CHAPTER 15

"Why did you lie to me?"

The silver training staff whistled through the air, aiming straight for Ethan’s temple. He didn't flinch. He just lifted a hand. The metal hit his palm with a heavy, bone-jarring thud. He caught it, fingers locking around the polished surface, stopping the vibration an inch from his skin.

"Madi, put the stick down. You're gonna break a rib if you keep swinging like that."

"What the fuck else is a lie, Ethan?" Madison shoved against the staff, trying to wrench it back. "The mate bond? The nights in the penthouse? Was that just part of the contract? Did my father pay for that too?"

Ethan’s grip tightened. The silver groaned under his strength. He jerked the staff forward, pulling Madison into his chest. His eyes were dark, the gold iris bleeding into the black pupil. He looked tired. Worn down.

"Your father didn't pay for shit. Jonathan Clarke hired me. There’s a difference."

"Jonathan Clarke?" Madison let go of the staff, stumbling back. "The tech mogul? The guy on the Forbes cover? What the hell does a zillionaire want with a wolfless exile from the Cain pack?"

Ethan dropped the staff. It clattered against the padded floor, the sound echoing in the empty gym. He stepped toward her, his boots heavy on the mat. "He wanted you alive. He knew what Vanessa was planning. He knew Gregory was too weak to stop her. He sent me to be your shadow because he couldn't come for you yet."

"Why?"

"Because he fell for you the second you bit me, Madi." Ethan reached out, his hand hovering near her face before he dropped it. "In that alley. Chapter five. You were bleeding out, surrounded by rogues, and you still tried to take my throat. I wasn't supposed to feel anything. It was a job. Then you tasted my blood, and the contract went out the window."

Madison’s jaw worked. Her pulse was a frantic hammer in her neck. "A tech mogul doesn't hire a High-Alpha bodyguard for a charity case. Who is he really?"

Ethan took a deep breath. He looked at the door, then back at her. "He isn't just a zillionaire. Jonathan Clarke is the High King of the Northern Wilds. The man who holds the leash on every Alpha from here to the Arctic Circle."

The air in the room died. Madison felt the floor tilt.

"And you," Ethan continued, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rasp. "You aren't some bastard daughter Gregory Cain found in a ditch. You’re the only heir to the Northern Crown. You’re the reason the Cains were paid to keep you hidden. You’re the Queen, Madison."

"Liar," she spat, though her knees were starting to shake.

"Look out the window."

Madison turned. Beyond the reinforced glass of the training center, the horizon was no longer empty. A fleet of black SUVs, thirty of them, cut through the Cain pack borders. They didn't slow down for the gates. They smashed through the iron as if it were toothpicks. The vehicles bore no logos, no pack crests. Just a matte black finish that sucked the light out of the morning.

"The exile is over," Ethan said, stepping up behind her. His weight was a solid, grounding presence. "The war for the throne just arrived at your front door."

The adrenaline from the revelation hit Madison like a physical blow. She turned away from the window, her breath coming in jagged hitches. The room felt too small. The air felt too thick. She looked at Ethan, the man who had been her protector, her lover, and her keeper all at once.

"Is that why you did it?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Because I'm a Queen? Was the sex just... loyalty to the crown?"

Ethan didn't answer with words. He lunged.

He grabbed her waist, his large hands bruising the skin as he hauled her against the wall. He didn't kiss her gently. He claimed her mouth with a violent, possessive hunger. Madison groaned, her hands flying to his shirt, ripping the buttons until the fabric hung from his shoulders. She didn't want the crown. She wanted the man.

He hoisted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his glutes. He carried her to the training bench, clearing the weights with a clattering roar. He sat her down, his hands forcing her thighs wide.

"I don't give a damn about the throne," he growled against her skin.

He dropped to his knees. He didn't wait. He ripped her leggings aside and buried his face in her heat. His tongue was a muscle, lashing against her clit with a bruising pressure. Madison’s head slammed back against the mirror, her eyes rolling as the pleasure shot through her like a silver bullet.

"Ethan! Ohh, god, yes!"

He licked her pussy like a man starving, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady. He worked her until she was slick, her juices coating his face. Then he stood up, his own trousers already discarded. His cock was a heavy, pulsing thing, dark and rigid in the harsh fluorescent light. He guided himself to her entrance, the head rolling against her wetness.

"Say it," he rasped. "Say you're mine. Not the King's. Mine."

"Yours," she screamed as he drove home.

The thrust was brutal. He buried himself to the hilt, the impact making the bench groan. Madison’s eyes blew wide, her internal muscles clamping around him in a frantic rhythm. He didn't slow down. He pounced.

Thud. Thud. Thud. He pounded into her, his hips hitting hers with a rhythmic, messy slap. Madison held her legs high, her ankles crossing behind his back to pull him even deeper. Every strike hit her cervix, sending waves of white-hot lightning through her gut. The salt of their sweat mingled, the smell of sex and ozone filling the gym.

He flipped her over, forcing her chest down against the cold leather of the bench. Doggie style. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back as he lunged into her again. He was too big, too heavy, a three-dimensional force that grounded her in the reality of the moment. She felt the stretch, the stinging friction, and the absolute power of his body.

"Mine," he grunted, his teeth baring.

"Yes! Fuck, Ethan! Ahhh!"

She came in a jagged, screaming release, her body bucking against him until her vision fractured. He followed a second later, his own cum a hot, thick flood that spilled out and coated her thighs.

 Ethan collapsed on top of her, his literal weight crushing her into the bench. Madison lay there, her limbs shaking, her skin raw where the leather had rubbed her. The hangover of the sex hit her—the shaking, the warmth, the heavy reality of the war outside.

"The SUVs are stopping," Ethan whispered.

Madison pushed herself up, her hair a wild mess. She didn't look at the crown. She looked at the blood on her knuckles.

"Then let's go meet the King."