Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 181

**TITLE: Brute 181**
**Chapter 181**

**ATASHA’S POV**

“Why aren’t we hiding? Or at least running?” I questioned Grace, my voice barely above a whisper as the tension in the room thickened.

To my surprise, my heart wasn’t pounding in my chest. Perhaps it was because every fiber of my being was more preoccupied with Cassian at the border than with my own perilous situation.

Grace opened her mouth as if to respond, but her words were abruptly cut off when the door slammed open with a force that sent a shudder through the walls, rattling the shelves and sending a few loose papers fluttering to the ground. I flinched instinctively, turning just in time to see Lucas being hurled across the floor like a rag doll. He hit the rug hard, sliding shoulder-first before finally coming to a halt near the desk, his body crumpling in a way that made my stomach twist.

“Lucas!” Instinct took over, and I took a step toward him, but Grace’s hand shot out, gripping my arm tightly to stop me from moving any closer.

He struggled to push himself up, but his arms trembled violently, shaking as though he were caught in a blizzard. Sweat glistened on his temple, and his eyes—wide and alert—held a frantic quality that sent chills down my spine. It was as if he were grappling with an unseen force, one I couldn’t comprehend.

Behind him, heavy boots crossed the threshold, each step echoing ominously in the room.

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. “Witchcraft,” she hissed, her voice low and filled with dread. In one fluid motion, she reached for the sword mounted on the wall, yanking it free and positioning herself protectively in front of me, the blade raised high. “Witches!”

And then, as if stepping into a grand hall rather than a fortified study, Matron Yara entered, flanked by two soldiers. The hooded man from the corridor followed closely behind, clutching that same glowing stone, its light pulsating ominously in the dim room.

In that moment, Grace didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, her sword slicing through the air toward Yara’s head with a speed and precision that suggested she intended to end this confrontation before it even began.

But just as the blade was about to meet its target, the hooded man raised the stone higher.

Suddenly, Grace froze mid-lunge, her body immobilized as if caught in a web of invisible threads.

The sword slipped from her fingers, clattering against the edge of the table before tumbling to the floor with a dull thud. I watched in horror as her entire body began to tremble, muscles locking up so tightly that I could see the strain etched across her jaw. She fought against the paralysis, attempting to take another step, but her efforts were in vain.

“Grace!” I shouted, grabbing her arm in a desperate attempt to reach her. But the moment my skin made contact, I felt it—a strange, suffocating pressure in the air, like a heavy hand pressing down on me. It brushed against my skin, probing, then retreated. It didn’t ensnare me as it had her, but when I attempted to heal Grace, an invisible force thwarted my efforts.

My eyes widened as the hooded man’s gaze flicked toward me, a flash of confusion crossing his features before he turned his attention back to Grace.

Her breathing turned ragged, each gasp sounding more labored than the last. “S-stop…” she managed to force out, her voice strained. “Let… her… go…”

Yet Matron Yara ignored her, her gaze sweeping over the room instead. She took in the disarray of scattered papers on Cassian’s desk, the box left ajar where Lucas had placed it earlier, Grace’s trembling form, and Lucas, who knelt on the floor, bound and straining against his restraints.

Finally, her gaze settled on my face, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips.

“Well,” she purred softly, her tone dripping with mockery. “There you are.” My heart raced now, pounding against my ribcage as I fought the urge to recoil.

“Hello there… my lady,” Yara drawled, as if we were engaged in a casual conversation at a formal gathering rather than facing a life-and-death situation in Cassian’s study. “Did you expect to see me again so soon?”

“What do you want?” I demanded, striving to keep my voice steady despite the oppressive atmosphere that enveloped us.

I attempted to channel warmth from my palms into Grace’s trembling body once more, but something impenetrable, thick and suffocating, wrapped around her like a shroud, denying me access. Grace’s earlier warning echoed in my mind, sharp and clear. Witchcraft.

My attention snapped back to the hooded man, who still clutched the glowing stone. The light emanating from it felt foreign, unlike any fae stone I had encountered in the North. The power he wielded was unstable and hostile, casting a dark shadow over the room.

“Stop this! You’re hurting them!” I shouted, my voice laced with anger, unable to contain the surge of emotion that threatened to boil over.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify