Chapter 6 Demanding Silk

His body heat radiated against my skin. It was intoxicating, a primal pull that messed with my senses. I ignored the flutter in my stomach.

"I am not an object to be claimed," I hissed. I poked an index finger against his solid, scarred chest. It was like tapping a brick wall. "I am Victoria de Lamarre. People pay millions of euros just to look at my face. I do not belong to men who sleep in mud."

The tent fell dead silent.

Outside, the ambient noise of the war camp ceased. The soldiers had heard me. They waited for their Alpha to snap my neck.

Vasilis did not move. His golden eyes darkened. The amber color turned rich and deep. A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. He looked down at my finger pressed against his chest, then back up to my face.

He reached out and wrapped his massive, calloused hand around my wrist.

His grip was firm but not crushing. He could snap my bones with a twitch of his fingers, but he held me with terrifying restraint. He pulled my hand away from his chest and stepped flush against me.

My breath hitched. The friction of his leather armor scraped against the ruined silk of my dress. He lowered his head until his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"You have a sharp tongue," he murmured. The vibration of his voice traveled straight down my spine. "Most women would weep. Most men would drop to their knees and beg for mercy. But you stand here, broken and bleeding, and you insult the Alpha of the Northern Clans in his own tent."

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. "Are you brave, Victoria? Or are you stupid?"

I refused to look away. "I am unamused."

A rough, barking laugh erupted from his chest. He released my wrist and took a step back, running a hand through his long dark hair. The sheer masculine power in the movement was undeniable. It was raw and authentic, unlike the polished actors I worked with back home.

"Unamused," he repeated, shaking his head. He looked at me with a mix of frustration and genuine intrigue. "What do you want, then? Tell me your demands, little bird. Let us see if I care to indulge them."

I crossed my arms, mimicking his earlier stance. "First, you stop calling me 'little bird'. My name is Victoria."

He tilted his head. "And the second?"

"I want a bath. A real bath. Hot water, not a wooden bowl." I gestured to the bloody tatters clinging to my body. "I want clean clothes. A silk robe. Not these itchy, foul-smelling animal skins. And I want a hot meal that does not look like it was scraped off the bottom of a boot."

Vasilis stared at me. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the torches outside. The audacity of my requests settled over him.

He stepped into my space again. He crowded me, forcing me to tilt my head back further. The raw, feral energy rolling off his body was a physical weight. He reached out and caught a loose strand of my chestnut hair, rolling it between his thick fingers.

"This is a war camp," Vasilis said. His voice was a low warning. "We do not have silk. We do not have porcelain tubs. You will eat what my warriors eat. You will bathe in the river. And you will wear what I give you."

I snatched my hair out of his grip. "Then I will freeze. I will starve. And I will die in this dirt. If I am the grand prophecy everyone was whispering about out there, you need me alive. You need me cooperative."

I took a step forward, closing the microscopic gap he had left between us. I pressed my body against his armor, daring him to push me away. I looked straight into those golden, predatory eyes.

"Find a tub, Vasilis. Find the silk. Or watch your prize rot."

The air grew thin. The challenge in my eyes met the dominance in his. Neither of us blinked.

He let out a slow, ragged exhale. His gaze dropped to my mouth. A jolt of pure, unwanted electricity shot through my veins. The tension shifted from hostile to something much more dangerous. My skin burned under his stare.

"You test my patience, Victoria," he rasped.

"I have not even started."

He let out another rough chuckle. He stepped back, the loss of his body heat leaving me cold.

"Fine," Vasilis commanded. "I will have my men find your tub. I will send riders to raid the closest village for your soft fabrics. But know this."

He pointed a clawed finger at me. "I am doing this because you amuse me. Not because you command me. You are in my world now. Do not push your luck."

He turned toward the tent flap. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. My knees shook. I locked them in place to keep from collapsing. I had won the first round. I had established a boundary. I was not prey.

But the victory was short-lived.

Before Vasilis could reach the exit, a horn blared through the camp.

Vasilis froze. His amber eyes flared bright. He ripped the heavy canvas tent flap open.

A warrior clad in dark leather and chainmail sprinted up to the entrance, dropping to one knee in the mud. He was breathless, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Alpha!" the warrior shouted, keeping his head bowed in total submission. "The surrounding is breached."

"Who?" Vasilis snarled. His claws extended, gleaming sharp and deadly in the flickering torchlight. His muscles coiled tight, ready for slaughter.

"All of them," the guard replied, his voice trembling. "The Vampire King. The Demon Prince. The Fallen Commander. They have surrounded the camp with their elite guards."

Vasilis cursed in a harsh, guttural language I did not understand. He gripped the hilt of the massive broadsword strapped to his back.

"They demand a parley," the warrior finished. He peeked up, his terrified eyes darting to me before locking back onto the mud. "They say they will burn this camp to ash if you do not bring them the woman from the sky."