The cart jolted over uneven ground, and Celine braced herself against the wooden bench. The ladies were allowed to join Leon on a covered ride, and a lot of them took that as an opportunity. Celine kept her head down, staring at her hands, willing herself to disappear.
Sasha, of course, did the opposite.
She leaned toward Leon, her body angled just enough to brush against his arm, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“I must say,” she murmured, tilting her goblet of wine slightly, “I didn’t expect you to be so… generous.”
She flicked a glance at Celine, something sharp in the movement. “You’re usually so particular about who you keep close.”
Leon said nothing. He lifted his glass and took a slow sip, as if he hadn’t heard her at all.
Sasha took it as permission to continue.
“But I suppose a warrior like you enjoys—” she dragged out the moment, letting the weight of her words settle, “—fixing broken things.”
Celine’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t move.
Why is it always like this?
It had been Lilith once, then the girls who followed her lead, whispering behind Celine’s back, letting their laughter dig under her skin. And now it was Sasha. Different pack, same cruelty.
It always seemed to be women who hated her first. Why?
Because she was easy prey? Because she never played the game right?
Or maybe because, deep down, they knew she could take something from them.
Sasha leaned in, her gaze flicking over Celine like she was inspecting something unworthy of her time. “What did you do to get his attention?”
Nothing. She had done nothing. Leon had brought her here, but he hadn’t chosen her. He wasn’t hers.
Still, Celine said nothing.
Sasha smiled like she’d won something.
“Maybe he likes them fragile,” she mused, tapping a single nail against her goblet. “A poor little rogue, lost and broken.” She sighed dramatically. “But careful, darling. That kind of favor doesn’t last long.”
A sharp crack cut through the air, freezing everyone in place.
Leon’s glass had shattered in his hand, and the cart fell into a heavy silence. Whiskey dripped steadily onto the wooden floor, mixing with the thin trails of blood seeping from where the glass had sliced into his palm.
Sasha froze. Leon didn’t move. He didn’t even look at his hand.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, before shaking his fingers, letting shards fall like pieces of something broken beyond repair.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“I’m getting tired of your voice.”
Sasha paled and for the first time, Celine saw a flicker of uncertainty in her expression.
Sasha opened her mouth—to apologize, to recover—but Leon had already dismissed her.
His attention had shifted to Celine. And this time, he didn’t bother looking away.