Arabella had temporarily settled in Fandel, accompanied by a group of terrorists.
As long as they caused no trouble, even knowing that Arabella was a menace, the Fandel government turned a blind eye. In their country, anyone could live in peace as long as they abided by the law, earning Fandel the nickname "Criminals' Paradise."
Summer had arrived in Fandel, and the weather was stifling. Arabella sat on a swing in the center of the yard, swaying lazily back and forth. Behind her stood Ferdinand, who had managed to steal a brief moment of leisure.
After being personally rescued by Arabella, Ferdinand stayed in the temporary villa she had purchased. Yet, no matter how long he waited, she didn't return. Frustrated, he left for Spanka. In his three-year absence, the royal family of Spanka had apparently grown bold, daring to interfere in his affairs. They seemed to have forgotten that the Leiso family had been a respected lineage in Spanka for a century. Offending him—did the royals really think they could get away with it?
After giving the royal family a stern warning, Ferdinand rushed back. Arabella was indeed back, but she didn't let him rest. Leaning casually against the doorway with a teasing smile, the first thing she said was to ask for his help.
Oh, how things had changed. After three years, Arabella had certainly learned how to be more demanding.
She was demanding, and he couldn't help but comply. Though he grumbled, he never hesitated to give her whatever she wanted.
In the three years they hadn't seen each other, Arabella hadn't gained many new companions. The only addition was Norris, a young, obsessive inventor completely absorbed in his creations. Too young and far too clueless about the world. Of course, he had heard about the coup in Doma. Jasper had wiped out the entire royal family and seized power in their place. How much Arabella had contributed behind the scenes remained unclear, but it was evident that Jasper was an ambitious man, fundamentally walking a different path from Arabella.
The sun blazed overhead as Ferdinand, having spent several days confined to the weapons room, squinted instinctively at the sudden light. Walking up behind Arabella, he began pushing her swing and grumbled, "No loyalty at all—rescued me just to exploit me? Meanwhile, you're here enjoying life?"
Arabella seemed to be in a good mood. She clasped the hand Ferdinand had placed on the chain, smiling as she said, "What can I do? With you here, things are easier for me. Are you going to help me or not?"
Ferdinand was overjoyed, his gaze falling on his and Arabella's intertwined hands. Her fingers appeared soft and delicate, but hidden within was the strength to crush bones effortlessly. His thoughts shifted, and he tightened his grip on her hand, softly asking, "Why do I feel like you've changed a bit over the years?"
Arabella turned to look at him, her smile fading slightly. The cold expression that replaced it made her seem even more sincere. "Stealing that tank back then was dangerous."
Thinking of the past, Ferdinand felt a little aggrieved. He bent down, resting his chin on Arabella's shoulder, and began to complain, "I waited for you the whole time I was in there."
"I know. That's why I got you out as soon as the time was right."
Ferdinand pursed his lips, grabbing Arabella's face to make her look at him before continuing, "I couldn't eat or sleep in there. I thought you'd forgotten about me, out messing around and not thinking of me, your friend."
Arabella couldn't help but laugh, reaching out to pat Ferdinand's flat-top haircut. She asked teasingly, "Did you suffer in there?"
At those words, Ferdinand snorted coldly, a storm brewing in his eyes. "That conniving Julius thought he could kill me while I was in there. Did he really think I'd let him succeed? He doesn't know who he's dealing with."
"He's useful."
Ferdinand fell silent. He didn't dare ask whether he himself was useful. To Arabella, being useful was undoubtedly a good thing. But for him, the word "useful" cut deep. In Arabella's heart, if she could harbor even the slightest trace of affection for someone, it was a rare occurrence—enough to bring extraordinary joy to those who witnessed it.
Looking at the transformed Ferdinand, Arabella patted his back and asked with a grin, "You don't seem as soft and delicate as before. Did you starve in there? Want some meat?"
Ferdinand shot Arabella an annoyed look, though his heart was close to melting. After grumbling for a while, he finally muttered, "You think one meal of meat can win me over?"
"How about sheep meat?"
"Sheep meat? What, are you going to cook it for me yourself?"
Arabella led Ferdinand through two streets before turning into a open farm. They stopped in front of an impressive farm, where a troop of sheep wandering in the farm. The owner was inside, the surroundings quiet. The guard dog didn't bark immediately, seemingly familiar with Arabella. Another reason was the tempting treat Arabella held in her hand.
"You're here to steal a sheep?" Ferdinand whispered incredulously, lowering his voice. What kind of hobby was this? Sheep meat was readily available at any restaurant—why go through the trouble of stealing?
"Killing a person gets you charged with murder; killing sheep doesn't," Arabella replied. As she spoke, she waited for the dog to lower its head to eat. In an instant, she moved. She stepped into the farm, her eyes locking onto a sheep. With a swift movement, her fingers gripped the sheep's neck. A crisp crack echoed as its neck twisted several times, the tendons snapping, and its eyes burst before it could even let out a cry. Without hesitation, she hoisted the lifeless sheep over her shoulder and dashed out.
Ferdinand watched as Arabella stuffed the dead sheep into a sack and casually carried it back to her villa. Inside the temporary residence, the kitchen was fully equipped but immaculately clean—unsurprising, given that no one expected a group of terrorists to cook.
But Arabella moved with practiced skill, grabbing a cleaver and skinning the sheep, draining its blood. She gutted it and, with a few swift chops, removed the bones and diced the meat into small chunks for marinating. Afterward, she brought out a barbecue grill and began skewering the marinated meat onto sticks. Was she planning to make grilled sheep kebabs?
While waiting, Arabella and Ferdinand sat in the kitchen, perched on small stools, both salivating at the sight of skewered sheep meat roasting before them.
"Didn't expect you to be this skilled," Ferdinand remarked, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Arabella. Her deft handling of the preparation piqued his curiosity.
Arabella leaned back lazily in her chair, her shirt collar slightly open, one hand propping up her head. The sight of blood earlier had stirred her suppressed bloodlust. Arabella didn't know if she could be considered inherently vicious, but in her twenty-some years of life, at least twenty had been spent with sharp, menacing fangs. The remaining few were merely the years of childhood when those fangs had been hidden.
Arabella glanced at Ferdinand and said softly, "I once slaughtered a female-wolf. It was freezing back then, and I'd barely managed to catch a wolf pup. Didn't eat it—used it to lure the mother. The she-wolf's meat was fatty but tasted average. Better for soup, but I didn't have a pot, so I could only roast it."
Ferdinand instinctively wanted to ask how she had caught the she-wolf but suddenly realized she was talking about her time imprisoned in Scalien. His heart jolted, and a fierce look flashed in his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he vowed, "Don't worry. That debt with Scalien—I'll settle it with you someday."
Arabella looked at Ferdinand with interest. She had thought his three years in prison would have tempered his character, but instead, he was as intense as ever, a striking streak of noble defiance in the world. After all, the Leiso family was one of the few remaining noble houses in the world. Since Jasper's coup last year, which wiped out the Cardew family, the Leiso family had become even more prominent.
As the scion of an aristocratic house, Ferdinand had the means, ability, and entitlement to be arrogant and reckless. Thinking of this, Arabella smiled faintly and shook her head. "I don't hold any hatred for Scalien."
Ferdinand opened his mouth with a puzzled "Ah," then asked, "So you're determined to go to Scalien?" After posing the question, his expression darkened, a hint of discomfort flashing across his face as he continued, "Could those rumors actually be true? Is that madman in the third-floor room just a substitute?"
Arabella didn't answer this time. Her smile faded, and she changed the subject. "The marinade's ready. Time to roast the meat."
The aroma of roasted sheep meat wafted through the air, drawing Norris from his laboratory, drooling with hunger. With outsiders present, Ferdinand refrained from pressing Arabella further. Besides, Scalien was clearly a deep wound in her heart. She claimed not to hate it, but he didn't believe her. No matter. There was plenty of time. If Arabella ever decided to destroy Scalien, he would be there to help her.
Later that night, Arabella lay face down on the bed, her firm, rounded hips and slender waist held firmly in place. The bed seemed to catch fire under the intensity of the moment. Taras, towering and muscular, with a physique honed through countless battles, exuded raw, untamed ferocity.
On the bed, Arabella was overwhelmed by his fervent thrusts, their desire ignited like a sparring match. She was flipped over and over, climbed up and down, their sweat scattering with each movement. Taras, breathless with arousal, folded her legs against her body and drove into her with relentless intensity. As his passion peaked, he lowered his head and bit the tender flesh on the inside of her thigh. Arabella let out a chuckling scoff, raising her foot as if to kick him, but stopped when she saw Taras licking his lips, his sweat-drenched body radiating an almost feral allure. With a laugh and a scolding tone, she teased him, calling him a wolf in bed. Hearing this, Taras became even more excited, his lean hips moving with unrelenting vigor as if intent on claiming new territory on Arabella's body.
After a bout on the bed, Taras, bare-chested, grabbed the glass of wine from the bedside table and downed it in one gulp. Turning his head, he saw Arabella getting out of bed and dressing. Narrowing his eyes, he remarked with a sour tone, "Arabella, you're too heartless, aren't you? Barely off my bed and already leaving. Where to? Got a second round somewhere else in the dead of night?"
Arabella paused. She didn't understand matters of love and simply assumed Taras was upset about her leaving so abruptly. Smiling faintly, she extended an invitation: "I'm just going to check the goods. I was going to talk to you about it anyway—want to come along?"
Taras had brought a group of skilled smugglers with him this time. Assuming Arabella was taking him to inspect drugs, he thought it was probably the usual routine. Instead, their overnight journey took them from Fandel to Jingle, arriving at a factory in the production district by the next morning. Confused, Taras wondered, just how much dope are we talking about here? Enough to measure by the ton? Are they planning to bury Scalien's citizens under a mountain of drugs? Besides, wasn't one sample enough to inspect? Why go to such lengths?
When he saw the warehouse packed with goods, Taras ground his teeth silently. Turning incredulously, he asked, "You made me come all this way for this? Baby formula?!"
Arabella casually patted one of the boxes and nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes."
"You've got to be kidding. Even if drugs were mixed into the formula, they'd still get caught."
Arabella fixed her gaze on Taras, her expression halfway between a smirk and a sneer. "Who said anything about drugs? It's just baby formula."
