Bound By Blood And Fire

Freya's pov.

Freya's POV.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

The dining hall was drowning in tension so thick it choked the air from my lungs. Every muscle in Dorian's body was coiled tight, a predator ready to rip apart the prey before him. His eyes—black as a starless night—burned into Theon like they were knives, cutting through flesh, carving out his fucking audacity.

Theon had lied.

And Dorian knew it.

A slow, dangerous smirk twisted across Dorian's lips. It was the kind of expression that made people beg for mercy before realizing they would never get it.

"Say it again," he murmured, his voice a deadly whisper.

Theon's jaw was tight, pain laced through his features, but he lifted his chin. "She's my mate."

A slow smirk curled at his lips. "Then why do I smell your lie?"

Theon flinched, just barely, but it was enough. He didn't waver. His jaw was set, his stance firm, but I could see the tension beneath his skin, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He wasn 't afraid—he was ready. For what, I didn't know.

"I don't need your permission, Dorian," Theon said, voice steady. "She stays."

A low, dark chuckle left Dorian's lips.

Then the room fucking exploded.

Dorian moved faster than thought, faster than air. One second he was seated, the next he was on Theon, slamming him into the long dining table with enough force to splinter the wood. The crash echoed through the hall, sending goblets and plates clattering to the stone floor.

Screams. Gasps. The scent of fear thick in the air.

Theon grunted, twisting his body, trying to shove Dorian off, but Dorian was ruthless. His hand wrapped around Theon's throat, squeezing, crushing, his claws pressing deep enough to draw blood.

My own breath caught, my heart slamming against my ribs.

"Dorian, stop!" Seraphina's panicked voice rang out, high and desperate. The Luna had risen from her seat, one hand clutching the collar of her dress, her lips trembling. Her violet eyes flickered between the two men, wide with horror.

"Please, you'll kill him!"

Dorian didn't even fucking blink.

"Maybe I should." His voice was a guttural growl, something feral, something not human.

Theon choked, his fingers prying at the iron grip around his throat, but it was useless. Dorian wasn't just stronger—he was fucking ruthless.

Alaric stood abruptly, his alpha presence surging forward like a rolling storm, but even he hesitated.

Even he feared Dorian.

" Prince Dorian," Alaric warned, voice low. "That's enough."

Dorian ignored him.

His gaze slid to me, locking me in place like a vice. His nostrils flared, his fury mixing with something darker, something possessive.

"This is what you want?" he sneered. "Him?"

I should have said no. I should have fucking denied it, screamed that Theon had lied, that I didn't belong to him. But rage was a wildfire in my veins, consuming my fear, my hesitation.

Dorian had kissed me. Claimed me. Then denied me.

And now he was threatening to kill the only person who had ever shown me kindness.

My hands trembled as I stepped forward, my voice sharp and cutting.

"Let. Him. Go."

Dorian's head tilted slightly, as if he had misheard me. Then, to my horror, his grip tightened.

Theon let out a strangled sound, his face paling.

"I don't take fucking orders from you," Dorian bit out.

Something inside me snapped.

"I don't belong to you!" I spat, my voice breaking with rage. "You made that clear, remember?"

His lips curled. "No, little wolf. You don't belong to anyone." His eyes flicked back to Theon. "But if you think I'm going to let this weak bastard claim you, you're dumber than I thought."

With a violent shove, he released Theon, sending him crashing to the stone floor. Theon coughed, gasping for air, his body trembling from the sheer force of it.

But Dorian wasn't fucking finished.

Before Theon could move, Dorian's boot slammed into his ribs. Hard.

A sickening crack.

Seraphina screamed.

I lunged forward, grabbing Dorian's wrist without thinking, my body moving on instinct. "Stop! You'll fucking kill him!"

For the first time, he hesitated.

Not because he cared. Not because he wanted to.

But because I had touched him.

His body turned toward me, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallowed me whole. His scent—dark spice and something feral—invaded my senses, wrapping around my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

His free hand shot out, gripping my chin. Hard.

His touch burned.

"Do you think I fucking care?" he murmured, voice dangerously low. "Do you think I'll let anyone else have what's mine?"

My pulse thundered.

"I am not yours!" I seethed.

Dorian's smirk was pure, cold cruelty. "You think saying it makes it true?"

His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, almost soft. Mocking.

Then he shoved me back with a force that sent me stumbling.

I caught myself against the table, my hands gripping the edge, my chest heaving. My entire body trembled, not with fear—but with rage.

I hated him.

Theon groaned on the floor, curling onto his side, blood dripping from his temple.

Dorian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, like this was all so fucking inconvenient for him.

His voice was final when he spoke again.

"She's coming with us."

Theon coughed, his voice hoarse. "Over my dead fucking body."

Dorian grinned. "That can be arranged."

Seraphina clutched Alaric's arm, her breaths ragged, tears streaking down her pale cheeks. "Please," she whispered. "Please, don't do this."

Dorian didn't spare her a glance.

He looked at me. Only me.

And I knew, in that moment, there was no escaping him.

Not now.

Not ever.