Chapter 3: The King’s Claim

‘Mine.’

The single word slammed into my chest like a physical blow.

When Kaelen rejected me, just moments ago, the severing of our bond felt like a rusted blade dragging through my soul, leaving me hollowed out and dying. Typical werewolf reprisal to a severed bond. But this? This was a supernova.

A rush of pure, liquid heat exploded from the base of my spine, racing through my veins and melting the ice in my blood. The excruciating pain in my ripped abdomen dulled for a fraction of a second, completely swallowed by the intoxicating, heavy scent. Dark chocolate. Crushed cedar. And the sharp, electric tang of a looming thunderstorm. I could feel it so deep in my bones.

My wolf screamed in recognition. She slammed against my ribs so hard I nearly doubled over.

I slapped her back down.

"I…" The words scraped up through my raw, bleeding throat. I forced them out anyway. "I am not anyone's anything. I belong to no one!" I slapped his hand away, almost immediately regretting it.

The King’s face changed slightly. His emissaries growled like they wanted to pounce on me in that instant. Who dares touches their King and live? But I really didn’t care anymore. 

The Lycan King looked at me like I'd said something he had never once heard in his entire life.

He said nothing and just stared at me. I stared back at the man looming over me like a mouse before a cat. 

He was a terrifying, magnificent nightmare. He was a mountain of solid, brutal muscle encased in pitch-black combat leathers. His jaw looked like it had been carved from granite, rough with dark stubble, and a jagged, faded scar cut through his left eyebrow, a testament to decades of war. He was lethal. He was a god of death. You could choke on the smell of death oozing from his person.

I should be dead by now. For slapping his hand away, I should have been with my ancestors. 

And yet, looking at his thick, calloused hands, a sick, twisted heat pooled low in my stomach. My body betrayed me instantly. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. The mating bond demanded I bare my neck to him, begging to be claimed. 

‘No’. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. ‘No, this is insane.’

I was a bleeding, ripped-open incubator discarded in the mud. He was a myth. A monster who slaughtered packs and bathed in the blood of his enemies. A wolf-less Luna mated to a god was a fairy tale found only in the books.

This was a death sentence. He was just claiming his property.

"Your... Your Majesty," Kaelen’s voice broke the silence. He stammered from the wooden platform, sounding nervous but deeply confused. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. That female is defective. She is a wolf-less slave. If you desire proper, pure-blooded offerings, I can…"

The Lycan King suddenly let out a loud, guttural snarl, jerking his head towards Kaelen.

The air pressure in the square violently dropped. The sheer, crushing weight of the King’s dominant aura exploded outward. It hit the crowd like a shockwave. Wolves gasped, choking on the air. Around me, hundreds of Frostbane pack members collapsed into the mud. They were physically incapable of standing against the raw, ancient power of his growl.

Up on the platform, Kaelen choked. His knees buckled. The great Alpha Kaelen crashed down onto the floor, his hands clawing at his own throat. Beside him, Selena let out a high, terrified shriek as she was forced flat onto her stomach. None of them could stand his growl. 

Somehow, I was fine, even though I was the closest to him.

"You dare speak," the King finally rumbled, his voice echoing like thunder across the mountains, "while my mate is bleeding in the mud?"

Mate.

The word echoed through the silent, terrified square. Everyone now heard it. Clearer

I looked up at the platform, expecting to see Kaelen’s regret. But as Kaelen gasped for air, his eyes widened, and then his lip curled into a sick, confused sneer. He didn't believe it. And honestly, neither did I.

Kaelen looked at me —shivering, bleeding, holding a weak-wolf infant— and I could see in his face that he could not accept that reality. In his eyes, I was nothing worthy of being called the King’s mate. 

The Lycan King finally calmed down and unclasped the heavy cloak from his massive shoulders. He didn't hand it to a guard. He dropped to one knee right in the filth and blood.

He reached for me. I flinched.

Pure terror overrode the mating bond. I scrambled backward, dragging my bare legs through the mud. My torn stitches screamed in agony, fresh hot blood pouring down my thighs, but I didn't care. I curled my body completely over my crying baby, shielding my son from the monster reaching for us.

"P.. please," I sobbed, my entire body shaking so hard my teeth chattered. "Please don't hurt him. He’s just a baby. Take me, do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt him."

The King froze.

The lethal, terrifying warlord stopped dead. His massive chest heaved, and the golden fire in his eyes gleamed, softening into something that looked horrifyingly like devastation. Soft devastation –whatever that meant. 

"I am not going to hurt you," he whispered. The words were a deep, rumbling purr, so incredibly gentle it sounded entirely wrong coming from a man built for murder. "I would burn the world to ash before I let a single hair on your head be harmed, little bird."

I couldn’t believe my ears.

Moving with agonizing slowness so he wouldn't spook me again, he wrapped the thick, heavy warmth of his cloak around my shivering shoulders. He made sure the rich black fur completely covered the crying bundle in my arms.

Then, ignoring my stiff, fearful posture, he slipped one massive arm under my knees and the other around my back.

He lifted me effortlessly. I gasped, stiffening my spine, terrified of his brutal strength. But the moment my body pressed against his broad chest, the mating bond surged. The warmth radiating off him was a drug. My treacherous muscles melted. I instinctively buried my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the rich scent of cedar.

My baby suddenly stopped crying, lulled by the deep, rhythmic beat of the King's heart.

"Keep the gold, dead man," the Lycan King growled over his shoulder, "Consider it payment for your miserable life. For now."

He carried me into the dark, cavernous interior of the rune-carved carriage. It was hot inside, smelling of burning embers and rich leather. He set me down gently on the plush velvet bench, never letting go of my hand. The heavy iron doors slammed shut, sealing us in the dark.

"Drive," the King barked.

The carriage jolted forward, pulling us away from the only hell I had ever known.

In the glooomy light, the King dropped to his knees on the floorboards between my legs. He reached for the hem of my ruined hospital gown to inspect the blood pouring from my abdomen.

I flinched again, gripping his thick wrist. His skin was scorching hot. "Don't," I breathed, tears spilling over my lashes. 

"You're bleeding, my Queen," he murmured, his thumb gently stroking the back of my trembling hand. "Let me see. Let me take the pain away."

"Stop! I need you to understand something," I said. My voice came out thinner than I intended, but I kept my eyes locked on his. "I don't know you. I don't know what you want from me, or what this mate bond means to you, or what you intend to do with us." I pulled in a shaky breath. "I will not be decorated. I will not be kept in a tower and called a Queen while you make decisions about my son's life without my knowledge. I have spent three years being something a man owned. I would rather bleed out in this carriage than do it again."

Oh crap? What had I done? I wasn’t even thinking. Though I meant every word, I wasn’t sure if I had said it decently, or if I had just pissed off the man who can decide whether I and my baby live or I die.

The King looked at me for a long moment. His golden eyes traced my face like he was memorizing every crack in it.

"You are not a decoration," he said finally. His voice was very quiet. "And I will not make decisions about your son without your knowledge. I cannot promise I will always make the right ones. But I will never make them without you."

It wasn't the answer I expected. It wasn't the answer of a man who could indeed make decisions for my life and my son’s life with or without my knowledge. But he in fact was promising so.

"That's easy to say," I whispered, risking my chances further.

"Yes," he agreed simply. "It is."

He didn't push. He didn't argue. He simply waited, kneeling on the floorboards between my feet with the patience of a man who had decided he would wait as long as it took.

After a long moment, I released his wrist.

He worked with extraordinary care, his massive hands impossibly gentle as he peeled back the soaked bandages and began to clean the wound. He made no sound about what he found there. But I watched his jaw tighten, the muscle leaping once, hard, before he controlled it.

"Your Alpha's surgeon did this?" he asked.

"Yes."

"He will answer for it," the King growled softly.

I didn't tell him not to. I didn't have enough energy left to be merciful.

The adrenaline that had kept me alive was finally crashing. My vision began to swim, the edges of the carriage blurring into dark shadows. I looked down at the terrifying King kneeling between my legs, his golden eyes filled with an obsessive, burning devotion that frightened me in an entirely different way than cruelty did.

He called me his mate. He treated me like a Queen. But Kaelen had sold me as a slave.

As the darkness finally pulled me under, a cold, heavy dread settled deep in my chest. Had the Moon Goddess finally saved me? Or had I just been traded from a cruel, loveless prison into a much darker, much more intoxicating cage?