Spoiled By My Nine Beast Husbands (Emma Tibarn) novel Chapter 136

**When She Opened the Door to the Life She Was Afraid to Live**
**by Nora Vale Kingsley**
**Chapter 136: In the House**

Her voice echoed in his mind, a tempest of anger that sent shivers down his spine. The memory of her hands striking him lingered, sharp and vivid.

He could still feel the sting of pain radiating from his back, mingling with the warmth of her breath as it brushed against him.

And then there was the moment she had bitten his tail—an incident etched into his memory with startling clarity.

In a desperate attempt to halt her fury, he had lifted his hand, only to find it resting on something unexpectedly soft.

So soft that it sent a dizzying rush through his head, a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced.

It was smoother than the curve of her waist when his tail had wound around her, a memory that both thrilled and terrified him.

But her anger had only escalated. She had bitten his face, yanked on his whisker with unrestrained fervor, and kicked him for good measure, ensuring he understood the gravity of his misstep.

When consciousness returned, Thero was there, recounting the events with a mixture of concern and amusement. He had blacked out in Emma’s house, and she had ordered others to carry him home, a detail that stung his pride.

Now, as he sat there, a burning ache settled in his chest.

He had intended to come and apologize, to make amends for his reckless behavior, but instead, he had stolen her drink, lost all semblance of control, and likely made a complete fool of himself in the process.

“Is that Marcus?”

Emma’s voice sliced through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

He straightened abruptly, every muscle in his body tensing as he caught sight of her.

She entered the room, flanked by Lucien, Edric, and Silas, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on the coffin before her.

She didn’t even glance in his direction.

Her attention was entirely consumed by the wolf inside, a creature that seemed to teeter on the brink of existence, barely breathing, barely alive.

Her eyes sparkled with a curious light, her lips parting in awe, as if the events of the previous night had been wiped clean from her memory.

She appeared utterly captivated.

Drake’s jaw tightened in frustration.

What could possibly be so mesmerizing about that dying wolf?

The creature could barely stand upright, and every word that escaped his lips sounded like a curse. What on earth could she see in him?

The lid of the crystal coffin lay open, revealing the figure within.

Emma stepped closer, her eyes drawn to the man lying in the coffin.

Light glinted off the coffin’s sharp edges, scattering in a dazzling display across its surface like shards of ice, illuminating the figure inside.

The glow enveloped him, transforming his pale robe into something ethereal—like a dream sculpted from moonlight itself.

His garments were white, soft, and flowing, appearing almost weightless, as if they were woven from the very fabric of the air.

Silver threads shimmered along the edges, creating faint patterns that danced and flickered as the light shifted, giving the impression that the stars had been stitched into the very essence of his attire.

His hair shone, not the dull white of age but the pristine color of untouched snow at dawn—clean, bright, and almost luminous.

A few strands fell delicately across his forehead, brushing against his brow, while the rest cascaded over the coffin like melted silk pooling on a sheet of glass.

The sight was both breathtaking and peculiar, a beauty tinged with a sense of profound loneliness.

Emma blinked, momentarily lost in the vision before her, before her gaze shifted to the old man kneeling beside the coffin.

“Is he dead?” she inquired, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

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