CHAPTER 106: CHAPTER 106: MARRIAGE’S NOT ON THE LIST

"Samael."

Static crackled before the line steadied, the man’s voice clipped and tight. "Victor. Matteo’s remains, what we recovered from the last incident, were sent down for standard disposal processing."

Victor’s gaze sharpened, though his body remained a study in stillness, one hand resting with casual elegance against the stem of his glass. "And why," he asked, each word a deliberate blade, "would the CEO of NumenCorp call me himself about garbage detail?"

On the other end, Samael’s breath hitched like he’d expected that exact rebuke. "Because the garbage didn’t stay dead."

Elias’s fork stilled mid-air.

Samael pressed on, words too quick to be anything but real. "The body moved. Sat up. Cameras caught him walking out of containment like nothing had ever happened. Our staff managed to install a tracker, standard procedure for disposal, but the signal... it’s not random." A pause, weighted. "He’s heading somewhere with purpose. Clarke’s estate."

Victor’s eyes flicked to Elias across the table, crimson bright with something that hovered between amusement and calculation. He didn’t speak right away, only let the silence stretch until Samael cleared his throat on the line.

Then, smooth and quiet: "Send me the footage. And the feed from the tracker. If he’s walking toward Clarke’s doorstep, I want to see every step."

Elias’s grip tightened around the fork, the tension humming in his jaw the only betrayal of the impact.

Victor leaned back, voice still silken but edged now with iron. "Keep him alive until I say otherwise. If the dead want to walk, I’ll decide where their feet take them."

"Mira would send everything and you decide what we are going to do about it. Victor... Dissidents are moving; I know you didn’t care about it... but maybe you should, at least for Elias."

Victor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "For Elias?" The words came out soft, too soft, the kind of softness that pressed until it bruised.

On the other end, Samael hesitated, rare for someone like him, but telling. "He’s already on their maps, Victor. If Matteo’s walking again and heading to Clarke’s estate, that isn’t coincidence. They’re circling him. You can’t just..."

"I can," Victor cut in, his tone the kind of certainty that didn’t allow for alternatives. His gaze lingered on Elias, the way his mate sat rigid but silent, fork set down with exaggerated care beside the untouched fennel. "And I will. You concern yourself with labs and trackers, Samael. Leave Elias to me."

The faint static on the line carried Samael’s exhale, sharp and disbelieving. "You sound as though he’s a fortress, not a man."

Victor’s lips curved, though there was no warmth in it. "He is both. And I don’t hand fortresses to dissidents."

He ended the call without a farewell, laying the phone back onto the table as though it had never belonged anywhere else.

Crimson eyes returned to Elias, steady, unflinching. "Your father’s name seems to attract the strangest company," Victor murmured, as if commenting on the weather.

"And here I thought after yesterday he would be too scared to go against you."

Victor’s smile flickered, all teeth and no softness. "Fear doesn’t cure arrogance. It only teaches men how far they can lean before their spine breaks."

Elias’s mouth curved, though the humor never reached his eyes. "And you’d know exactly where to apply the pressure."

"I already did," Victor said, voice low, almost indulgent. "Your father came to my manor like a beggar dressed in silk, thinking he might find you alone. Instead, he found me." He lifted his glass, letting the last of the wine catch the light before swallowing it down as if washing away the memory. "I was merciful enough to remind him that gods are not bound by mortal doors."

Elias’s fingers tightened against his water glass, the faintest tremor suppressed before it could betray him. "You mean you enjoyed watching him realize what you are."

Victor’s crimson eyes warmed, not with cruelty but with that unshakable, unbothered certainty. "I enjoyed reminding him that you are mine."

The words sat between them, heavy as iron, threaded with a truth Elias couldn’t quite push aside. He leaned back, fork abandoned, dark eyes steady on Victor. "You’re awfully quick to call me yours when the world keeps trying to drag me back under his name."

Victor tilted his head, the gesture patient, predatory, unhurried. "Maybe I should give my name too, not only the bond."

"No." Elias’s answer came too fast, too sharp, the edge of panic flickering beneath his tone. He looked almost horrified at the idea of marriage. "I’m not marrying you after two weeks of living in your house, not from choice, and certainly not a day after you bit me."

Victor didn’t flinch. His crimson eyes softened into something dangerously close to amusement, the kind of unbothered calm that could turn defiance into indulgence. He reached for his glass, swirling the last remnants of wine before drinking it down as though Elias’s refusal were nothing more than weather.

"Plus, don’t you have to deal with Matteo? How did he come back to life?" Elias asked, the words a little too quick, too sharp, like a man flinging a stone just to shatter the air between them.

Victor set the glass down, fingertips brushing the stem as though savoring the weight. "You think switching subjects saves you." His voice carried that velvet patience that never failed to feel like a trap. "But fine. Matteo..." His mouth curved faintly, though his eyes stayed hard. "Bodies don’t come back, Elias. They’re dragged. If he’s walking again, someone is pulling the strings, and whoever it is thinks Clarke’s house is worth the spectacle."

Elias stilled, his pulse betraying the unease his expression refused to show. "You make it sound like a warning."

Victor leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table, the candlelight catching on the sharp planes of his face. "It is. But not for me." His gaze pinned Elias with quiet finality. "For you."