Page 6 of Savage Crown

I grit my teeth. “I can’t afford to play word games with you, Rylan.”

The smirk fades. Just like that, the air shifts.

He steps closer, and his overwhelming presence suffocating. He doesn’t touch me this time, but gods, it feels like he does.

“You don’t tell me how this works, little thief.” His voice drops, dark as the space between stars. “You don’t make the rules here. You brought me a stolen secret and asked for protection—now, that means you play by my rules.”

My pulse hammers, but I don’t look away. “And what are your rules?”

He watches me, those emerald eyes gleaming with something I don’t understand. Amusement? Interest? Hunger?

Whatever it is, it’s lethal.

He leans down, voice a whisper against my ear. “You don’t lie to me.”

A shiver ghosts down my spine. I swallow, throat tight. “I haven’t lied.”

“No?” His breath is warm against my skin. “You came here bleeding and desperate, clutching a secret you barely understand, and you want me to believe you just stumbled onto it?”

I go still. He’s testing me.

The truth is dangerous—but so is a lie.

I exhale slowly, keeping my voice even. “I already told you that I stole it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

His lips quirk like he knows I’m feeding him half-truths, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he straightens, rolling his shoulders back in a show of quiet dominance.

“What’s in it for you?” he asks.

I hesitate. The real answer is survival. But men like Rylan don’t deal in desperation—they deal in currency, in power. If I tell him I stole the document to escape, he’ll see weakness. And weakness doesn’t buy protection.

“I want out,” I say instead. “Not just from the city. From them. From all of it.”

Rylan hums, thoughtful. “You’re asking for something bigger than protection, little thief.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

His eyes glint with something wicked. “There’s always a choice. You made one when you stole that parchment.”

A beat of silence.

He’s waiting—for a reaction, for me to slip, for me to flinch. I don’t.

Instead, I raise my chin. “Are you taking the deal or not?”

Another pause. Rylan moves.

Before I can react, his hand is beneath my chin, tilting my head up toward his. The touch is deceptively gentle, but I feel the warning in it.

"You don’t bargain with me like an equal, Seraphina." My name rolls off his tongue like silk, like a slow, decadent threat. "You came to my den, into my hands, and you’re in no position to demand anything."

His grip tightens, just enough to make my breath catch. Not in fear. In something far worse.

Awareness.

Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome. I hate it. Hate him.

But he’s right. I walked into the wolf’s den, and now, I’m at his mercy.

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