Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 942: Trouble at Home

Quinlan cast his mind outward, threading his will through the unseen spiritual web that connected him to those who bore his mark.

He touched her essence.

[Masters Link: Jasmine]

The connection snapped to life.

A moment later, a breathless squeal burst into his mind, sounding as if a dam had just broken.

Her voice was high and trembling, drenched in such raw emotion that it made him ache, feeling a bit guilty for taking so long to complete the trial.

He lifted his hand.

Her voice cut in sharply, worried. Panicked.

His flames flickered, narrowing.

There was a pause in the conversation upon his uttering the question.

A long, bitter pause.

Jasmine finally whispered, the anger buried in her voice was unmistakable.

Quinlan prompted darkly.

Her voice tightened, the bitterness becoming heavier with each word.

ṜÃŊ𝙤𝐛ЁⱾ

She gave a quiet, mirthless laugh.

Her words painted a grim truth only insiders could fully understand.

She exhaled slowly.

She didnt even sound surprised by it anymore. Just tired.

Then, even colder, she added:

Her voice cracked, small and raw:

Quinlan went still.

Utterly, terrifyingly still.

The air around Quinlan shifted. Kitsara, halfway through whispering something utterly indecent into his ear, froze as the kiss she leaned in for met solid, frozen stillness. Her tails twitched. Her instincts screamed. Something was wrong.

The girls around him felt it too.

Lucilles eyes narrowed.

Ayames hand drifted to her blade.

Quinlans anger was not the usual tempest. Not a shout. Not a flare. But a dense compression of wrath so concentrated, it warped the flow of mana around him.

The elemental harmony in his eyes destabilized.

Flame pulsed, scorching red.

he growled, voice low, guttural.

The words rolled off his tongue as if they were mighty venom harvested from a legendary serpent.

The trees nearby trembled. Leaves curled. The air pressure dropped.

Back in the camp, Jasmine felt a chill run down her spine. Her fingers shook, and her heart raced. Something horrible was brewing, something primal and unrestrained. She knew him. Knew what kind of fire burned inside her man. How caring and possessive he was of his lovers.

This was... not good.

she blurted mentally, desperation lacing her words.

Her thoughts sped up, almost tripping over each other.

Silence.

A long, pregnant pause.

Quinlan didnt answer.

He was still staring into nothingness, the fury beneath his skin thrumming like molten steel trapped inside a sealed crucible.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was deathly quiet:

It wasnt a question.

It was a statement.

Jasmine didnt reply.

She didnt have to.

She was guilty. Of course she was. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to be swept into his arms, to sob and scream and kiss him and celebrate his return. But she couldnt. Because if he came, if he really came for her... her father would retaliate.

And not against her.

But against her mother.

Her voice finally came again, tiny and trembling:

Quinlans fists clenched so much that his nails were making his immensely sturdy skin bleed. Flame coiled down his forearms like serpents. But he didnt erupt.

The [Still Heart] within him beat once.

And he forced the fire to simmer.

He took a slow breath. The wind around him stopped rustling.

And then...