The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1872

As Dalton finished his sentence, the scene before Wynter shifted. The sharp scent of disinfectant was gone, and the sterile ward vanished. All sound slowly faded into the distance.

They were now deep within the underworld, where demons roamed freely, and the city of ten thousand spirits loomed.

At its highest level, everything was cold except where the Spirit King resided. Water from a hot spring seemed to descend from the heavens, its droplets hitting stone with a soft patter. The warmth at Wynter's back reminded her exactly where she was.

No one would disturb them here.

The barrier he had summoned with a wave of his hand was the one he once used to imprison her.

Wynter tried to move, but the chain at her ankle tugged her straight back into his arms.

A breeze lifted the corner of the crimson silk draped from the gilded canopy hook. Intimacy ran deep between them, impossible to describe fully.

Dalton was still dressed in a sharply tailored suit, but now there was an added elegance—something ancient.

The scent of sandalwood and pine smoke wrapped around Wynter. The hem of Dalton's trousers brushed the edge of the bed, and an emerald pendant at his waist clinked softly.

"Why are you shaking so much?" He hooked a finger under the fringe of her bridal veil, his warm fingertips grazing her flushed earlobe.

The wedding symbol embroidered in gold thread shimmered into a hazy glow under the candlelight.

Wynter could hear his constant heavy breathing. As the red silk slipped away, Wynter found herself locked in his dark and deep gaze.

The embroidered pillow beneath them, adorned with twin lotus blooms, sank under their weight. She caught the faint scent of cedarwood and wine clinging to his collar as he leaned over her.

Scattered hazelnuts dug into her lower back, sharp and painful—until Dalton's palm pressed over them, turning the sting into a slow, tender caress.

"Do you still remember this place? It was our wedding night," he said hoarsely as he kissed her trembling lashes. Layer upon layer of sheer fabric fell from the canopy, tinting the candlelight a warm amber.

Wynter clutched the fabric of his suit, her fingers burning from his kisses. He tousled her hair, and the jasmine scent was dispersed, mingling with the sweet smell of the wine on the table.

As Dalton bit her earlobe, the food box at the foot of the bed, once filled with macarons meticulously prepared by the evil spirits under his command, had tipped over. Its contents were scattered across the floor, clinging to her sheer crimson wedding robe, glimmering like fallen stars on her skin.

In that instant, Dalton's scent filled her senses. It was cool and pure—the kind of fragrance that could easily make her head spin.

Wynter's breath quickened. She stared at Dalton's face, so close to hers, and felt a sudden jolt of danger.

She tried to pull away, only for him to hold her tighter. One of his strong arms was wrapped around her waist. His lips pressed into the back of her neck, and then he bit down, hard.

Wynter gasped, unprepared for the rush of heat that followed. She couldn't fight the sensation—it was electric and numbing. Even her breath seemed to fall into rhythm with his.

She could feel every degree of his body heat. The firm grip of his hand at her waist was searing through the thin fabric, igniting every inch of her skin.

The more she struggled, the darker his eyes became. His hand pressed firmly against her thigh, giving her no room to move.

Wynter tried again to push him back, but instead, she unwittingly exposed her neck to his lips.

They were too close. Every time she shifted, the scent of sandalwood wrapped tighter around her. Her heartbeat had lost all rhythm.

His kisses trailed along her pale neck, grazing back and forth, leaving behind a string of tingling shivers. Wynter was overwhelmed by the rising heat that seemed to melt her from the inside out.

"Don't... don't touch me there..." she pleaded. Her fingers trembled, completely drained of strength.

But Dalton wasn't finished with her. His movements now held a hint of punishment, grazing the most sensitive part of her body just enough to make her gasp.

"W-Wait…" Her voice came out hoarse. Wynter bit down hard on her lip, the corners of her eyes flushed deep red.

Watching her every reaction, Dalton's gaze dropped to her lips. His dark eyes grew even darker.

Wynter could feel the change in him. He pressed in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "What are you waiting for?"

"I..." She could hardly recognize herself in that moment.

Dalton knew her body far too well. He parted his lips, brushing her tender earlobe with his tongue before biting down gently. "You what?"

His handsome face inched even closer, until their breaths tangled together. The pressure at her waist increased. He held her from behind, expertly finding the ways to make her body melt.

Her dress was in tatters, the delicate fabric torn apart by his hands. The only thing keeping her upright was him. His kisses fell in waves on her neck, burning and possessive.

No one had ever touched Wynter like this. She trembled uncontrollably, too overwhelmed to even resist.

In the underworld, no one dared approach the Spirit King's chambers, so the two were uninterrupted, being affectionate on the bed.

The more disheveled Wynter became, the deeper Dalton's kisses sank. By the time her whole body was trembling under his touch, only then did he ease slightly, only to thrust into her with a sudden, fierce intensity.

The red candles flickered. The spring water rippled in endless waves.

Morning had broken outside, but they remained lost in the heat of an endless night in here.

...

Meanwhile, in Havenia, the old man stood alone in a room, a detailed map of the city spread out in his hands. He had come to Havenia in search of a treasure, said to grant eternal life, preserve the soul, and even allow a person to be reborn.

Very few knew about it. Only the highest ranks within Cascadia were aware of its existence. No one knew the treasure's exact location, so they could only search and eliminate possibilities one by one.

Just then, a knock came at the door. The old man lifted a hand, and the door opened on its own.

A man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He bowed respectfully and said, "Sir, I've spread the news about the Celestial Force just as you instructed. Those people should already be on the move."

The old man nodded. "Good."

He folded the map and continued, "Do you know why I wanted you to tell them?"

The man shook his head. "I don't, sir. I only follow your orders."

The old man chuckled. "Because if the Celestial Force in Cascadia were that easy to steal, Cascadia wouldn't have lasted this long. Do you really think five thousand years of history is just a legend?

"I wanted them to act first. That way, all eyes will be on the Celestial Force, and no one will pay attention to Havenia. That makes our work much easier."

His plan was simple—a classic bait-and-switch. He would let others chase the obvious prize while he hunted the true one in secret. It might take time, but as long as someone kept the attention on the Celestial Force, they would have enough of it.

With that thought, he turned to the man. "How many people do we still have available in Havenia?"

The man paused to think. "Getting in and out of Havenia is tricky. Right now, only five or six."

The old man nodded. "That should be enough."

At that, he spread the map out again and gestured for him to come closer. "Look at the places I marked. The red circles are areas we've already checked. The ones without marks still need to be searched.

"Tell our people to focus on those. And listen—if they encounter any remote spots with sentries or hidden surveillance, report back to me immediately."

The man studied the map carefully, memorizing the unmarked locations. "Yes, sir. I'll go now."

Wolf raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you saying I'm not strong?"

Jemima quickly backpedaled. "No, no, that's not what I meant. I just mean… if he turns out to be an enemy, I'm afraid even you might lose."

Wolf rubbed his nose. "Are you sure he's that powerful?"

"Definitely. You wouldn't notice it because you're not a spirit, but I'm in ghost form now. That man's presence carries the essence of Aetheris—he's clearly a cultivator. That kind of energy affects me strongly."

Wolf flexed his wrist. "If that's the case, I guess we really do need to wait for Boss."

Just as he said that, the car came to a stop. Wolf glanced outside and saw a lavish standalone villa. The exterior was already extravagant enough, but he could only imagine how fancy it must be inside.

He cracked his knuckles and muttered, "How much would this place cost? If I had that kind of money, I would eat every kind of delicious food there is."

Jemima was speechless.

Ingrid smiled. "You had better make lots of money when you grow up, then."

She opened her door and stepped out. "Come on, Wolf. Let's go in."

Wolf followed her lead and got out of the car.

At the gate, two black-clad guards recognized her and quickly stepped aside. "Ms. Chamberlain, welcome back."

She nodded and led Wolf into the villa.

The interior was even more opulent than the outside. Everything was either gold-plated or silver-gilded. Wolf couldn't help but stare as they passed through room after room.

Finally, they reached the courtyard, where an old man lay in a recliner, basking in the sunlight, completely unaware of their arrival.

It wasn't until the butler whispered to him that the old man, Antoine, stirred. He stood up quickly as he looked toward them. "Ingrid, you finally decided to come home."

Ingrid's expression was cold. "I'm only here to tell you something. I'll leave as soon as I'm done."

Antoine sighed deeply. "Ingrid, must things always be so tense between us? Back when your mother—"

"Don't you dare bring her up! You have no right to mention her!" she snapped, cutting him off.

She took a breath to compose herself and continued, "Just now, I ran into some people on the street. They said they were going to take me away and make you come pick me up. I'm guessing they want to use me to force you into something. That's all—just be careful."

With that, she turned to leave. She thought she would be more indifferent when she saw Antoine again, but the moment their eyes met, the anger surged back to the surface.

Antoine shouted after her, "Enough with the attitude. Come with me. Don't you want the truth?"

He turned and walked toward the study. Ingrid hesitated for a moment before following him.

That left only the butler and Wolf standing in place.

Since Wolf had come with Ingrid, the butler didn't dare neglect him. She smiled warmly and said, "Hello, little one. I'm Alanis Shayla. Would you like something to eat?"

Wolf thought for a second. "Fruit, please. Thank you, Ms. Shayla."

Alanis chuckled. "Alright. I'll get it ready for you. Just have a seat."

So, Wolf sat on a nearby chair, but his mind was still spinning, thinking about tracking down that old man. Running into him today had been pure chance. He might never find the old man again if he lost this lead.