Chapter 5

Willa

The King’s lips were warm against the cut on my palm, sending a jolt of raw, electric voltage straight through my arm and into my chest.

"Mate," Callan whispered.

My wolf, bruised and battered from Travis’s rejection hours prior, roared back to life with terrifying strength.

"Get away from him!" a shrill voice screamed. Darcy scrambled up from the floor, her ceremonial dress wrinkled, her eyes wide with fury. "Guards! Arrest her! She used dark sorcery on the High King!"

The lead Lycan commander stepped forward, looking from the glowing purple residue on Callan's neck to the fresh blood on my hand. "Sire. The physician used forbidden moonroot to draw the wolfsbane from your bloodstream."

Dr. Aris stumbled forward, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She broke Royal Decree! Mere possession of moonroot carries an automatic execution! The King's law demands her head!"

Callan intense steel-grey eyes remained locked onto mine as he slowly rose from the operating table. He towered over me.

"What is your name?" he rasped.

"Willa," I said, holding my chin high despite the exhaustion dragging down my limbs. 

"Dr. Willa Greer. And you're welcome for saving your life."

Callan’s wolf growled.

"You used forbidden botany on the Supreme Alpha. The punishment is death."

"Then kill me," I fired back, refusing to shrink under his cold aura. "But your heart would have stopped five minutes ago without it."

Callan stopped inches from me. He raised his hand, his large, calloused thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. My skin prickled at his touch. A violent shiver cascaded down my spine as my breath hitched in my throat.

"Clear the room," Callan ordered quietly, never breaking eye contact with me.

"But Sire," his commander hesitated. "The execution protocol..."

"Clear the room!" Callan roared, his Alpha tone shaking the dust from the ceiling lights.

The guards grabbed Dr. Aris and Darcy by their collars, dragging them out into the hallway despite Darcy’s hysterical protests. The doors slammed shut, leaving Callan and me completely alone in the sterile room.

The air instantly thickened with the scent of rainwater, pine, and dark ozone.

"You belong to me," Callan murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"I belong to no one," I gasped, pushing my small, blood-stained hands against his solid chest. "I just saved your life. You do not get to claim me like a piece of property."

"You are my destined mate," he growled against my skin.

 Callan suddenly grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head against the cabinet. The primal instinct of the High King overtook him. He opened his mouth, his dangerous, prolonged fangs extending, and bit down with brutal force into the sensitive crook of my neck.

A sharp scream tore from my throat as his teeth broke my skin, sealing an indelible, deep royal mark over my collarbone.

Liquid fire flooded my veins. 

Callan licked the wound closed, his chest heaving against mine as he released my wrists.

I was trembling, completely wrecked. My vision blurred as the intense heat of the royal bond flooded my system, drowning my mind in an unbearable, primal need.

Callan scooped me up into his massive arms, hooking my legs around his waist, and kicked open the back door leading into the private doctor's on-call room. He threw the lock into place and slammed me back against the mattress of the narrow cot.

"Callan," I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders as the mate heat consumed us both.

What followed was a wild, relentless storm. Callan claimed me the ancient wolf way—possessive, dominant, and fierce. He stripped away my scrubs, his hands mapping every inch of my skin as if taking inventory of what was now his. I fought the sensation for a fraction of a second, but my wolf surrendered completely to the High King, matching his intense, dark energy with a desperate passion of my own.

He marked me over and over with his touch, making me call his name until my throat was raw, sealing our souls together under the dim fluorescent light of the clinic room until the sun began to rise.

---

By morning, the crisp autumn air outside was freezing.

I stood on the stone balcony overlooking the Great Square of the Silvermoon Packhouse. I wore one of Callan’s oversized black tunics, the high collar failing to hide the blazing royal mark on my throat. My body was sore, my mind completely overwhelmed by the reality of what had transpired overnight.

Below us, thousands of Silvermoon pack members were gathered for the interrupted mating ceremony.

Standing near the front of the crowd were Travis and Darcy. Travis’s face was deathly pale. His storm-grey eyes were fixed on the fresh mark burning on my neck, his jaw clenched tight in sheer disbelief and rising panic. Next to him, Darcy looked like she was about to faint.

Callan stepped out onto the terrace behind me, towering over the balcony railing. His presence radiated absolute, lethal dominance.

The entire square went silent.

"Pack members of Silvermoon," Callan’s voice boomed across the grounds.

 "We acknowledge your local celebrations. But today, you stand in the presence of your Supreme Queen."

Gasps echoed across the crowd. Whispers broke out like wildfire.

Callan wrapped a thick, possessive arm around my waist, hauling me flush against his side as if showing off a prized trophy.

"Her name is Willa Dacre," Callan snarled into the silent square. "She is my true mate. Anyone who disrespected her in this pack, anyone who looks at her with contempt, and anyone who speaks a word against her answers directly to my blade."

Below us, the crowd reacted instantly. Travis, his father’s elders, Darcy, and thousands of Silvermoon wolves dropped to their knees in unison, bowing their heads to the floor in submission to the High King.

Travis looked up for a split second, his eyes filled with a sudden, agonizing realization of what he had thrown away.

I looked at the kneeling crowd, then up at the dominant, ruthless King holding me against his ribs like a prize he had won in battle.

He hadn't asked if I wanted a crown. He hadn't asked if I wanted to be paraded in front of the man who had just crushed my heart. He had marked me, forced his bond onto me, and treated me like property.

Rage, cold and blinding, erupted through the haze of the mate bond.

I turned in Callan’s grip.

Smack.

The sound of my hand striking Callan’s jaw echoed loudly across the -silent square.

The High King's head turned with the force of the blow.

Down in the square, the kneeling crowd gasped in horror. Callan’s Lycan guards instantly drew their swords.

Callan slowly turned his face back to me, a dark, dangerous line touching his jaw.

"I am a physician, Callan. Not your trophy. Do not ever treat me like property again."