Chapter 3-Royal Friction

The trees of the Bloodwood border had not changed in five years, but I certainly had.

The damp pine needles muffled my quiet footsteps as I slipped through the heavy, low-hanging fog. I was dressed in form-fitting black leather, my silver hair braided tightly back out of my face. In the dark, I was practically invisible.

I had left Leo safely tucked away at a small, human-run motel about three miles back from the border. He had tried to argue, pointing out that his memory of the guard patrol schedules made him an invaluable asset on the ground. I had simply kissed his forehead, handed him his favorite math notebook, and locked the door from the outside. No matter how smart he was, I was not bringing my son anywhere near the monsters who had killed my brother.

A quiet hum clicked in the small, custom earpiece I wore.

"Mama, the eastern guard patrol just finished their sweep," Leo’s small, filtered voice came through the static. "The gap in their perimeter is currently open. You have exactly twelve minutes before the next shift rotates. Do not get distracted by any pretty shiny things."

"Copy that, chief," I whispered, keeping my voice barely audible. "Keep an eye on the local police scanners. Let me know the second anyone gets twitchy."

"Understood. Happy hunting."

I cut the feed and focused. The client's missing cargo, a heavy wooden crate marked with a specific blue wax seal, was supposed to be hidden in an abandoned ranger station right along the boundary line.

I slipped through the rusted chain-link fence, my movements fluid and silent. Within minutes, I spotted the cabin. The door was slightly ajar, the lock cleanly melted off by what looked like high-grade wolf fire.

Stepping inside, I scanned the room. The scent of ozone and burnt metal was thick. There, sitting right in the center of the dusty floorboards, was the crate. The blue wax seal was perfectly intact.

"Too easy," I murmured under my breath.

I knelt down, sliding a heavy leather strap around the crate to hoist it onto my back. It was heavy, easily a hundred and fifty pounds, but my years of hard rogue training had built a strength Jaxon’s pampered pack wolves could never dream of.

I stood up, adjusting the weight, and prepared to slip back out into the fog.

Suddenly, my wolf went dead silent.

It wasn't a warning whine. It was absolute, paralyzing terror.

The air in the cabin pressure-dropped in an instant. A scent hit my nose, so heavy and suffocatingly powerful that my knees literally trembled. It tasted like expensive whiskey, dark amber, and the sharp, terrifying crack of fresh lightning. It was a dominant aura so thick it felt like gravity itself had just doubled.

I spun around, my hand flying instantly to the silver hilt of the boot knife strapped to my thigh.

A shadow stood in the doorway of the cabin, completely blocking out what little moonlight filtered through the trees.

He was massive. He had to be at least six feet four, with a lean, lethal build that radiated pure, unchallenged authority. He wore a tailored charcoal wool coat over a dark button-down shirt, the collar slightly open. His jawline looked like it had been carved out of granite, and his thick, dark hair was slightly messy from the wind.

But it was his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat.

They weren't the normal brown or gold of a regular werewolf. They were a piercing, glowing shade of amber, burning with an ancient, terrifying power.

The Lycan King. Ethan.

"Well, well," he said, his voice a deep, velvety baritone that practically vibrated through the floorboards. "What do we have here? A little rat sneaking around in the dark."

He didn't shift. He didn't even raise his hands. He just stood there, looking down at me with an incredibly arrogant, amused smirk playing on his lips. He expected me to drop to my knees. He expected me to whimper and beg for mercy, the way every normal wolf did when confronted by the King’s crushing presence.

Instead, I slowly let my hand drop from my knife, leaning my shoulder against a wooden support beam. I gave him a slow, incredibly dry look.

"You know, for a King, your entrance music is terrible," I said, my voice completely steady. "And your breath smells like expensive alcohol. Are you lost, your majesty? The royal palace is about three hundred miles that way."

For a split second, Ethan’s smirk vanished. His amber eyes flared with a sudden, intense curiosity.

Nobody talked to him like that. Nobody stood upright under his aura, let alone insulted his direction.

"You have a very sharp tongue for a rogue," Ethan said, taking a slow, predatory step into the cabin. The floorboards didn't even creak under his weight. "Most wolves are currently vibrating in fear on the floor right about now. Why aren't you kneeling, little rat?"

"Because the floor is filthy, and I just washed these pants," I replied, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I don't kneel for men who rely on cheap parlor tricks to scare girls in dark cabins."

A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. It was a dangerous sound, like a tiger purring before it tore a throat out.

"Arrogant," he murmured, his gaze locking onto mine. He was analyzing me, trying to read my scent, trying to figure out why my wolf wasn't submitting. "I like it. But unfortunately, you are currently holding a crate of military-grade silver suppressors that belong to the royal crown. Which makes you a thief."

My mind raced. Silver suppressors? The client had lied to me. This wasn't cargo. It was contraband.

"I'm not a thief," I said smoothly, shifting my weight. "I'm a delivery girl. I was hired to relocate this dusty box. If you want it back, you'll have to take it up with my customer support department. But we have a very long hold time."

"Is that so?"

In a flash of motion so fast my eyes could barely track it, Ethan crossed the room.

Before I could even draw my knife, his hand shot out. His fingers, warm and incredibly strong, wrapped firmly around my wrist, pinning it to the wooden support beam behind me. The sheer power in his grip was terrifying, but he didn't squeeze hard enough to break the bone. He just held me there, completely trapped.

Our chests were inches apart. The overwhelming scent of amber and whiskey flooded my senses, making my head spin. Up close, his eyes were mesmerizing, swirling with a dark, dangerous intelligence.

"Let go of me," I hissed, my eyes narrowing.

"And if I don't?" Ethan whispered, leaning in closer, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. "What are you going to do, little rat? Bite me?"

"If you don't let go of my hand in the next three seconds," I said, a sweet, deadly smile spreading across my face, "I am going to kick you in the royal jewels so hard your ancestors will feel it."

Ethan blinked. Then, a massive, genuine grin broke across his handsome face, his white teeth gleaming in the dark.

"You are absolutely ridiculous," he laughed, though he didn't loosen his grip. "I should have you executed for treason. But honestly, you are the most entertaining thing I have encountered in this miserable territory."

Before I could reply, the sudden sound of heavy boots crashing through the wet brush outside echoed through the trees.

"Alpha Jaxon! The heat signatures are coming from the ranger cabin!" a loud, familiar voice yelled from the woods.

Beta Marcus.

And Jaxon was with him.

My heart stopped. The cold, raw panic of that night five years ago threatened to swamp my brain. If Jaxon saw me, if he realized I was alive, he would hunt me down. He would find Leo.

Ethan felt the sudden spike of adrenaline in my pulse. His eyes narrowed, his playful amusement instantly vanishing as he looked down at my pale face. He looked toward the door, then back at me, his sharp mind putting the pieces together.

"You're afraid of them," Ethan noted quietly, his voice dropping to a low, serious whisper.

"I'm not afraid of anyone," I whispered back, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts. "But I need to leave. Now."

"If I let you go, what do I get in return?" Ethan asked, his thumb slowly brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, sending a strange, electric spark shooting straight up my arm.

The boots outside were getting closer. Ten yards. Five yards.

I looked directly into the Lycan King’s burning amber eyes.

"You let me go," I whispered, my voice cold and desperate, "and I won't tell everyone that the supreme ruler of the wolf race lets a rogue girl slip right through his fingers."

Ethan stared at me. For a second, I thought he was going to turn me over.

Instead, a wicked, chaotic glint flashed in his eyes.

"Deal," he whispered.

With a sudden, powerful shove, Ethan pushed me toward the small back window of the cabin.

The heavy wooden door of the cabin was kicked off its hinges the exact second I threw my body through the glass window, tumbling out into the dark, wet mud below.

"Your Majesty!" Jaxon’s breathless, arrogant voice echoed from inside the cabin. "We saw a rogue! Did they attack you? Are you alright?"

I lay flat in the wet brush just beneath the window sill, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I held my breath, my fingers digging into the cold mud. If Ethan pointed out the window, I was dead.

Inside, there was a long, agonizing silence.

Then, Ethan's deep, bored voice drifted through the broken glass.

"A rogue? Don't be ridiculous, Jaxon. It was just a stray dog. Your security borders are a joke. Now, step out of my way before I lose my patience."

I let out a shaky, silent breath.

I scrambled to my feet, staying low to the ground as I sprinted into the dark, foggy woods, leaving the Lycan King and my ex-mate behind. But as I ran, the lingering scent of amber and whiskey clung to my skin, and the memory of Ethan's burning gaze made my heart beat faster than it ever had before.

This was supposed to be a simple job. But I had just made a deal with the devil himself.

And something told me the Lycan King was not a man who let his debts go unpaid.