Bloodbound To My Four Archenemies.

July 13 2026, 10:11pm.

Nyx’ara walked through the grand hall with her back ruler straight and her head held so high she almost came off as rude. The crowd before her parted slowly as she walked through, like the red sea while the murmurs happening around her grew with intensity with each passing second.

As if noticing her slight discomfort, Kieran laced his fingers through hers. His touch was featherlight yet firm, anchoring her as they passed a crowd of blushing women and pissed-off men.

"You look like you do not want to be here,’’ Rhys noted from behind her, his breath washing over the top of her head. He was standing close to her– so close that she could smell the bergamot on his three-piece suit. And so close, she could almost swear that she had felt the ghost of his skin brush against her back.

The sensation sent a shockwave of tingling down her spine until goosebumps scattered across her skin, and when his hands came to rest possessively at the small of her back, right at the top of her waist, her heart jumped into her mouth and she flinched.

"Alpha..." she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper, "get y-your hands o-off me.’’

Her very strong reaction to his touch made a smile curve at the corners of Rhys’ lips, but instead of doing as told, he let his fingers flex on her skin, eliciting an even stronger reaction from her as she jerked away from him as if it burned.

Rhys chuckled at that, his breathy laughter sending warmth down the nape of her neck. He liked the way she reacted to him as it made him feel desired in a dark twisted way. He also liked how much she tried to fight against the bond tethering herself to him and his brothers... and for some reason, he wanted to see just how long she intended to put up with a fight.

"I thought you were being a temptress earlier, little murderer. Can’t take what you dish out?" He murmured against the tip of her ear, and further teased her by allowing his fangs to scrape across her reddened flesh.

She let out a small sigh, one that went straight to his groin and hissed; "N-no. Not that. I-I just do not fancy being touched b-by you or anyone else."

That should have made him mad, but instead it made his smile grow. Because he knew that she was lying. He knew how much it took for her to say that to him.

And he saw the way she trembled when he intentionally let his fingers trail downward... and downward to her left butt cheek.

Beside them, a crowd of exquisitely dressed women grew by the minute. They made no attempts to hide the growing desire in their eyes as they flocked around the quads. Most of them even glared at Nyx’ara with an open hostility, and when they saw the exchange between Nyx’ara and Rhys, not missing the tension growing between the pair, their hostility morphed into an unconcealed hatred that simmered just beneath their made-up faces. In fact, one of them even dared to ask;

"Isn’t she the murderer? As in the woman who killed their sister, the princess, in cold blood?’’

If she had tried to be discreet while asking that question, then she failed woefully as the next minute, a crowd of people slowly turned to look at them, their expressions thinning into one of open curiosity.

Draven, who had heard her, immediately stopped chatting with the young boss whom he had begun to engage in a conversation with.

His face darkened and his eyes thinned as he dragged them from the top of the woman’s red head to her red strapped heels. He then hissed; "And what does that have to do with you?"

The hall froze.

Nyx’ara had half expected him to concur with the woman. She had expected him to not take her side because truth be told, she was still— and always would be— a murderer in their eyes. So when he asked the woman that question, her eyes widened both with shock and a newfound interest.

Her heart fluttered in her chest too. He continued; "How is that any of your business?"

The woman, who had never been faced with an aura so potent, instinctively lowered her head. Her red lips were pressed into a thin line and you could easily see the fear radiating from her as she rushed out;

"I was only con-confirming a rumor, and I wanted to know if she was indeed the one."

Confirming a rumor.

But Draven did not necessarily buy that explanation. He of all people knew that she had said it in an attempt to put down Nyx’ara. That she had said it because she was jealous.

His fingers poked at the base of the woman’s face, and with a slow tilt, lifting her head upwards, he sneered; "I do not care about what you think about me or my wife..."

Oh, there we go again...

"But you lack the right to say shit like that to her face. You lack the right to disrespect her in any way, and you should accord her the same kind of respect as you accord my brothers and me."

Another round of shock rippled through the crowd, and goddess, if the place wasn’t so busy and loud, someone would have heard the way Nyx’ara’s heart raced violently in her chest.

"Because she is my wife."

"Yes, Alpha!"

"Understood?"

"Ye-yes, Alpha."

The entire bizarre scene shook Nyx’ara to her bones and she could only stand rooted in place as Draven let go of the woman’s face and she scampered away from him. She also noticed the difference in the atmosphere as more people turned to look at her— mostly with respect and curiosity rather than the open hostility that they had once accorded her.

Flynn stood to the side, his gaze fixated on the woman in burgundy. He hoped and prayed that she would notice him too, and maybe it was because he stared at her for a moment too long, but for some reason, the man standing beside her, Alpha Rhys, noticed him staring.

Their eyes met for a very brief second before Rhys leaned forward to whisper something into Nyx’ara’s ears. And only the heavens know what it was that he had said to her but in the next minute, Flynn noticed that Nyx’ara was blushing.

His heart plummeted, hammering against his chest with a violent speed. But it was as if Rhys was not satisfied because even after doing that he let his fingers curl around the base of her neck before letting it drop and drop... lower...

—and lower.

Flynn’s eyes continued to follow the trail.

Then it rested on the curve of her buttocks.

Rage and jealousy slammed right into his ribs. His face darkened with annoyance and his hand holding onto the glass of wine tightened into a stronger tighter fist until—

*Crack!*

The sound of the glass shattering into a million pieces echoed through the hall, causing a few people to turn to him— which included Rhys, the man who had tormented him this badly to begin with.