Chapter 16: Lukas

I strode through the palace corridors, Amelia's unconscious form cradled against my chest, my fury a living thing barely contained beneath my skin. Each heartbeat pounded with the same rhythm as Ares's enraged mantra:

‘Mine. Hurt. Kill. Protect.’

Guards flattened themselves against walls as I passed, eyes downcast, sensing that the slightest provocation might unleash violence they wouldn't survive. The copper-haired woman in my arms weighed almost nothing, her breathing shallow, the scent of her blood a constant reminder of how I had failed to protect what was mine.

‘We will destroy them all,’ Ares snarled, his rage feeding mine until I could taste metal on my tongue. ‘The blonde female first. Slowly. Then the Beta who rejected our mate. Then her false parents who cast her out.’

I didn't disagree with his bloodthirst. The Silver Lake pack would pay—Victoria first and most painfully, but the others would follow. No one touched my Queen and lived to boast of it.

Servants scurried out of my way, their curious glances at Amelia's unconscious form quickly averted when they caught my expression. News of what had happened would already be racing through the palace, whispered from guard to maid to cook: the Alpha King's newly claimed mate, assaulted at the mating ball, carried bleeding through the corridors by a King whose rage was palpable enough to taste.

I reached the private wing of the palace, where only I and my most trusted advisors were permitted. The massive ironwood doors to my quarters—our quarters now—swung open at my approach, the guards stationed outside wisely avoiding my gaze as I passed. The familiar scent of my den enveloped us as I entered, the space that had been mine alone for decades now irrevocably altered by Amelia's presence. Even unconscious, her scent began to mingle with mine, marking this territory as shared.

Dr. Elara Thornwood waited inside, her medical bag already open on a side table, her expression calm and professional despite the circumstances. At over two centuries old, Elara had delivered me into this world, had tended my childhood injuries, had sewn up wounds from a dozen challenges to my throne. She was one of the few wolves I trusted implicitly, one of even fewer permitted to use my name in private.

"My King," she said, eyes taking in Amelia's still form with practiced efficiency. "Bring her to the bed."

I crossed to my bedroom, our bedroom now, and gently laid Amelia on the massive bed that dominated the space. Blood had dried in her copper hair, matting it against her temple. More blood had smeared across my marking bite, evidence of deliberate desecration that made Ares howl with renewed fury. Her skin was ashen beneath the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone, her breathing shallow but steady.

"What happened?" Dr. Thornwood asked, moving to Amelia's side, her ancient hands already probing gently around the head wound.

"Victoria Bloomsbury from Silver Lake happened," I replied, the name like acid on my tongue. "She found my mate alone at the ball and dragged her onto a balcony. Beat her. Deliberately clawed at my mark."

Elara's hands stilled momentarily, her amber eyes flicking to mine. "Your mark?" she repeated, gaze dropping to Amelia's throat where the claiming bite stood out against her pale skin. "Then she is truly—"

"My mate. Yes." I moved to the opposite side of the bed, unwilling to step away even as Elara worked. "My fated mate, whom I claimed this afternoon after finding her in the holding cells with the rogues brought in for execution."

Elara's eyebrows rose at this revelation, but she kept her focus on Amelia, carefully cleaning the head wound with antiseptic. "An unconventional meeting," she observed, her tone neutral. "Even for you."

"Fate has a twisted sense of humor," I agreed darkly. "She was captured by rogues after shifting for the first time and running from Silver Lake—where she'd been living as a servant after they cast her out for failing to shift at sixteen."

Understanding dawned in Elara's ancient eyes. "Delayed shifting. Rare, but not unheard of. Especially in cases of trauma.”

She worked in silence for several minutes, cleaning Amelia's wounds with gentle efficiency, applying salves to the bruises on her face and ribs, carefully treating the scratches across my mark. I watched her hands—hands that had delivered countless wolf pups, set broken bones, and stitched battle wounds—move with practiced precision over my mate's injuries.

"The head wound is not serious," she finally pronounced. "Concussion, certainly, but no fracture. The ribs are bruised, not broken. The scratches will heal without scarring, particularly given your mark's accelerated healing properties." She met my gaze directly. "She is physically stronger than she appears, my King. But there are other concerns."

"Explain," I demanded, my fingers finding Amelia's limp hand and enclosing it in my own.

"Malnourishment. Exhaustion. The after effects of significant wolfsbane exposure." Elara packed away her supplies with methodical care. "Her body shows signs of long-term stress and inadequate nutrition, likely from her years as a servant. The recent trauma of captivity, forced shifting, and now the claiming bite has depleted what reserves she had."

I tightened my grip on Amelia's hand, careful not to crush the delicate bones beneath my fingers. "Will she recover?"

"Fully, with proper care," Elara assured me. "When she wakes, ensure she eats. Something light but nutrient-dense to begin with. Bone broth, perhaps, then soft foods as she tolerates them. Her wolf will accelerate healing, but only if properly nourished."

She closed her medical bag with a decisive click. "I've left salves for her bruises and a tonic for when she wakes. Three drops in water, twice daily, to help restore her strength. Call for me if her condition changes or if she doesn't regain consciousness by morning."

I nodded, my attention already returning to Amelia's face, searching for signs of waking. Elara moved toward the door, then paused, turning back with an expression I rarely saw on her austere features—something almost like tenderness.

"Lukas," she said softly, the use of my name marking the shift from professional to personal. "Congratulations. Even I can see she's something special."

The door closed behind her before I could respond, leaving me alone with my unconscious mate and the unfamiliar warmth that bloomed in my chest at Elara's words. I sat beside Amelia, one hand still holding hers, the other gently brushing copper strands from her forehead.

Her breathing had deepened, colour slowly returning to her cheeks as her wolf worked to heal her injuries. Despite everything, I found myself studying her face with growing fascination—the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the stubborn set of her jaw even in unconsciousness. This woman, who had survived abandonment and servitude, who had fought rogues bare-handed in a prison cell, who had endured a claiming bite without breaking—this was the mate fate had chosen for me.

‘She is worthy,’ Ares murmured, his earlier rage tempered now by the sight of our mate safe in our den. ‘Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to stand beside us.’

"Yes," I agreed aloud, my thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "She is."

I settled more comfortably against the headboard, prepared to maintain my vigil through the night. Victoria Bloomsbury's trial could wait until morning. The reckoning with Silver Lake Pack would come soon enough. For now, my only priority was the woman before me—keeping her safe, watching her heal, ensuring that when those green eyes opened again, she would know without doubt that she was protected.

That she was mine.