DIVINE BANE-Chapter 75: Ishtar the queen of night city

I became power.

Whispers drifted through Rinasita's nights that there is a girl who could know your secrets, the girl who could make you forget your nightmares. Nobles came to me begging to have their worst memories erased, replaced with lust and pleasure. In return, they fed me truths of betrayals, blackmail, assassinations... things they thought they could bury

I rose.

From a girl in chains to the Queen of Night City.

And though I walk through satin halls now and hold power over nobles, I never forget the dirty floor I crawled on or the cries of a little girl who just wanted her mother to stop hitting her.

I am Ishtar.

And in the city of shadows, I am untouchable.

***

The sun dipped lazily behind the walls of Castle Grave City, casting an amber glow over the crowded market streets. Merchants barked their wares jewels, spices, enchanted trinkets, while children wove through the crowd laughing, the scent of grilled meats and sweet pastries drifting through the air.

Zander moved through the throng with calm purpose, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he paused to observe a craftsman carving figurines from enchanted wood. He looked relaxed for once away from the Ravenhart estate, away from the endless duties and sharp-eyed nobles.

But he was being watched.

In the shadow of a narrow alley, half-concealed beneath a deep charcoal hood, stood Ishtar. Her red eyes gleamed like knives beneath the hood's edge, fixed solely on the young butler. Her lips curled into a luscious amused grin.

"Well, Zander," she whispered to herself, her voice dripping like honey laced with venom, "you're still just a kid."

She tilted her head, licking her bottom lip in a slow, sensual sweep of her tongue.

"Like they say... fruit tastes best when it's still fresh."

A low chuckle purred from her throat, more predator than woman. She watched the way he smiled at the vendor, the way his red eyes flicked with curiosity, unaware of the eyes crawling over him like velvet chains.

To her, he was a lamb in a lion's den... and she was the lioness with a taste for the naive.

She slipped further into the crowd, keeping her distance but never letting him out of her sight.

Night had fallen over Castle Grave City, washing the streets in silver moonlight and flickering torch glow. Most of the market had quieted, leaving only the rough laughter of drunkards and the occasional creak of wagon wheels echoing off the cobblestones.

Zander, his tasks for the day finally done, walked with steady steps toward the small inn Aurora had arranged for him. His mind was already on the warm food and quiet solitude waiting for him until a sharp, uncomfortable noise cut through the night.

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Laughter. Men's voices. Muffled resistance.

He turned the corner and froze.

Down a side alley, three rough-looking men surrounded a lone woman cloaked in a dark hood. One of them reached out with a mocking smirk, saying,

"Are you alone, dear?"

Another leaned in closer, breath thick with ale. "You know," he slurred,

"you could stay at our place tonight. We'll treat you real nice."

The woman flinched back, her face still covered beneath her hood, trying to slip past them but one grabbed her wrist.

"I said—"

"Let her go."

The voice was sharp. Calm. But cold enough to freeze the blood.

The men turned to find Zander standing at the alley's entrance, his crimson eyes glowing slightly beneath the moonlight. He didn't raise his voice again. He didn't need to.

One of the men scoffed. "Back off, kid. This ain't your—"

But before he could finish, Zander moved. A flash of silver steel gleamed in his hand just a short dagger, drawn not to kill, but to warn.

"I won't say it twice."

That was enough. The tension cracked like glass. The man holding the woman released her, cursing under his breath. The group staggered off into the shadows, grumbling threats they didn't have the courage to act on.

Zander sheathed the blade and turned to the woman.

"You alright?" he asked.

She looked up at him as her hood fell—Ishtar.

Her red hair gleamed under the moonlight, her full lips parted as if in surprise. But her eyes... they sparkled, not with fear, but with something else entirely. Amusement? Curiosity?

"My, my," she purred softly.

"Such a knight in shining armor."

Zander blinked, suddenly recognizing her face, though he wasn't sure from where.

"You shouldn't be wandering these streets alone."

Ishtar tilted her head playfully.

"And yet, here you are to save me. How lucky I am."

He narrowed his eyes but gently took her by the wrist.

"Come on. It's not safe out here."

Without another word, Zander led her swiftly through the winding backstreets, cutting through alleyways like he knew them by heart. He didn't look back, didn't speak. Ishtar kept pace in silence, her eyes occasionally darting toward him studying, questioning.

When they reached the edge of a broader avenue lit faintly by lanterns, he stopped.

"This is far enough," he said, voice low.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already walking away, the hem of his cloak brushing the stone behind him.

No goodbye. No explanation.

Just silence and the sound of his boots growing fainter in the night.

Zander pushed open the inn's door, the creak of old hinges echoing through the quiet lobby. He stepped inside .

Behind him, another figure entered.

He turned, mildly surprised. Ishtar.

She offered a small unreadable smile as she approached the innkeeper. A brief exchange later, she was handed a key to room seven.

His brow lifted. "Well... what a coincidence."

She glanced at him, lips curving slightly.

"Yeah. Seems the night has a sense of humor."

He nodded, watching her retreat to the room beside his. The door clicked shut. Silence returned.

Zander entered his own room simple, clean, dimly lit by a lone lantern. He shed his cloak and collapsed onto the bed with a long exhale.

Midnight settled over Castle Grave like a heavy shroud.

Then, a knock.

Soft. Measured. Almost hesitant.

He sat up slowly, senses sharp but dulled by sleep. He opened the door.

Ishtar stood there, bare naked, her skin bathed in moonlight spilling through the hallway window behind her. Her red hair cascaded over one shoulder, eyes locked on his with impossible calm.

Before he could speak, she stepped forward and pressed against him, catching him off guard. They stumbled back, and he hit the floor with a muted grunt she was atop him, warm, lithe, every inch of her body molded to his. her voluptuous breast squeezed between her and him

His breath caught. Heat flushed across his face.

She leaned in, her voice low and teasing.

"I never thank you for saving me."

Her eyes looking at his, dark and unfathomable.

"So... here it is."

She leaned down and kissed him, slow at first, exploratory, her lips tasting of heat and danger. Zander's hands tensed against the floor. For a moment, he resisted, caught between impulse and restraint, but then... he gave in. now who wouldn't , lust is the greatest enemy of human intellect. Her presence became overwhelming.

Their bodies moved with mounting urgency. She rose to her feet, eyes never leaving his, then reached down and pulled him up with surprising strength. With a sharp push, he landed on the bed.

Ishtar followed, straddling him. Fingers deft and sure, she undid the fastenings of his shirt, exposing the muscle beneath. Zander's breath hitched as her hands explored him with calculated slowness.

There was no softness in what followed.

Their movements were raw, hungry, a clash of fire and instinct. Ishtar led with the intensity of someone used to taking control, and Zander, despite himself, matched her rhythm with equal ferocity.

The room was filled with heat, breath, and the sound of skin against skin. Her moans, melodic and breathy, felt like a siren's call, sweet and intoxicating, almost cruel in their allure.