Chapter 3: The Ruthless King

Lyria's POV

A strangled gasp tore from my lips as I scrambled to my feet and bolted.

Branches slapped at my face, twigs snapped under my feet, but I didn’t dare stop.

I had done what my instincts told me to do by running. But I hadn't gotten far when realization dawned on me that I could never outrun this beast. Not when I couldn't even shift. Not when my wolf is latent and weak.

I was exhausted, and far too slow.

Desperation clawed at my chest as I skulked my way into a thick bush, crouching as low as possible to avoid being detected.

The lion skidded to a stop just a few feet away, scanning the area with narrowed eyes, looking confused. The confusion was replaced by anger as it let out a powerful roar.

Powerful enough to make me cower even more with my heart racing to an alarming rate, but not powerful enough to make me stupidly come out of hiding, throw my hands in the air and offer myself as a living sacrifice.

It couldn’t see me. But I could see it through the tiny space the bush allowed.

The fact that I was able to outwit this animal—albeit temporary—did nothing to calm my quickened and pounding heartbeat.

My heart had gone haywire, slamming and protesting against my ribcage as though it was tired of being caged and wanted out.

I was scared that if I made the slightest attempt to retch, I would be staring at my very own heart on the floor.

My lungs burned as I tried my best to hold my breath, afraid that even the faintest sound would give me away.

Then suddenly, the air shifted. And the tense atmosphere that the lion initially created was swallowed by one even more powerful.

A heavy, suffocating aura filled the atmosphere, pressing down on me like an invisible force.

I remained riveted to spot as I clung to the twigs within my reach for support, lest the powerful wind blow me away.

Suddenly, a man stepped into view, his presence so powerful that even the mountain lion hesitated for a split second.

My eyes dilated in extreme shock at how a werewolf could exude such an overwhelming and dominating aura even while still in a human form.

Finally, the little moment of hesitation was over for the lion. It snarled and lunged toward the man.

But this mystic man did not move. Not even an inch. For a moment, I forgot that I was in danger a while ago—and might still be. My instinct told me to seize the opportunity to flee. But maybe because I was suicidal or just too astounded and curious to see what would unfold, I remained riveted to the spot.

I watched in horror as the distance between them shortened and the lion leaped, claws outstretched, aiming for the man's throat.

And in one swift motion, the man effortlessly caught it mid-air and snapped its neck.

The sickening crack echoed through the trees as the lion’s body went limp before collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to conceal a gasp, my eyes wide with horror.

Who was this man?

What kind of power did he possess?

I wanted to flee, but my body refused to move. I remained frozen in place, staring at him through the tiny gaps in the bush.

And that’s when I felt something crawling up my arm. I froze without looking, my body and soul on the alert. Accepting my ill fate, I needed to at least see what would be the end of me. So I turned my head tremulously, and then I saw it.

A freaking spider

My entire body locked up in terror as its tiny legs skittered over my skin.

I bit hard on my lower lip, resisting the urge to scream. I hadn't realized a small sound escaped me.

I barely even registered it myself.

My heartbeat which had just started to slow down picked up again like a galloping horse, as I contemplated if he had heard it or not.

When his head turned slightly towards me, I knew he had. Now my situation was like one who jumped out of a frying pan because of the heat, only to land into the direct fire.

“Who’s there?” his voice came like a dark force, sweeping through the air like an unstoppable tempest, rattling my bones.

Panic seized me inside out, momentarily replacing the very blood that coursed through my veins as he began walking in my direction. I was finished.

Each step was slow and purposeful, offering a stark contrast to how my heart pounded violently against my ribs.

I held my breath, pressing my lips together to keep any sound from escaping. But my heart kept pounding so hard I feared it would give me away. But it was too late.

He didn't stop striding toward me. He was the walking promise of death.

He was like a predator closing in on its prey. The air around him carried an unspoken authority, a force that did not stop sending shivers down my spine. His sharp gaze flickered over the area, searching, listening. I curled further into myself, barely daring to blink.

When he was midway to my hiding spot, the universe decided to take pity on me.

"Sire," a voice called from behind.

The man stilled instantly. He didn’t turn right away, just held his position, as if assessing whether to continue toward me or acknowledge the interruption. Finally, he pivoted slowly, his movements measured, almost menacing.

I peeked through the small gaps in the foliage. The newcomer was a warrior, his broad frame adorned with a quiver of arrows slung over his back and a bow gripped firmly in one hand. His stance was rigid, his head slightly bowed in reverence.

But what shocked me was his master's reaction.

Or rather, his lack of one.

His expression remained impassive, cold and unreadable, as if the warrior before him was nothing but a mere speck of dust.

Speaking of dust, the warrior suddenly stiffened, his sharp gaze locking onto the master’s boots. I frowned, watching as he swiftly retrieved a cloth from his pocket and knelt, wiping away a tiny speck of dirt from the immaculate leather.

Only then—only after the insignificant stain was gone—did the ruthless man relax his rigid shoulders ever so slightly.

I frowned. Was he truly that obsessed with cleanliness?

The two men began conversing in low tones, their voices barely audible from where I crouched. I strained to listen, my pulse still erratic from fear. Then I heard it—the way the warrior addressed him.

"Alpha."

I should have known.

Someone that deadly, that powerful, could only be an alpha. It made perfect sense, and yet my stomach twisted in knots.

I hated alphas.

And yet, as much as I despised them, I couldn’t deny that this man was… breathtaking. A cruel irony. Handsome wasn’t the right word—it was too tame. Too human. He was ethereal, dangerously so, like something crafted from moonlight and shadows, designed to be both admired and feared.

But that fleeting, treacherous admiration vanished as soon as it came.

Because I heard what the warrior just called him now.

"My King."

The words sent an icy chill through my veins as realization crashed over me, violent and suffocating.

This wasn’t just any alpha.

This was him.

The same Alpha King the entire realm feared and revered. The same Alpha King I loathed with every fiber of my being even when I've never seen him. The same Alpha King whose feet I was to clean throughout the Blood Moon Festival tonight like a worthless servant.

My fingers dug into the damp earth beneath me as a bitter memory surfaced—two women gossiping, whispering in awe about how the king detested filth, how he tolerated no speck of dust around him.

Now, I watched in stunned silence as the king’s gaze suddenly shifted towards me.

"I heard something," he murmured, his voice as sharp as a blade. He pointed toward my hiding spot. "From that bush."

My breath hitched.

The warrior beside him didn’t hesitate. With deadly precision, he raised his bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed directly at me.

I barely had time to think before my entire world narrowed to the razor-sharp tip of that arrow—gleaming, steady, ready to strike.

All that registered in my head at that point was that this was the end for me.