Help! Five Beast Alphas Want To Breed Me!!(BL)-Chapter 213: What Are You Planning?

Calisí:

The chaos in the council chamber is loud enough to turn a newborn deaf.

Voices collide in the dimly lit room, angry magic crackles in the air as the witches and warlocks of the council argue over one another.

I trail my finger across the table between us, carved from obsidian stone. It throbs faintly with our collective energy... anger, fear, humiliation.

Even this inanimate object senses our humiliation. Fascinating.

I sit still as I watch the men and women before me scream and curse at each other.

Avaren is at the head of the table, opposite me, with his head down. He hates the noise. I can tell.

These fools had better quiet down before Avaren makes them.

I learned long ago that silence is far more effective than shouting.

But these idiot s shout anyway.

"They slaughtered our men!" one of the elder warlocks roars, slamming his fist on the table.

"We lost forty in a single night! Forty! That is not a battle... that is annihilation!" He adds, and I stare at my nails... then at my veins.

At the purple mana that flows through my veins.

"Because we were sent in blind," a witch snaps back, her silver hair bristling as if her anger flows through every strand.

"We didn’t know Gravemaw held a creature like that. You expect us to fight without preparation?" She adds, and I smack my mouth in boredom.

"A creature?" someone scoffs.

"Call him what he is...a monster." He adds, and in Eagan, my eyes rise to the chaos before me.

"No. He is something worse than a monster. Something ancient. Something we should’ve never crossed." A cowardly man sitting at the edge of the tale notes, and I stare at his hands, which tremble on his lap.

The shouting rises again, overlapping, swelling, bouncing off the walls, and my eyes find Avaren. He looks like he’s about to tear his own hair out.

I fold my hands neatly in my lap, and my long nails tap lightly against my bare thigh from where my robe shifted off.

"Enough!" Avaren finally snaps with his voice amplified by magic, vibrating through the room so sharply that a few candles flicker out.

Silence. At last.

He exhales long and slow, then raises his head toward me. I know he can sense me... sense my mind churning, sense my heart... whatever I have left of it... twisting.

Avaren’s silence and turning in my direction is a plea for intervention, but I don’t grant it to him.

I simply watch.

The room waits. The magic in the air shifts, uncertain, and the bickering starts again... quieter at first.

"What went wrong?"

"What were we supposed to do against something like that?"

"What kind of being takes on trained witches and warlocks and leaves without a scratch?"

The questions come again, and my lips tick upward at the corner.

Just slightly. Just enough for Avaren to sense the shift in my mood.

He sighs and leans back in his throne.

"Calisí," he says cautiously.

"You’ve been awfully quiet." He breathes, and I raise my gaze from my lap.

I take a deep breath before speaking. My voice stays smooth and soft, as it cuts through the room like a thin line of ice.

"That’s because," I say,

"Your complaints do not interest me. Only the truth does." I add, and all heads in the room turn toward me.

Good.

I fold one leg over the other.

"We lost at Gravemaw," I say plainly, "because Wilhelm is a Primordial," I inform, and a ripple of shock runs through the chamber.

A few gasp, others sputter, and some raise their brows like I have no idea what I’m saying.

"That is impossible."

"Primordials are extinct."

"They died centuries ago!"

"No...she’s mistaken. She must be."

The murmurs come again, and I let them talk.

I let the denial wash around the room like a cold rain storm breeze...

Then I speak again, colder this time.

"He is a Primordial," I repeat,

"An old, experienced one. One who hasn’t seen battle for long and is hungry to kill. That is why we lost." I add, and the magic in the air falters. Nervous, unsettled.

"Don shit your pants just yet..." I chuckle when I smell the fear that’s formed in the hall like a rain cloud gathering.

"Wilhelm is not the only Primordial currently breathing," I add, and the room freezes. Every eye is pinned to me now, and I smirk at the fear in their eyes.

"Calisí... explain." One of them dares to speak, and my fingers stop tapping.

I lean forward, elbows resting lightly on the obsidian table.

"Elián," I say flatly.

"He is a Primordial," I continue,

"and far stronger than Wilhelm will ever be," I add, and pure, choking silence grips the room.

One witch trembles as she stutters, and I turn to her

"Stronger...? How... how do you know?"

"Because I read him," I reply simply. Avaren stiffens across the table.

"When?"

"In the chaos," I answer.

"In the dark. In that moment, he lost control. His energy brushed mine, and I knew instantly." I reply, as I look around the table slowly, making sure each of them truly understands.

"It was like touching a star," I inform with a small giggle, and the room grows colder.

A low murmur rises, fearful and reverent all at once.

Primordial.

The word itself carries weight. Power. History.

Danger.

"If we had somehow managed to eliminate him during the battle..." I continue as I stand up, bored already.

"The Ashfang family would have been weakened beyond recovery," I conclude as I dust the wrinkles off my dress.

"If that’s the case, why didn’t we push harder? Why did we retreat?" One of the warlocks demands, and I’m fascinated by his naivete.

"Because the boy alone is as strong as all of you combined." I spit honestly, and anger rises in the hall as they take offence to my words, but I don’t flinch.

I’m done coddling them.

"We rushed in with arrogance," I say, and they stare at me in dazed silence.

"And arrogance gets people killed," I note coldly as I feel anger flood my veins now.

"So what do you suggest we do? Grovel? Surrender? Let them recover while we sit here wringing our hands?" One of the elder warlocks demands, and I stare at him with a. Smile forming on my face.

"My darling. If I intended to surrender, I wouldn’t be here." I reply, and the council members study my in silence.

"What are you planning, Calisí?" Avaren questions, and I grin. He’s always known me better than anyone.

I walk over to him, my fingers trailing the backs of the chairs of the witches and warlocks along the way.

"Force," I whisper as I stare at my blind lover,

"Has clearly failed. We charged at a mountain expecting it to move..." I add as I get to Avaren.

I snap my finger, and his chair spins instantly to face me.

"It almost crushed us!" I add as I trail a finger along Avaren’s chin, and he sighs.

"Calisí. If not force... then what?" He demands, and I smile again before letting myself into his lap and letting my legs dangle off one side of the chair.

"Something you all lack," I say softly as I kiss his cheek.

"Patience," I whisper, and a few scoff angrily.

I ignore them.

"We cannot overpower a Primordial," I speak flatly as I turn to them. "But we can outthink one," I add like a lustful whisper as my eyes drift to the lone candlelight flickering in the middle of the table.

"Elián is powerful, but young. Untrained. Emotional. The strongest spells do not break mountains... they crack fault lines." I tilt my head with my smile curling like smoke.

"To break a Primordial, you do not strike their power... You strike their heart." I reply as I remember the light I saw glowing in his stomach last night.

"Calisí... What are you planning?" Avaren questions, and I smile wider.

...Everything.

I’m planning... everything...