Her Men Of Ruin
Chapter 3
The
question takes Heaven by surprise. She remains calm, nevertheless.
“Nothing,” she lies, “why?”
“It’s
just… I heard when you said
‘as long as he’s not an Alpha’.
You might have said it beneath your breath, but my wolf ears picked
it up, you know. Does it have to do with you being a dormant wolf,
and envying those with stronger abilities?”
Heaven’s
eyes widen a bit at the last question. “You discovered that too?”
“I
did. It’s the very first thing I noticed about you.”
“I’m
not ashamed of that.” Heaven shrugs. “My rogue father with a
dormant wolf married my rogue mother with a dormant wolf. Together,
they had a dormant wolf, though my mom’s advantage is that her
lineage has an amazing skill of healing people.”
“So
you are a healer of some sort?”
“Not
really. The ability never passed down to me.”
“So,
basically, the only thing you know how to do is dance.”
Heaven
looks away with a nod.
“How
about fuck?” Ziason suddenly asks again, earning a sharp glare from
the girl. He doesn’t mind her glower as he continues, “every
woman should, at least, know the basics of pleasing a man.”
“I
have no intention to please any man,” Heaven nearly snaps, “and
please add it in the contract that on no account should both parties
cross the boundaries of the other. My boundaries are not to talk to
me about anything relating to sex, and do not try to sexualize me in
any way.”
Ziason
looks out the window. “No worries. I have no interest in women
either.”
“Good.”
But…
If
he isn’t interested in women, what else would he have an interest
in when he’s looking so hot?
.
.
.
______
Wolf
Kingdom.
Moon’s
Wrath Pack.
The
car soon stops after a long journey.
Between
Ziason and Heaven, it has been absolutely silent after that talk of
sex. Both seem to enjoy the quietude too.
Someone
opens the door from outside the car. Since it’s his side, Ziason
steps out first without bothering to help Heaven.
She
follows slowly behind him while dwelling more on checking out her
surrounding—a large compound floored with old bricks, rounded by a
great fence that looks like it could fall at any minute, and
harboring a round tower of dark stone walls that rises in uneven
layers, several narrow slits in the walls serving as windows.
A
cool air of damp limestone and old iron whizzes past Heaven’s nose,
and—due to the silence within the vicinity—she suspects there may
be fewer or no souls living around the area.
Glancing
up, there aren’t any electric wire crossings either, which means
Ziason wasn’t kidding when he told her to forfeit her phone. He
really was bringing her to an uncivilized area.
“Just
out of curiosity, Mr. Father,” Heaven starts while jogging to catch
up with Ziason’s long strides, “would I be allowed the liberty to
use a TV, at least? I cant be dancing everyday all year long, and
I’ll certainly grow bored.”
The
man
doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes open the heavy, iron, double
doors of the tower that usher them into a large abandoned-looking
hall.
Heaven
gasps as she takes in the view of the hall as musky air clouds her
smell. Since it’s empty, she can’t help but envision the looks of
it when there were still people living in the tower.
Gazing
up, she notices that the dim lit building rises in tiers, the view as
if staring at a coiled snake of balustrade.
With
no ceiling in sight, the top looks unending, the whole structure
winding up in a spiral pattern with open floors—as in inner
balconies—protected by balustrades, each floor topping another like
an atrium.
Across
the double doors is the start of a stairway, where stands a
nervous-looking man in brown suit.
Heaven
catches him bowing to Ziason, who casually hands him the contract
while halting in his front and mumbling, “Satisfactory?”
The
way Ziason looks at the man seems to intimidate him. The latter dares
not return the gaze, so he just mopes at the contract.
“Uh…
Yes— yes, sir,” he stutters.
Heaven
is confused, and doesn’t seem to figure out what’s going on as
Ziason fakes a smile at the man before going up the stairs.
She
she trails behind him, she has the urge to ask of the man’s
identity, and why he looked so scared of Ziason. But she couldn’t
find the courage to, so she simply drops the questions.
“This
building looks really old from outside, yet how is it so refined on
the inside?” she queries instead, trailing her fingers along the
rough balustrade edges as they slowly climb up the unending flights
of stairs.
“Maintenance,”
Ziason simply utters.
“Isn’t
it dangerous to stay in it? I mean, it could crumble at any time.”
“It
has been standing for nearly a century, Heaven. It will not fall on
your head, I promise.”
When
they reach the uppermost floor of the tower, they walk through the
dark and chilly inner balcony that has several closed doors, which
probably belong to rooms.
Ziason
uses his phone torchlight to lead the way, as one could barely tell
daytime from nighttime from up here.
At
a point, he opens one of the doors and stands aside for Heaven to
enter the room. The girl hesitates before doing so.
“This
will be your room,” he tells her.
“Not
bad.” She shrugs.
The
room would be exactly her type had she ever had a private one—big
enough to her taste, aged walls that pull the faint scent of autumn,
a four-post bed at the center that’s encircled by a black mosquito
net draping from its canopy, and about four candle sconces on each
wall with lighted candles casting warm glows across the room.
One
small uncovered window lets in fresh air and some light that chases
musk and darkness. And the fireplace doesn’t seem to have been used
for ages, telling from how cold the room is. But it’s well-kept
anyways.
“I
love the dark aesthetics of the place,” Heaven begins after some
moments of silent appreciation, “but what about the kid?”
Ziason
gestures for her to come out of the room. When she does, he closes
the door and continues walking through the floor.
Heaven
counts the doors they walk pass until the seventeenth door after
hers. That’s where Ziason stops, opening the door.
The
room’s décor isn’t any different from Heaven’s. Except,
there’s a little girl clad in a silk white robe sitting
cross-legged on the bed, her wavy hair cascading down her shoulders
to favor the bed sheet.
She
jumps out of the bed with a smile the moment she sights Ziason,
running to the duo and clasping her little body around Ziason’s
left leg.
The
man pats her head while crouching down.
“How
have you been, my little lamb?” he coos, even though his deep voice
betrays him.
The
child nods in response.
“What’s
her name?” Heaven asks.
“Kaicha.”
Ziason rises to his full height. “Do not bother asking her
anything, though. She would not respond.”
“Seriously,
why?”
No
response.
Kaicha
looks up at Heaven, jamming gazes with the latter’s.
She’s
a redhead like Heaven, though hers is a little darker—as in
burgundy.
And her eyes are so sharp that for some reason Heaven starts to feel
like she’s staring directly into her mother’s orbs.
She
quickly shakes the feeling off with a question, “Does she listen to
instructions?”
Ziason
nods. “Very well.”
“And
her mother?”
“She
left me with Kaicha and left.”
“She
wasn’t prepared for motherhood, eh?”
Ziason
shrugs. “I will have her maid bring food for you as well. The maid
will also prepare your bath and every other thing you may need.”
“So,
will you show me where the dance practice room is?” Heaven
asks while moving out of the room.
“The
ballroom, you mean?” Ziason
follows suit. “It’s
on the floor before the ground floor. Come.”
The
two adults board the stairs again. When they reach the second floor,
Ziason brings Heaven to a hall introduced through the very first door
in the floor. It’s smaller than the bottom hall, yet Heaven can
already feel her feet itching to slide on its appropriately slick
floors.
“It’s
my first time seeing a medieval ballroom,” she giggles.
Ziason
huffs while leaning against the wall. “It is empty, Heaven, and the
floors were modified recently to fit your practice. You do not think
these floors existed back then, do you?”
“Well,
what do I know?”
“Besides,
most content of this tower have either been destroyed or given away.
If this room still had its matters, you would have been absolutely
astonished by its whole look.”
“Why
did you give away the ones that weren’t destroyed, then?”
Ziason
pushes himself from the wall and leaves the hall, heading for the
stairs. “To forget past memories.”
Heaven
jogs to catch up with him. “I won’t ask about the memories, so
how about the kind of dance you want me to teach Kaicha? We haven’t
clarified that.”
“Any
type that speaks to the soul.”
“Oh…”
Heaven stops at the stair
landing
and watches Ziason hurry down the remaining steps
to the bottom hall.
“As
this has been settled, sir, is it okay for you release my family
now?” the man in brown suit, still standing close to the stairs,
asks Ziason who has
already rushed past him.
“Oh,
right! How could I have forgotten that?” Ziason mutters as he
suddenly turns back and approaches the man. “You were such a
patient lawyer, David, and a good one. It will be so sad to lose
you.”
“What?”
Panic strikes across David’s expression that instant, confusing
Heaven again as he raps breathlessly, “I swear, I don’t know this
lady or why you need her! I don’t know a single thing and neither
does my family! Please, let us go, I’m begging you!”
Ziason
nonchalantly pauses in front of David, his hands resting in his pants
pockets as he tilts his head down to stare intently at the lawyer. “I
WILL… let your family go,” he whispers with a tight smile.
David
doesn’t seem to buy it. “Alpha, pleas—”
Ziason
waves his right hand closely across the man’s neck with a sharp
movement. Heaven would swear she saw the long nail of Ziason’s
index finger slice through the man’s throat right before blood
gushes out. But, even at that moment, she’s gobsmacked at David’s
last words.
“You—
you’re an Alpha?” she whispers to Ziason, who merely glances up
at her before making for the door again.
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