He leans in, his breath too warm near her temple. "I imagine you have never had someone like me take real interest in you." His voice turns smug. "Not like this. Not on this level."
She blinks slowly, still not meeting his eyes. "Oh, you are right," she murmurs, tone laced with gentle venom. "No one has ever flattered me quite like this."
If he hears the sarcasm, he doesn't show it. Aerion smiles wider, emboldened. "You don't have to pretend to be unaffected," he says, his hand now brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. "It's flattering, I know. A god, the god of Valor, showing interest in you. That kind of attention means something."
Annie's eyes flick toward the crowd briefly, gauging her distance to Malvor, still distracted, laughing with Vitaria and Tairochi. Good. He has not seen yet.
"I imagine it does mean something," she replies lightly. "To you."
Aerion chuckles, rich and arrogant. "Ah, I see. You're the coy kind. Pretending not to be interested, keeping up the game."
She crosses her legs, deliberately moving his thigh off hers. He takes it as another kind of invitation. His hand drifts to her knee. Slowly slides up to her thigh. The contact is warm, presumptive, territorial.
Still, she remains composed.
"I know what women like you want," he says, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. "You are waiting for me to make the first real move. That's fine. I am not shy."
Her hand lifts. Not to stop him, no. To carefully adjust her earring. Her face doesn't so much as twitch. Her stillness is razor-sharp.
"I was just thinking the same thing," she murmurs. "You are certainly not shy."
He grins, smug and pleased.
And then he freezes.
Because suddenly, Malvor is there.
Silent. Still. Deadly.
His eyes do not flicker to Annie first. He sees Aerion's hand. On her. And suddenly, centuries of restraint become ash in his throat. He wants to burn. To end. To unmake this smug bastard with a word.
The moment tightens like a noose.
Annie doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. She just lifts her head, eyes locked on Malvor's, and speaks in a voice smooth as silk.
"My Lord of Chaos," she says, the "my" echoing like a bell.
Malvor's steps falter, not from uncertainty, but from the sudden, volcanic pressure rising inside him. Her words ripple through their bond like wildfire. Possession. Not his claiming her. Hers of him.
It does something to him. Something deep.
She shivers, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of his fury. His magic coils tight beneath his skin like a storm gathering speed, every hair on her arm rising as if the air itself knows something is about to snap.
But Aerion… the fool.
He mistakes her shiver for arousal.
His hand tightens on her thigh, a grotesque mimicry of intimacy, and he flashes a lazy smile up at Malvor. "I can see why you bought this one," he says. "Such a docile thing. You have done well."
Annie does not look at him. Not once. Her gaze stays on Malvor, and only Malvor.
Aerion, oblivious to the god of Chaos cracking like glass in front of him, chuckles. "Although if you ever get tired of her, I would happily take her off your hands. Gods like us, we need something… interesting to pass the centuries."
Malvor does not move.
Does not speak.
But his rage is palpable, a silence so loud the ground feels like it should split. The bond between him and Annie pulses with unfiltered fury and something darker, ancient and violent and his.
Only Annie knows just how close to the edge he is.
Aerion, so very sure of himself, continues as if nothing is wrong, as if he is not moments from disaster.
His fingers graze up Annie's thigh again, slow and entitled, while his voice drones on in that arrogant, self-satisfied tone. "She's got poise, I will give you that. Calm. It's rare in a mortal, especially one so thoroughly…" He pauses, eyes roaming her with a leer. "Delicious."
Annie remains a statue, perfectly composed, perfectly blank. But the chaos brewing inside her Lord of Chaos is electric. She can feel him, nearly vibrating with restrained power. Her hand flexes against her leg, wait, she tells him silently. Not here. Not yet.
But Aerion presses on, smug and unbearably oblivious.
"I will make you a trade," he says, flicking invisible dust from his shoulder. "You've been eyeing that war horse of mine. I will give him to you. In return, I get a night with her. Just one. It's a good deal. You get loyalty. I get entertainment." His hand trails higher, as if he's already decided the deal's done. "It is a more than fair offer. Gods like us should share, no?"
Malvor laughs.
Just once. Low. Cold.
A single, sharp crack of sound that makes every nearby deity freeze mid-puzzle.
Annie watches him stand straighter, the storm inside him sharpening into something terrifyingly clear. No theatrics. No flourishes. Just that look in his eyes, the one that says the air might split open and swallow someone whole.
The silence that follows is deadly.
Aerion, finally, finally, starts to notice.
Annie places a single, steady hand over Malvor's clenched fist. A pulse through their bond, Trust me. Her gaze never leaves Aerion, and her lips curl into a smile that is all fire and silk.
"A fair trade, My Lord of Chaos," she says sweetly, voice like honeyed wine. "He did offer you your favorite horse."
Malvor stiffens beside her, nearly vibrating with murderous intent, but she squeezes his hand again. Her calm is chilling. I know what I am doing, she promises through the bond.
She turns fully toward Aerion, tilting her head just so, eyes alight with a wicked glint. "You will deliver the horse to his stables tonight. And tomorrow morning…"
She leans in, voice lowering into velvet, every word a slow dagger. "You will get the ride you are begging for."
Aerion's smirk is immediate. He believes her. Gods, of course he does. He is already mentally composing the conquest poem. He inclines his head like a fool accepting a royal blessing.
"It's a deal," he says, smug.
Malvor is very still.
Annie does not trust him to speak. She stands smoothly, fingers trailing across Malvor's arm like a silent command: Not yet. Then to Aerion, all venomous charm: "I do so hope you sleep well tonight, my lord. You will need your strength."
She turns, striding away with Malvor falling into step beside her. His jaw is tight. His hands twitch. But his eyes?
They are gleaming.
When they round the corner, he grabs her waist and spins her against the nearest wall. "Annie. My wicked, wicked girl. What in all the realms are you planning?"
She smiles up at him, a slow, merciless thing. "You will see."