UNLEASH | D.M (UNRAVEL BOOK 6)

[ 29 ]

Soft murmurs flowed around the drawing room and as soon as the door swung open and Aine walked in, all conversations ceased and died down at once. Silence dominated in the air, ruling over those present when she entered. It was deadly serene as everyone froze in their seats as though crippled, not a single word uttered. It felt like the calm before a storm. 

She walked towards the long table where Deatheater sat lined up on each side, their faces a combination of sombre and insouciant, with a hint of smugness that was vivid as the flamboyant scarlet roses in the centre of the table. Some had their heads drooped down, unable to hold eye contact with her for reasons Aine didn't know. It was only making her more uneasy with the quietness. And then there was another handful who were snickering not-so-secretly as if thinking she was a fool to not notice. 

Cal, as usual, was tittering boldly, taking zero consideration to keep his emotions and thoughts to himself. He was tapping on the handles of the chair and kicking his boots happily underneath the table, too elated and drowned with contentment to be concealing his feelings and to read the gloomy atmosphere in the room. He licks his lips devilishly upon meeting Aine's glare.

Aine narrowed at him, wondering what was so funny that nobody else seemed to relish in the same joy as him. Had he truly lost his mind during the few days she hadn't seen him? She noted the wounds on his face: the broken nose and busted lip, blotches of dark red and purple all around his swollen skin, several cuts on his cheeks and ripped clothing with a patch of dried blood near his chest. It was unusual for him to let his wounds sit on his face for others to see.

Usually, Cal would be the first amongst the others to have his injuries healed. He couldn't stand himself not being perfect and in top-notch appearance, a trait opposite to his father as Aine has come to realise. However, this time, he kept most of the wounds he had suffered instead of cleaning up. It felt as though he was bragging about it with pride, displaying it like some sort of battle scar he earned in a victorious fight.

And that was partly what unsettled her. 

She did a quick scan of the faces in the large room when she came in, registering their identities and confirming their existence. Many were common faces, Deatheaters who would normally turn up in their monthly meetings. Excluding Pettigrew who was probably in the basement overseeing the recent prisoners the Dark Lord had captured and Nagini whom Aine didn't doubt would not be by her master's side, there were two—

Three.

Three people were missing from those who gathered. Voldemort was one of them and the other two were her brother and Draco who were just training together alongside Cyrus before she left for the forest in Dartmoor. 

Aine ignored the horrible knot forming and twisting in her stomach and how her nerves began to rattle like her mind, anxiousness building up in her system. "What is the meaning of this? Where is my brother and Draco?" she finally spoke, breaking the quietness with her calm but strong voice as she demanded the army of Deatheaters for answers.

From the corner of her lilac eye, she spotted Narcissa shifting uncomfortably in her seat. It was when she turned to the Malfoy matriarch did the older woman avoided Aine's gaze. A flicker of remorse over her stiff features as she sat upright and stared directly at the window, further illuminating the layer of glassiness in her eyes. 

Lucius shot her a baleful glance when she trailed her gaze next to him, lasers coming out from his eyes as he kept his dignity. Though unlike the glowers he often gives her, there were more sentiments this time swirling beneath those dusky grey orbs. There was hostility and abhorrence but also, dismay and worry with a tinge of sympathy which was rare. His hardened glare softened tenderly when he looked over to his wife and held her hand tightly under the table.