren, Aira stood frozen, her eyes wide, her breath caught somewhere in her chest. She had not expected things to escalate so quickly—certainly not like this.
