"Where is my wife?" Something dangerous was flickering like a lit fire in his eyes—something that told the man he would turn into a lifeless body in the very next second if he didn't answer him.
"Your wife? D-do you mean, Stella, sir?" The old man could somewhat tell. The scent on him was the very same powerful scent Stella had on her. Was this her husband? Mr. Valeric Jones, the first son of the royal family?
He was done for.
He was very much done for and he knew it. For it to be a man like him—someone that was known by everyone to be some kind of beast that was beyond what their own kind could ever be, his life was done for.
"Where. Is. My. Wife?" He repeated himself, this time with through gritted teeth. His grip around his throat tightened and he choked, grating out. "In the changing room. S-she is…I-in the changing room." He was pointing at a door.