The tavern's wooden sign creaked in the wind, swaying like a pendulum marking the inevitability of what was to come. Sonia Wittersham paused at its entrance, her coat drawn tightly around her, but the warmth she carried within her chest was more of anxiety than comfort. The dim amber glow spilling from the windows seemed almost conspiratorial, promising encounters she had not wished for. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain composed. Yet even before she crossed the threshold, the air felt charged—electric, predatory, as if the very walls knew Hector Hall would not remain at a distance.
Inside, the tavern smelled of smoke, damp wood, and ale, a familiar human comfort that usually soothed her nerves. Tonight, it offered little relief. Her gaze flicked instinctively to the shadows, to every corner where a presence might lurk. Then she saw him.
Hector sat at a table near the back, his posture relaxed, but the aura around him was anything but. Even in repose, he exuded dominance: the tilt of his head, the calculated way his eyes scanned the room, the subtle flex of his muscles beneath his dark coat. Amber eyes found hers, and for a moment, time fractured. Every other patron blurred into insignificance. Sonia felt her pulse quicken, an involuntary pull drawing her toward him. She reminded herself she had survived him before. She could survive him again.
"Do you always linger in shadows, or is it just for me?" Hector's voice was low, teasing, yet edged with the kind of dangerous authority that made a woman shiver without knowing why.
Sonia forced a neutral tone. "I came for the drink, not the company." Her words sounded weaker than she intended. Her body betrayed her; a slight tremor ran through her hands.
Hector's lips curved in a slow, predatory smile. He rose, moving toward her with deliberate grace. "The company is always unavoidable," he murmured, stopping just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin, primal and intoxicating. "Especially when it's someone as… captivating as you."
She fought the urge to step back, reminding herself of all the reasons she had kept her distance from him. The nights of surrender, the bruises of passion and control, the whispered words that had both wounded and thrilled her in equal measure. But here, under the tavern's muted light, Hector's presence was an invisible chain she could not break.
Before she could formulate a response, another shadow shifted behind her. Frédéric Washington stepped forward, calm but imposing in his silent protection. His eyes, steady and deep, met Hector's without fear, though the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable. "Stay back, Hector," he said, his tone even, but unyielding. "She is not yours to claim tonight."
Hector's head tilted, studying Frédéric with an almost amused patience. "Ah, the loyal guardian. How admirable." He stepped closer to Sonia, letting Frédéric measure the distance between them. "But loyalty rarely matters when the heart is already torn."
Sonia's chest constricted. Loyalty? Heart? She had not expected her emotions to betray her so easily. And yet, in the presence of these two men—one a predator of desire, the other a sentinel of safety—she felt the pull of both extremes. Her past, her choices, her very self seemed to unravel in the tension between them.
Frédéric moved slightly, a subtle shift that communicated protection without aggression. "You should leave," he said softly to Sonia, but there was no command in his voice, only care and warning.
Hector's smile widened, predatory and amused. "Leave? But we have only just begun," he whispered, leaning closer, the heat of his body brushing against her shoulder. His presence ignited a storm within her, a mixture of fear, longing, and defiance she could not reconcile.
Sonia's mind reeled. Every instinct screamed for escape, for safety, for distance—but every memory, every pulse of forbidden desire, pulled her toward him. "Hector…" she breathed, the single word trembling in the charged silence between them.
He took her hesitation as invitation, his hand hovering just near hers, not touching, but enough to send a jolt through her. "Do not resist me, Sonia. I do not ask for consent; I claim what is already mine," he murmured, and in his tone, there was both threat and promise, a dangerous duality she could not ignore.
Frédéric's hand brushed lightly against her back, grounding her, reminding her that she had another choice, another protector. "You don't have to," he said, his voice steady, intimate. "I am here. I will protect you."
The three of them formed a triangle, tension and desire braided tightly, each movement, glance, and whispered word a spark threatening to ignite the night. Sonia's thoughts raced—she knew what danger Hector represented, what Frédéric could offer, and yet the allure of surrender, of passion she had never forgotten, tugged relentlessly at her. She was trapped between the fire of desire and the shelter of loyalty, and neither side yielded.
For the first time in years, Sonia felt the full weight of the past and the future pressing down on her simultaneously. This night would mark the beginning of a conflict she could neither avoid nor control. The storm was not yet unleashed, but its winds whispered through her very bones. She understood, with painful clarity, that nothing would ever be simple again.
Hector leaned in, his voice a soft rasp against her ear. "Tonight… we begin again. Whether you like it or not."
Sonia shivered, both from the chill of the tavern and from the heat of the promise. Her heart pounded—not just with fear, but with the undeniable knowledge that her life had just shifted irreversibly. And somewhere in the shadows, Anna Collins watched, her presence a silent threat that the night's drama had only just begun.
The night stretched before them like a velvet ribbon, dark, seductive, and perilous. Sonia's fate was no longer hers alone to command. And in the space between Hector's predatory gaze and Frédéric's protective calm, she realized the full truth: love, in this world, was never gentle—and the Beastmen within it were even less so.