The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

The moment Zyran finally pulled back, Isabella's breath hitched.

She didn't move.

She just stood there, arms slack at her sides, eyes still locked on his, like her body hadn't caught up to her brain. Her heart thundered violently in her chest, pounding in her ears like drums of war. She was very much still in a haze—and unfortunately, so was Zyran. Neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to.

And that, dear heavens, was her first mistake.

Because while everyone else was still under the spell… one person was not anymore

"Isabella?"

The sound of her name was sharp and clean—cutting straight through the air like a thrown spear.

Her head jerked to the side so fast, she nearly sprained her own neck.

Her eyes landed directly on Kian, who stood a few steps away, towering, statuesque, and radiating frost. His arms were folded, his expression blank—but that tone? That one word held enough suppressed emotion to make her stomach drop to her toes.

Isabella panicked.

"I–I really don't know him. I swear," she blurted out as she tried—emphasis on tried—to pull away from Zyran's arms.

It would've been easier wrestling with a boulder.

Zyran didn't budge.

He merely held her with a casual grip, his eyes trailing her face slowly—so slowly it felt like he was etching every detail into memory.

"Let go," Isabella hissed under her breath, trying to wrench her body free. Her elbow jabbed into his side. Still, he held firm.

Zyran tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his lips quirking into the faintest, most infuriating smirk.

"Please," she added, voice quieter now. Less indignant. More… desperate.

And that was when his fingers finally loosened.

Zyran's hands slipped from her waist with an intentional slowness that made her feel stripped bare. It was gentle. Too gentle. Almost mocking.

Kian said nothing. Not a word. But his eyes flicked between Zyran and Isabella, and whatever he saw had him shifting slightly, his jaw ticking once. Quiet as he was, there was something cold and calculating in his silence now—like he was reassessing a threat he hadn't accounted for.

Because something was off.

Kian felt it. The moment Zyran stepped close, the air had shifted. Thicker. Heavier. Power hummed around the stranger like an invisible current, sharp and unnerving. And when Kian finally glanced around and noticed that everyone else—the guards, those men, even Luca and Cyrus—were still frozen in place, he realized something that made his muscles tense.

Zyran wasn't just some shameless man with a nice face.

He was dangerous.

Isabella, meanwhile, had already moved.

Without thinking, she stepped behind Kian—like muscle memory. Like it was the one place she knew she wouldn't be pulled apart. She didn't even notice how naturally it happened. She didn't care.

But Zyran noticed.

Oh, he noticed.

His gaze followed her like a tether refusing to snap. The shift in her posture. The way she instinctively found safety with someone else. The way she hid herself from him.

He didn't like it.

Not. One. Bit.

His hands clenched at his sides, and for a second, his expression was blank. Then it turned into something far more… unreadable.

Why her?

They always wanted him. Always. They never looked at anyone else once he showed up. It was supposed to be that way.

But Isabella?

Isabella didn't follow the rules.

She went to another man for protection.

And Zyran hated how that made him feel.

Kian, on the other hand, liked it.

She had moved behind him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn't turn to look at her, but he didn't need to. The heat of her body near his back, the scent of wildflowers clinging to her skin, and the way her fingers barely brushed the fabric of his waist wrap for balance—it all made something ancient and possessive curl in his chest.

And just above all their heads, Bubu—who had been unusually quiet through the whole scene—finally gave a long, dramatic sigh.

"Finally," the system muttered with satisfaction before disappearing into a puff of golden light like its job was done.

Isabella blinked, confused. "Why were you even still here?"

But Bubu was gone.

Not a trace.

She frowned. "Ugh. Rude."

Then—Zyran spoke.

His voice cut through the silence with the smoothness of a knife gliding through silk.

"I'll help you fight."

Everyone turned.

Even Kian.

Zyran's eyes were locked on Kian now. No more teasing. No more games.

"But," Zyran added calmly, "you owe me a place in this village."

He said it like it was already decided. Like it was a foregone conclusion.

Kian didn't flinch. He stared at the man before him for a long, silent beat.

And Isabella... she didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath.

"And why would I do that?" Kian asked, voice low, tone measured, like a blade being slowly drawn. His eyes, hard as flint, didn't waver from the man before him.

Zyran, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unimpressed. He picked a speck of dust from his shoulder, as though Kian's tension bored him. "Well," he began, dragging the word out lazily, "you do love your people. That much is obvious."

Kian's jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

Zyran smiled thinly. "And you can't possibly protect them all on your own, not while also guarding them from what's coming." He waved a hand vaguely, like he was swatting at a fly. "We both know that."

Kian's silence deepened.

"But most of all," Zyran said, lifting his gaze to where Isabella stood, "my Isabella cannot be placed in danger because of your pride… can she?"

Isabella blinked.

Wait—what?

Her frown dropped instantly into a scowl.

She clenched her jaw and slowly turned her head to face Zyran like he'd just insulted her cooking. Which—frankly—might have been forgivable. But this? This was not.

Oh. Oh no he didn't.

She took one deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing to slits.

My Isabella?

Excuse you?

Whose what now?

And the way he said it, like she was some fragile pottery passed around a market shelf.

She glared daggers at him, her arms folding tightly across her chest. "Excuse me?" she muttered under her breath.

And to make it worse—he had the audacity to pretend like this was not all her fault? That if she hadn't been here, none of this would be happening.

She opened her mouth, but Kian beat her to it.

"Deal," he simply said.

Isabella's eyes snapped to him like she'd been slapped.

"WHAT?"

She didn't even mean to yell it. The word just exploded out, sharp and wild, before she could think better of it. Her entire body stiffened, mouth gaping slightly.

Isabella blinked at Kian, completely and utterly betrayed.

Oh, she was going to need a minute.

She stared at him like he'd just agreed to sell her for a particularly shiny piece of obsidian.

He didn't even look back at her.

The bastard.