Eleanor Ashcroft instinctively reached to check Caelus Draconis’s breathing, only to recoil in shock. Fumbling to light the oil lamp, her eyes met his—dark, sinister, and burning like the fires of the abyss. A chill ran through her, her body trembling uncontrollably. Damn it! How could his eyes be so different from his face? The distance between an angel and a demon was just the space between two eyes?

  “Name…” His voice was icy, low, and slightly hoarse.

  “Eleanor Ashcroft…” She felt as though she were under a spell, answering without thought.

  “Eleanor… Ashcroft…” The demon slowly repeated her name, as if tasting each syllable.

  She had never imagined that her name, so full of light and kindness, could be spoken with such disdain.

  He coughed lightly and averted his gaze. Instantly, Eleanor collapsed to the floor, her strength drained. What had just happened? Was this some kind of dark magic? God, this is terrifying!

  “Who sent you?” His voice was slow and deliberate.

  “Heaven…” Eleanor avoided his piercing eyes, her own darting nervously.

  “Though the poison lingers…” he murmured.

  “Lingers?” Eleanor exclaimed. She had sucked it all out, hadn’t she? Ignoring his darkening expression, she rushed to his side and pulled back his shirt. The wounds still bore a faint greenish hue. The poison was indeed still there. As she stared in shock, a sharp pain shot through her hand. She looked down to see a small red dot on her palm. What was this?

  “A rare and deadly poison,” he said, his voice like a whisper from hell. “Brewed from the blood and bones of the dead, mixed with eighteen lethal toxins. When five red dots appear on your palm, your body will rot like a corpse. And this poison—Bone Crimson—only I can cure.” With every word, Eleanor’s body twitched violently. By the end, her scalp was crawling.

  She had saved a demon, not a wolf like the foolish Dongguo of legend!

  “I’ve done nothing to you! You should be grateful, not vengeful!” Eleanor couldn’t believe it. Did they have some deep-seated enmity she didn’t know about?

  “Gratitude?” His lips curled into a sinister smile. “That word means nothing to me.”

  “You…” Eleanor blinked furiously, wanting to hurl insults but finding herself speechless. The old saying was true: the kind are always trampled upon. She turned to leave, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

  “Though the poison lingers, killing you would be effortless. If not for the inconvenience of your corpse, do you think you’d still be breathing?” His voice was like ice, cutting through her resolve.

  Eleanor spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re… too much!”

  “Keep pointing at me. There are other… interesting poisons you might enjoy.” His tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. Then he closed his eyes, dismissing her.

  Eleanor’s face turned pale as she quickly hid her hand behind her back. She looked up at the ceiling, silently pleading for a thunderbolt to strike him down. This man was inhuman, unreasonable, and utterly impossible!

  Fuming, she glared at him for a long time before her stomach growled. She opened the thermos, grabbed a bun, and began eating, all while stealing glances at him.

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  His complexion was still poor. For a moment, she considered letting him starve. Such a wicked man deserved it!

  But… he looked so unwell. Her conscience pricked at her. The chicken soup had been meant for him, after all. With a heavy sigh, she decided to set aside her anger. She couldn’t bring herself to act against her nature. Besides, if he died, who would cure her poison?

  “Hey! Do you want some chicken soup?” she asked, her tone deliberately harsh.

  He didn’t even open his eyes. Infuriating!

  “Wasting food is a sin, you know!” she said, trying a softer approach.

  Still no response.

  “Fine! I’ll drink it myself!”

  Nothing.

  “Hey…?” Still ignored, Eleanor finally gave up and set the soup down. Her gaze fell on the bloodstain on his shoulder.

  Had his wound reopened? Hesitantly, she lifted his shirt. The sight of the bloody mess made her heart race. How could he not even groan in pain? Was he made of iron? Her sympathy overflowed. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. After all, she had saved him. She tore more strips from the bedsheet and gently padded the wound. Without any painkillers or antiseptics, she wasn’t sure what else to do. As she pondered, she looked up and found his dark, coal-like eyes watching her.

  “Um… does it hurt?” she asked, immediately regretting the obvious question.

  “You… are truly surnamed Ashcroft?” His gaze lingered on her, as if searching for something in her expression.

  “Yes! I’m Eleanor Ashcroft! Earlier, you asked who sent me. What did you mean?” She softened her voice, trying to match his tone.

  “Playing dumb?” His eyes narrowed.

  “I really don’t understand!” Eleanor met his gaze squarely.

  “The Cloudshadow Manor has only one surname—Cloudshadow,” he said slowly, his eyes still probing hers.

  “You mean… everyone in the manor is named Cloudshadow?” Eleanor asked, shocked.

  “And you claim to be an Ashcroft?” His sharp gaze made her shrink back.

  “Well… isn’t it possible that I’m a visitor or a friend from afar? Surely not everyone shares the same surname?” she ventured cautiously.

  “You don’t know that Cloudshadow Manor excludes outsiders?” His voice turned icy again, clearly displeased with her explanation.

  “I really didn’t know! Is that why you poisoned me with that… Bone Crimson thing?” Eleanor asked, frustrated. She was innocent! Seeing his darkening expression, she decided to come clean.

  “Actually… I’m not from here. You have to believe me—I was brought here by… a thunderbolt. Do you believe me?” Even as she said it, she doubted he would.

  “I believe,” he said, his tone almost angelic.

  “You do?” Eleanor blinked in disbelief.

  “I believe you’re spouting nonsense. Even your lies are clumsy,” he sneered.

  “I knew you wouldn’t believe me! But it’s the truth! I have no ill will toward you. In fact, I saved your life! If I wanted to harm you, why would I bother saving you? I could’ve just killed you, right? And the poison—it’s not my doing. The weapons are over there!” She pointed to the bloodied clothes in the corner, desperate to prove her innocence.

  “At most… I might not have sucked out all the poison. But I did my best! If I hadn’t removed most of it, you wouldn’t even be alive to glare at me or poison me with that Bone Crimson nonsense, would you?”

  “I have ways to make you tell the truth,” he said coldly, as if ignoring her entire speech.

  “I’m telling the truth, I swear!” She wondered if his “ways” involved torture.

  “But using Soulbinding on you again would be a waste,” he said mockingly.

  “So it’s called Soulbinding?” She shuddered. “I haven’t even accused you of invading my privacy, and you call it a waste? Ridiculous!”

  “I’ve proven my innocence. Now cure me!” she demanded.

  “Did I say I believe you?” His tone was like a bucket of cold water.

  “You don’t believe the truth, and you call using your magic a waste. What do you want? Are you happy if I die?” She glared at him, though his injuries made her hesitate to act on her anger.

  His gaze shifted to the soup on the table. In a tone that brooked no argument, he said:

  “Feed me.”

  Grumbling internally, she picked up the spoon. Fine… the patient was king. And she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

  “Open up.”

  He hesitated at the strange plastic spoon but complied. As she fed him, she thought she heard a faint chuckle—definitely mocking. His lips moved, and she caught his words:

  “You’re afraid of me?”

  “No—I’m not!” she denied quickly, avoiding his eyes.

  “Look at me.” His voice was hypnotic.

  “Why should I?” She wasn’t about to obey his every command.

  “You don’t dare,” he taunted.

  “Nonsense!” She couldn’t resist a challenge. Her gaze shifted from his lips to his eyes. This was only the second time she had truly looked into them, and she was instantly drawn into their dark, swirling depths—filled with evil, loneliness, and despair. Though he wasn’t using his magic, his eyes were mesmerizing, pulling her in until she couldn’t look away. Only when he lowered his gaze did she realize she had spilled the soup.

  …The eyes are the windows to the soul. But where does the heart hide when the eyes are devoid of light, drowning in darkness and fear?