𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝: 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

Chapter 3: Standoff with the Matron

Stone Ravencroft: Age 16|

Growing up, one of a kind among one side of my family had made me a stranger to a part of me. I almost cried, looking at him and being able to feel him. My werewolf side was alive and highly favoured with love too.

Three to five years older than me, my mate was beyond stunning.

High cheekbones, a square clean-cut jaw, and bright hazel eyes that could strip a virgin like me naked and have them begging for more. Fresh blood covered the smooth expanse of his golden skin, making him look rough and ready for action. His posture was effortlessly presented in a way that inspires fear or respect. Through being impressively strong, powerful, and capable looking.

He was wearing shiny dress shoes, a midnight black suit, European-made fabric of the high-end designer kind. The suit jacket had fire torched patches and was left open to reveal a bloodied white shirt inside. The shirt was missing all of its buttons, exposing the planes and contours of his muscular torso covered in fresh blood - none of it his.

All the while, he held on to a self-reliant stance that just did it for me.

He placed his hands in his pant pockets and spoke, with authority, "I managed to enter your court, unscathed. Jenna."

"Then turn around and leave unscathed, the same way you came in." Mom responded.

His jaw locked, and his eyes grew more intense. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear. Here..."

Crack!

He reached for the nearest drudge and snapped a neck.

Clack!

The body dropped unconscious but not dead onto the floor.

My breath held. My mother didn't even flinch, and the drudges gasped, then looked towards her for the green light to kill or punish this stranger.

He raised his head and spoke again. "Now let me repeat myself for the last time. I managed to enter your court unscathed... advise your drudges to stand down or else."

"Or else what?" Beside me, my mother shuffled, face pinched hard with no expression besides boredom, with no sign of a want or need for retaliation on her part. I sort of expected her to, but she didn't strike him dead or order her drudges to strike him with a curse. Which made me curious about the identity of my mate that even drudges thought twice before striking. After all, that's what drudges did. They were high-ranking air-breeding witches trained to think and fight like soldiers. "...you are at my mercy, child, surrounded by witches. If you know what's good for you, walk away and come back to talk to me after you have cleaned up."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Shock froze my body. He wasn't a witch or I would have felt his magic. It puzzled me that he wasn't afraid of my mother, a dark witch and Matron of Aries witches, who killed on the sight of disrespect.

Who was he? What was he?

I willed for her to, but she didn't look at me or give away anything. Instead, she had all of her attention on him, hands rested on the handrails she spoke. "Fine, then you can make use of my restrooms for clean-up. Then we'll talk after."

"Unnecessary," he declined.

"What is it you think I've done this time?" My mother asked.

"How long before you give up this game you're playing?" he countered, raising his shoulders to wave fingers along the planes of the blood pasted on his abs for illustration.

My mother chuckled, the sound amused and unmoved. "And what game do you think I'm playing, darling? You are the one wearing and spilling blood in my court."