Chapter 4

The morning air in the Great Hall was thick with the scent of roasted meat and expensive oils, but to Kreygan, it smelled like burning flesh.

He stood behind Serefy’s chair, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Beneath his leather bracers, his own wrists were screaming.

Because of the Mate-Bond, the silver-cauterized wounds inflicted on Floreighn the night before were manifesting on him as phantom burns.

Every time she moved a dish, every time the fabric of her sleeve grazed her raw skin, a white-hot bolt of lightning traveled through the bond and struck Kreygan’s soul.

‘Endure it,’ he snarled at his wolf, which was currently trying to take control of his vocal cords to let out a pained howl. ‘You are an Alpha. A King. You do not flinch for a servant.’

The heavy oak doors creaked open. Floreighn entered, looking like a corpse draped in grey wool. She was pale, her eyes sunken, and her movements were stiff, as if her joints were made of glass. She carried a heavy silver tray—an intentional choice by the Head Cook to further mock her clumsiness.

As she approached the high table, the bond didn't just hum; it roared.

Kreygan’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his guard’s sword. The Wolf-Bane salve on his skin couldn't block the sympathetic agony flooding his system. Because they were fated, his wrists began to throb with a phantom heat, mimicking the raw, blistered flesh beneath Floreighn’s sleeves.

His Alpha wolf was clawing at his throat, desperate to shift, to roar, to slaughter the men who had dared to touch his mate—even though he was the one who had sent them.

"You're late, Floreighn," Serefy sang out, her voice a sharp contrast to the morning's quiet. She leaned back, her golden hair brushing against Kreygan’s armored chest. She looked up at him, a playful glit in her eyes. "Doesn't she look dreadful, Greg? It’s almost as if she spent the night wrestling with demons."

Kreygan forced his face into a mask of stone. "She looks... tired, My Lady."

Floreighn reached out to set the teapot down. Her hands were shaking so violently the porcelain rattled against the silver. As she stretched her arm, the friction of her sleeve against her burned wrist became too much. She winced, a small, involuntary gasp escaping her lips.

In that same heartbeat, Kreygan’s knees buckled.

He caught himself on the back of Serefy’s chair, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wood. A grunt of pure, unadulterated pain escaped his throat before he could choke it back.

Alpha Kenneally’s head snapped up. His eyes, sharp and predatory, locked onto the commoner guard. "Is there a problem, Greg? You look as though you've been run through with a sword."

Kreygan swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth where he had bitten his tongue to keep from screaming. "A... a cramp, Alpha. An old wound from my travels. It flaired up."

Serefy frowned, reaching out to touch his hand. "You're burning up, Greg. Your skin is like fire."

"I am fine, My Lady," he gasped, his eyes darting to Floreighn.

Floreighn was staring at him. For the first time, she saw it—the way he was clutching his own wrists, the way his jaw was set in the exact same line of agony as hers. A flicker of realization dawned in her eyes. He feels it. He’s my mate, and he feels every burn he gave me.

Serefy, sensing the silent communication, turned her gaze back to her sister. She saw the way Floreighn was guarding her arm. With the speed of a viper, Serefy reached out and grabbed Floreighn’s wrist, yanking the sleeve up.

"Let go!" Floreighn cried out, but it was too late.

The blackened, weeping ring of a Silver-Burn was exposed to the light. The hall went silent. Alpha Kenneally stood up, his chair screeching against the stone.

"Silver?" the Alpha roared. "Only high-rank warriors or hunters carry silver. Floreighn, who did this to you?"

Kreygan’s heart stopped. If she pointed at him, if she whispered the truth of the Ghost Squad in the woods, his mission was over. He used the bond, sending a crushing wave of Alpha-Authority directly into Floreighn’s mind. It was a psychic hammer meant to shatter her will.

‘Lie,’ his voice boomed in her head. ‘Lie, or I will make last night look like a mercy.’

Floreighn looked at the Alpha, then at Serefy, and finally at Greg. She saw the beads of sweat on his face. She felt the shared agony vibrating between them.

"I... I was caught in a trap," she whispered, her voice trembling. "In the Dead Woods. I went looking for... for herbs."

Alpha Kenneally narrowed his eyes. "The Dead Woods? No one goes there and returns. That is the territory of the Blackblood Pack." He turned his gaze to Greg, his suspicion not entirely gone. "And you, Greg. Why do you look as though you are the one bleeding?"

Kreygan straightened his back, his muscles screaming in protest. "Sympathy, Alpha. It is a... commoner’s curse. To feel the pain of those we serve."

Serefy let out a cold, mocking laugh, dropping Floreighn’s arm as if it were trash. "Sympathy? For her? How poetic." She turned to her father.

"Father, if she’s been wandering the Dead Woods, she’s lucky the Notorious Alpha didn't find her. They say Deamon Blackblood eats the hearts of strays."

She looked at Greg and ran a finger down his jaw. "Perhaps Greg should take her back to the kitchens. He seems so... affected by her presence. Let him see to it that she doesn't wander into any more traps."

Kreygan bowed, his head low to hide the golden glow returning to his eyes. "As you wish, My Lady."

He stepped forward and gripped Floreighn’s shoulder. His touch was like ice and fire combined. He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear as he guided her out of the hall.

"One more mistake, you trash," he whispered, his voice a low, terrifying promise that only she could hear, "and I won't just burn your skin. I'll burn the memory of you from this world."

As they reached the heavy doors, a horn blasted from the pack’s outer walls—a sound of pure terror that Floreighn had never heard before.

The guards at the gate screamed, "A black wolf! At the border! He’s here!"

Floreighn froze. The scent of the air changed instantly—it turned heavy, metallic, and cold.

Deamon 'Death' Blackblood had arrived.