Chapter 4: “MINE!”

Lucian

I looked into her wide eyes. Dark as soot, deep as midnight, framed by lashes that trembled with shock. Her hair was tied in a messy bun that looked like she had fought a tornado and lost. With her round cheeks and her expression of pure caught-in-the-act panic, she looked less like a grown woman and more like a child who accidentally stole a kingdom.

“No,” she finally said.

The word was soft. But it hit me like a blade. I had not expected her to openly refuse me.

“I understand,” I replied quietly.

Why wouldn’t she reject me? Nineteen women had been chosen for me before, all handpicked, politically polished, and bred for strength. And all nineteen had died.

Any sane woman would refuse me.

Any sane woman should refuse me.

The Goddess had finally blessed me with a fated mate, but what did that matter?

A mate meant death.

A bond with me meant a curse, a shattered wolf core, and a grave before the next full moon.

But she…

She was human.

Or half human.

She could be my salvation.

She could be the full stop that finally ended the king’s plots and the nobles’ quiet schemes. For years they had been sending women to my chambers, dressed as offerings but treated as sacrifices. They wanted to tame me with a wife they could control, especially a noblewoman tied to their politics, their greed, and their ambitions. They believed a woman could soften me or at least leash me.

I wanted no noble in my courtyard. The death of their daughters gave them what they craved most: leverage. Every funeral was a blade held at my throat. Every grieving father was a bargaining chip against me.

But the woman in front of me?

She had no wolf. Which meant…The curse could not touch her.

My curse was simple and cruel: it attacked the wolf core of my mate by tearing, weakening, and devouring it until it died. Only a powerful she-wolf could survive the wave of it. And if an Alpha-born woman couldn’t endure it, who could?

Nineteen daughters of Alphas had died. If they couldn’t survive me, then no wolf could.

The only women stronger than Alpha-blood were royal-blood, who were the ones chosen directly by the Goddess. But every royal woman of the Lunaris bloodline was my sister. And there were no other royal families in the werewolf realm. Only the Starks.

There was no one left to choose. No one but her. Maybe she could survive me because she had no wolf core to destroy. Maybe she could not only live, but end this curse entirely. Maybe… she was the answer the Goddess had withheld until now.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” I told her gently, though I could not tell he the entire truth. “You have the right to reject me. Not even the Goddess can force you.”

She looked up, meeting my eyes with more strength than any warrior I had ever trained with.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” she said. “Death would actually be easy. But your curse? Honestly, I think it is nonsense. Curses are just stories made by people in power to keep others scared. Especially the ones they don’t want to grow.”

I blinked. Did she know that she openly challenged the stronger people? Meaning the royal family?

She was ridiculously brave or a bad talker.

She continued, “What I’m scared of is your people. You are a prince. I’m a slave. If I become your mate, they will tear me apart. I already suffer enough around my own kind. I can’t sign up for more pain.”

I studied her closely.

She was unlike any woman I had ever met. Her skin was warm-toned, sprinkled with freckles like constellations. Her body was soft and rounded, not fragile in any way, but strong yet spongy. Her humor sparkled in her eyes even while fear trembled in her voice. She was human in a way wolves never would be.

And she was right. My people would devour her.

“If you become my mate,” I said slowly, “no one will dare disrespect you. You will live under my protection.”

Her eyes widened, searching my face for lies I would never tell.

I glanced toward my uncle, King Vance. His jaw was tight, but he didn’t stop me. The high priest whispered frantically beside him, but the king only sighed.

“If he wants to play with her, let him,” the king muttered. “He is our greatest warrior. What he wants, he gets.”

Play?

The insult burned, but I kept my eyes on the woman who mattered.

Layla crossed her arms, cocked her head, and asked, “Can I have that in writing?”

I frowned. “What?”

She repeated calmly, “Everything you just said. In a written mate contract.”

A contract.

For a mate bond.

I nearly laughed angrily. “You don’t trust me?”

I was Lucian Stark, Alpha Prince. General of the Warguard. Undefeated in battle.

My word was law and my promise unbreakable.

This woman—my fated mate—was questioning me?

She shrugged. “I don’t trust this world.”

I exhaled, carrying my pride with it. “Fair enough.”

Then she added, “And what about food?”

I stared. “…Food?”

“You will eat what I eat,” I said stiffly.

She grimaced. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I like carbs and grease. You look like a man who eats sadness and boiled vegetables. I mean—your abs prove it. I want my food clause in bold, please.”

She was ogling my body so obviously that my ears burned.

I almost—almost—laughed. “You are something, aren’t you?”

“We do what we must to survive,” she said simply.

The mate contract was signed in front of the nobles, the priest, the king and every eye in the kingdom watched the weakest and strongest bond in history seal itself in ink and defiance.

When it was done, I stepped closer, cupped her face gently, and kissed her. It was our tradition. That was how we, Starks, mark our mates.

Her eyes flew open in shock.

Her breath caught.

And the bond snapped into place.

Apollo, my wolf, roared to life.

“MINE!”

His power exploded outward like lightning. Alphas bowed when Apollo appeared.

Betas trembled. Even the king stepped back.

The strongest Alpha in all seven realms had found his fated mate.

And she was, perhaps, the weakest in them all.

But she was ours. And the world would learn what that meant.