Chapter 327: Alaric’s Excitement

Alaric just stared at her.

For a long, silent moment, the entire world seemed to freeze. The lazy, predatory confidence vanished from his face, replaced by a mask of genuine, unadulterated shock. His ruby eyes, which had been burning with a hot, possessive fire, were now wide, the gears in his brilliant, terrifying mind visibly turning as he processed the bombshell she had just dropped.

His hand, which had been tangled in her hair, went still. The hard ridge of his erection, pressed against her hip, even seemed to lose some of its insistent pressure. He had accounted for her husband. He had accounted for her guild, her intelligence, her beauty. This… this was a variable from so far out of left field that it had momentarily short-circuited his entire worldview.

He slowly, carefully, pulled back, letting her sit up a bit more in his lap. He wasn’t touching her anymore, his hands hovering in the air as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. But he hadn’t let her go. She was still trapped, still naked, still his captive.

’The Emperor’s mistress?’ his mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly, shockingly, rearranging themselves into a new, far more dangerous picture. ’That old dragon? The one who sits on his throne and plays games with the entire continent? Well, I’ll be damned.’

Everything suddenly clicked into place with a horrifying clarity.

’That explains the desperation,’ he realized. ’She wasn’t just playing a trade game. She was on a mission. A mission from him. It also explains the unbelievable trade offer. Qi cultivation, Domain theory… those aren’t things a merchant guild just trades away. Those are national treasures. He sent her to dangle them in front of me, to tie me up in a web of dependency.’

He started to process the full implications. This wasn’t just a general’s wife, a valuable but ultimately replaceable pawn in the great game. This was the Emperor’s personal property. His secret plaything. To touch her was not just to insult a general; it was to slap the face of a living god.

Lin Ruoli saw the shock on his face, and for the first time that night, a tiny, fragile flicker of genuine victory sparked in her chest. The terror that had been a cold, suffocating blanket receded just a little, replaced by a surge of defiant, desperate hope.

She had done it. She had found his limit. She had finally, finally, found the one line he would not, could not, dare to cross.

Thinking she had the advantage, she pressed it, her voice gaining a sliver of its former strength and authority.

“You see now, don’t you?” she said, her voice a little shaky but laced with a newfound, desperate confidence. “This isn’t a game you can win just by being a bully, Lord Steele.”

“You…” Alaric began, his voice a low, stunned whisper. “You belong to Huang Long?”

“I am his property,” she declared, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, but she said them with as much force as she could muster. “He has claimed me. To touch me is to touch him. Are you truly so arrogant, so insane, to think you can challenge a Martial Emperor?”

Alaric was silent, his mind still reeling. It was the opening she needed.

“He is a god in mortal form,” she continued, her words a torrent of truth and threats. “His power is absolute. Your magic is impressive, Lord Steele, very impressive. But against a true Domain, a power that can rewrite the very laws of the world? You are nothing. You are an insect.”

She tried to wriggle out of his lap, to put some physical distance between them, to cement her victory. “Let me go. Now. And he might never need to know that this… this unfortunate misunderstanding… ever happened.”

She looked at him, her heart pounding, praying to any god that would listen that her ultimate trump card had worked.

And then, she saw the expression on his face begin to change.

It was a slow, terrifying transformation. The shock in his ruby eyes didn’t bleed away into fear, or caution, or even grudging respect. It was replaced by a spark. A tiny, manic, and utterly unholy glint of pure, unadulterated excitement.

His lips, which had been a thin, hard line, began to twitch. And then, a slow, widening grin spread across his handsome face. It was not a charming smile. It was not a happy smile. It was a wide, unhinged, wolfish grin that was more terrifying than any expression of rage she had ever seen.

He started to chuckle.

It began as a low, dangerous rumble deep in his chest. A sound of pure, dark amusement. Then it grew, bubbling up into a genuine, throaty laugh that filled the silent, sleeping chamber. It wasn’t the laugh of a man who had just narrowly avoided disaster. It was the laugh of a man who had just been told the most exciting, most wonderful news in the world.

Lin Ruoli’s blood ran cold. The tiny, fragile flame of hope in her heart was instantly, violently, extinguished, replaced by a new, more profound, and infinitely more absolute terror.

’Oh no,’ her mind screamed, a silent, frantic shriek of pure disbelief. ’Oh, sweet gods, no. He’s not scared… he’s… thrilled.’

“The Emperor’s, you say?” Alaric whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr that was vibrating with a barely contained excitement. He leaned in close again, his previous hesitation completely gone, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Well, well, well. This is a much grander prize than I thought.”

His words were like a physical blow, knocking the very air from her lungs. She couldn’t comprehend it. The sheer, insane, suicidal level of arrogance it would take to hear her confession and react like this… it was beyond her understanding.

“Prize?” she stammered, her voice a weak, pathetic thing. “This is your death sentence! Do you understand what you’re saying?”

“Oh, my dear, sweet, naive Ruoli,” he whispered, his voice a venomous, exciting secret that was for her ears alone. “You still don’t understand, do you? You’re looking at the board, but you’re not seeing the real game.”

He pulled back slightly, his ruby eyes burning with a fire that seemed to want to consume all reason, all logic. “I was just going to fuck the wife of a powerful general,” he continued, his tone that of a man explaining a simple, obvious truth to a particularly slow child. “And don’t get me wrong, that would have been fun. A pleasant diversion. A Tuesday for me.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered, the words a statement of pure, undeniable fact.

“Am I?” he asked, a genuine, almost philosophical curiosity in his voice. “Or am I the only one who sees things clearly? Fucking General Bao’s wife would make him my enemy. A powerful enemy, sure, but just one more on a very long list.”

He leaned in again, his grin widening. “But fucking the Emperor’s personal plaything? Taking a jewel right out of the dragon’s hoard?”

He let out another low, dark laugh, a sound of pure, unholy glee.

“That’s not just making an enemy,” he declared, his voice a triumphant roar that was somehow still a whisper. “That’s a statement. That’s a declaration of war. That’s planting my flag right in the middle of his private, forbidden garden. It’s walking into a god’s temple and pissing on his altar. It’s telling a god that his most precious, secret property is now mine.”

The sheer, insane, beautiful daring of his words left her utterly, completely speechless. Her mind simply could not process it. Her ultimate trump card, the name that should have been her absolute, unbreakable shield, had just become an upgrade to his prize. It hadn’t saved her; it had made her more desirable.

“Congratulations, Lady Ruoli,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a triumphant, mocking admiration that was more insulting than any curse. “You’ve just been promoted.”

She just stared at him, her mind a blank, white void of pure, unadulterated shock. She had played her final, world-shattering card, and he had not only called her bluff, but he had raised the stakes to a level that was cosmic, mythological, and utterly, completely insane.

“You are no longer just my entertainment for the night,” he declared, his voice a soft, final judgment. He reached out and gently, almost tenderly, caressed her hair, a gesture that was utterly at odds with the madness in his eyes.

“You are my first official conquest into the Dragon Emperor’s harem.”

The shock, the sheer, mind-breaking insanity of his declaration, finally shattered. And in its place, a final, fierce, and purely animalistic surge of defiance roared to life.

She was not a prize. She was not a conquest. She was Lin Ruoli, Guildmaster of the Jade Serpent Guild, a queen in her own right, and she would not be taken, not by a god, not by an emperor, and certainly not by this beautiful, arrogant, and utterly insane devil.

A raw, guttural snarl ripped from her throat, and she exploded into motion.

She began to struggle in earnest, no longer holding back, no longer playing any game but the raw, primal one of survival. She kicked, her bare feet lashing out, trying to connect with his shins, his groin, anything. She scratched, her perfectly manicured nails, which had been instruments of elegance, now becoming desperate claws, raking at his arms, his face. She even tried to bite, snapping her teeth like a cornered animal. It was a raw, desperate, and utterly futile fight for her life and her honor.

Alaric just laughed.

He laughed with a genuine, delighted amusement, easily containing her frantic struggles. Her fierce, desperate resistance was like a kitten fighting a lion. It was amusing, not threatening. Her sharpest nails barely even scratched the surface of his magically reinforced skin. Her kicks were easily deflected by a casual shift of his legs.

In fact, her struggling was having the opposite of its intended effect. It was just making him hornier.

Her magnificent, large breasts, no longer constrained by her hands, swayed and jiggled wildly with her every desperate movement. Her sexy, thin waist twisted and turned in his grasp, the soft, pale skin of her stomach pressing against him. Her plump, jiggly buttocks ground against his thighs as she tried to squirm away, the friction sending waves of pure, raw lust through him.

“Yes, fight me,” he growled, his voice thick and heavy with desire, his eyes blazing. “Show me the fire that caught an Emperor’s eye. I want to feel it before I put it out.”

His voice was a low growl of pure, unadulterated lust. “Don’t be a doll, Ruoli! Be a dragoness! Show me the beast the Emperor keeps in his gilded cage!”

“I’ll kill you!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with rage and exertion.

“I certainly hope you try,” he replied, his grin widening. “It’ll make the victory so much sweeter.”

He finally decided the game was over. With a single, effortless display of his superior strength, he ended it.

He pinned both of her flailing arms above her head with one of his hands, his grip an unbreakable band of steel around her delicate wrists. Her struggles became useless, her primary weapons neutralized.

He used his other hand to once again cup her breast. But this time, there was no gentle kneading, no playful exploration. His thumb found her nipple, which was already a tight, hard point of defiance, and he began to rub it, hard and mercilessly, grinding it in a slow, torturous circle.

A sharp, involuntary gasp of pure, unadulterated pleasure-pain tore from her lips. Her struggles weakened for a single, crucial moment as the intense, overwhelming sensation overloaded her senses. Her back arched, her entire body going taut.

He used that moment of weakness.

He leaned in and finally, brutally, crushed his lips against hers.

The kiss was not tender. It was not seductive. It was a raw, brutal, possessive claiming. A seal of ownership. It was a brand of hot, wet fire that seared itself onto her very soul.

She tried to resist, to keep her lips sealed, to deny him even this. But he was too strong, too skilled. He bit her lower lip, hard enough to draw a single, coppery drop of blood, and as she gasped in pain, he forced his tongue into her mouth.

It was an invasion. A conquest. He explored her mouth with a rough, demanding thoroughness, his tongue dueling with hers, forcing it into submission, tasting her, claiming her, leaving no part of her untouched.

Her final, fierce struggles slowly, inevitably, began to weaken. Her body, that ultimate traitor, was beginning to respond to his masterful, brutal kiss, to the relentless, exquisite torment of his hand on her breast.

The taste of his kiss, a heady mix of wine, power, and her own blood, filled her senses. The terrifying, insane promise of his words echoed in the ruins of her mind.

She was no longer a general’s wife. She was no longer an Emperor’s mistress.

She was simply, and completely, his.