"Touch my wife again," Alaric growled, voice low and inhuman, "and I'll rip your arms off and beat you with them. Even if you don't touch her"
His eyes glowed faintly now—not gold, not silver, but something… ancient. Cold. A flicker of the beast within.
Salviana climbed off the horse, breathing hard, heart pounding. "Alaric—"
"I'm fine, My love. Stay behind the rocks. This part gets messy."
Lucius was already at work, his umbrella drawn—not for rain, but for slaughter.
He twirled it with terrifying elegance and unleashed it like a whip, slicing through the legs of a charging mercenary with a flick of his wrist.
Jean gasped. "You said it was just for sun!"
He smirked, "I lied."
Two hunters charged Alaric. He met them head-on, blades clashing, sparks flying. He fought like a man with nothing to lose—or everything to protect.
Steel met steel. Guttural growls filled the valley.
One hunter tried to grab Salviana again.
