Page 8 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

That’s what comes of haggling with me the first time.

But I don’t say any of that aloud.

“How fortunate that you’ll soon have the funds to address such inconveniences.” I keep my tone mild, though the air between us grows markedly cooler.

Roland’s greed makes him an easy mark, but his desperation to profit from his stepdaughters’ sale makes him a particularly satisfying target for what I have planned.

I hand the Starcaix at the table a copy of my latest requirements.

As the vendor reads through them and begins adding the information to his ledger, I turn to examine Izzy with deliberate thoroughness, though I already know everything about her that matters.

She stands straighter under my scrutiny, her chin lifting in an echo of her sister’s defiance. But where Lara burns hot, Izzy runs cool—calculating rather than confrontational.

“The usual forms must also be observed, of course,” I say, returning my attention to the vendor. “Though we can dispense with the lineage verification this time.”

The vendor’s throat sac pulses with interest. “No verification? Most irregular...”

“I’m well aware of exactly what blood runs through her veins.” I let my power thrum beneath my words, a reminder of exactly who they’re dealing with. “The forms, if you please.”

As the vendor shuffles through papers, Izzy leans closer to her sister. “What’s happening? What does he mean about our blood?”

“Don’t—” Lara starts to warn her, but I silence them both with a look.

“Sign here.” The vendor pushes a document across the table toward Roland. The parchment gleams with subtle enchantments—binding magic woven into every line.

The heft of the coin purse in my hand feels satisfying as I test it, letting the jingling sound carry its own warning. I watch Roland’s eyes track the movement, his greed warring with what little sense he possesses.

“Put it to good use,” I say as I toss him the purse, infusing my voice with just enough of a threatening edge to make him pause—but only for a heartbeat. Then he pours the coins onto the table and smirks.

Humans are so predictable.

The vendor records the transaction with meticulous care, his webbed fingers leaving slight dampness on the ledger’s pages.

Izzy watches the process with horrified fascination, while Lara’s gaze remains fixed on Roland’s hands as he counts his payment.

I reach into my coat, my fingers closing around the specially prepared coin. “One final detail.”

Everyone’s attention turns to me.

The vendor’s throat sac pulses rapidly—he senses the magic, though he likely doesn’t understand its nature. Even Roland seems to notice something amiss, his movements becoming more tentative.

Three passes of my thumb activate the enchantment as I whisper the binding words, their power humming against my skin. Ice-blue symbols flare briefly in the coin’s surface before fading to invisibility as I hold it out to Roland. “For your troubles.”

It’s the same thing I said to him last time. He took the cursed money then, too—and from his complaints, the troubles I’d wished upon him had indeed arrived.

He hesitates, some animal instinct perhaps warning him of danger. His hand hovers over the coin as if feeling its chill.

But in the end, Roland’s greed wins out—as I knew it would. His fingers close around the coin, and I allow myself the smallest smile of satisfaction. Even Lara’s obvious desire to warn him doesn’t manifest in words. She’s learning, however reluctantly.

“Now our business is concluded.” The finality in my voice carries more than just the power of our transaction. The coin’s magic seals itself with his acceptance, its curse beginning its work.

When Roland opens his mouth to argue—foolish man—I silence him with the barest gesture, hardly sparing him a glance. A thin layer of frost forms over his lips, not enough to harm but enough to remind him of his place. He’s served his purpose. Whatever happens to him now is simply collateral damage in a much grander design.

“The transaction is recorded,” the vendor announces, pressing his seal into the wax at the bottom of the document. “The younger Evans girl is now legally bound to Duke Ivrael of Starfrost Manor, with all rights and responsibilities therein.”

“Rights,” Lara scoffs under her breath. “As if we have any rights in your world.”

I turn to her slowly, letting my gaze drift to the ribbons still adorning her wrists. “You have exactly the rights I choose to give you, princess. Best remember that.”

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