2

DECLAN

The sound of my bike was a soothing lullaby to my broken soul. I revved it up a little more just because I could, enjoying the snarl of the engine. I watched the judgmental glares of the old, wrinkled men as I parked my baby in front of the massive gates and stepped down.

Giving the side of my bike an affectionate tap, I gave it a kiss, and dropped my metallic blue helmet on the seat and turned to face the home of the man that took everything away from me.

Rhett Blackwood.

Even the name alone tasted like ash in my mouth, and worst of all, I was forced to bond with him today. A mate bond. One decided by an outdated law and the same sniveling fools who were walking a little too close behind me.

If my sorry excuse of a step brother hadn’t tried to sell me off, maybe I wouldn’t be here. But alas, I was perpetually surrounded by fools.

I could kill them all where they stood. Eviscerate them and end their sad, sorry lives, drenching this tower in the same blood they so casually trafficked in, but mother had warned me to rein in my anger. She’d always complained that I burned too hot. But she wasn’t here now. I was still thinking about her, when I felt a light brush on my shoulder.

Instinct took over and instantly, I had the bastard pinned to the wall before he could blink, his legs dangling a few feet above the ground as I squeezed his throat.

My retracted claws extended with a soft shick, and I felt my fangs pierce through my gums, drawing blood from my lower lip.

The light blue glow of my eyes reflected in his terrified ones, highlighting the fear there as he tried without words to beg for his life.

“Let him go, Hale,” one of the council members commanded.

I answered with a low, warning growl and tightened my grip on the wolf’s throat. I hated taking commands from anyone.

I’d been itching for a fight ever since the bonding decree had been announced. Perhaps that’s why I’d decided to raze part of his pack’s western border today. Call it a little pre-engagement gift.

The casualties were well… casualties.

“Hale,” another elder urged, more of a plea than a command this time.

With a sharp exhale, I let the wheezing guard drop to the floor like a ragdoll and pulled a handkerchief from my leather coat, using it to wipe down my shoulder where the man had touched me.

I hated being touched. Especially by anyone who wasn’t my mother.

I turned to face the rest of the guards and the council members, ignoring the man on the floor. None of them dared to approach me, in fear that they’re fates would be worse, and I relished in that fact.

“So, are we going to move, or we’re going to stand here all day?”

With a few murmured apologies and a barely perceptible bow, they began to move forward.

Moments later, we reached a set of dark, towering double door flanked by two guards who immediately opened them. As soon as the doors creaked open, I was greeted by a corridor lined with wolves, all draped in dark suits, gowns and expressions more suited to that of a funeral. But I guess that was what this was.

A black wedding.

And then I saw him.

The man of the fucking hour.

Sitting on a high seat, a throne carved from blackened bone and obsidian. I’d heard that it was the remains of his enemies that built that throne, but I’d expect nothing less from Rhett Blackwood.

His heavy arms rested on the lion-wolf hybrids sculpted into the stone armrests and his crown, a surprisingly simple black iron circlet, rested atop his raven locks.

I hated him more already.

I stepped further, steady and afraid of nothing. I walked with the grace of a calculated killer in motion. Because that was what I am. I didn't need to weigh the deaths in this room, I'd already chosen mine.

His.

His end was today.

"You're Rhett," I said coldly.

Not "Your Majesty." And definitely not "Alpha." No one was my Alpha.

He was just Rhett to me. The same demeaning way I’d call his name as I disembowel him.

"You're late," he replied with a voice like sharpened obsidian.

"I was busy practicing my manners," I replied, my voice thick with sarcasm.

I sensed the tension shift. The room bristling at my audacity. I didn't need to look to know that most probably that rat, my brother Salem, was grumbling in disapproval.

"I don't want you," I said firmly, so there would be no mistake in his mind that I want this. "And I'll never bond with you. Not willingly."

"Good," he said, rising from the throne like a war god. "Because this isn't what you want. It's about what blood demands."

And then he drew a knife across his palm.

I smelled it before I saw it.

His blood. Ancient. Powerful. Alpha.

It slammed me down like a truck. My breath was frozen. My knees almost gave way.

No.

No.

My body shook, each nerve heightened. My pupils dilated against my will and a flush of heat rippled beneath my flesh. It felt like fever, like a fire was brewing underneath my bones.

I didn't know. I hadn't known it would be him.

I resisted. Tried to fight it and cling to the rage, the fury, the deep-seated need to kill him.

I lunged.

Too fast. The knife hidden in my sleeve glinted as I plunged it into his chest. A heartbeat passed and then another. I felt the blade dig in deep. Too deep.

Chaos broke out in the throne room then. I heard gasps, a sword being unsheathed, someone stepping forward.

But he raised a hand, effectively holding them back

He didn't strike back.

And when I looked into his eyes, I didn't see triumph. I saw something else.

Pity.

Because I hadn't meant to hit his heart. I hadn't meant to kill him.

His blood splattered across my hands, and I stumbled to the ground. My body twitched on the floor, my skin burning with a feverish heat I couldn't understand. Something ancient inside me fought to the forefront. My wolf.

I convulsed harder. Pain and something worse—need—slammed into me like a wrecking ball. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

I needed something. I needed someone.

He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze to his.

"You wanted war, little wolf?" he growled. And he kissed me.

Gasps echoed around the room.

I should have pushed him off. Should have ripped his face from his skull.

But the bond snapped into place. It was fire and fate all in one. It was everything. My pulse thudded against his lips, against the future that I had never wanted.

When finally, he broke the kiss, I was gasping and trembling. Soaked in rage and frustration and unbearable arousal.

I needed him in me. By the gods, I needed him now.

"Leave," he growled to the council, his voice as cold as death itself.

No one moved. Not immediately. Then they began to clear the throne room like mice fleeing a burning building.

I flailed wildly at his chest.

"You… son of a—" I spat.

"I warned you," he replied, sweeping me easily into his arms.

I growled.

He bent in close, his voice skimming the line of my ear.

"You set out to slay a king."

His lips brushed against my skin.

"Now, you belong to one."