CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

The King

Emery’s POV

I hear screams.

It starts in muted tones that sound far away, but it slowly gets louder with each passing beat, the different voices mixing as one until I hear only a clear roaring sound.

It is a sound of fury, of a deep rooted fear. It is the sound of a woman in pain and I know her.

It sounds like me.

I am not awake but I’m not dead either. I’m trapped in the rotting narrow space of my own memories falling backward through the twenty-two years of my life where every living moment was a threat and every shadow had a score to settle.

“Look at her,” Keith’s voice is cutting in the darkness, cold and unfeeling. “The wolfless stain of the pack. Hey, Crawler! Look up when your betters are speaking to you.”

In this very vivid nightmare I was nineteen again kneeling on the floor of icy stone in the packhouse kitchen. The glass bowl had shattered against the wall, thrown by Alicia because the soup wasn’t hot enough. Sharp jagged, shards scattered across the flagstone.

“Clean it up,” Alicia sneers, her wicked laugh ringing out, joined by the chorus of the rest of the Pack enforcers. I moved to grab the broom but she kicked me away. “Use your hands, wolfless. Let’s see if that horrible skin can at least bleed properly.”

I reached down in the dark, my fingers trembling as I gathered the sharp porcelain. Then came the heavy brutal weight of Keith’s iron-toed boot slamming down onto the back of my hand grinding my knuckles into the broken ceramic. The sharp edges sliced deep into my skin, blood pulling over the gray stone. I bit my lip until it bled, forcing my eyes shut, refusing to let a single tear drop. I never gave them the satisfaction of a cry. Never.

“She doesn’t even scream,” someone laughed in the background. “ At least a dog whimpers when you kick it, but this ground-crawler just takes it.”

“Ugh, I would love to hear her scream.”

This scene shifted, the cold stone and slicing pain giving way to the choking fragrance of Gardenias and vanilla.

Noelle.

She stood over me in the narrow, windowless basement room that had been my prison and safe haven for as long as I could remember. She was wearing fine silk, her hair perfectly styled, her eyes shining with that terrifying hypnotic glow.

“You think you’re special because mom died giving birth to you?” Noelle whispered her siren voice curling around my ears like poisonous roots. “You’re nothing, Emery. You were born without a wolf born, without power, born to be the very dirt under my shoes that i flick away in disgust. Do you really think the Moon Goddess will give a mates to a waste of space like you?”

“The moon ceremony is tomorrow,” my past self whispered back, my throat raw, clinging for the one fragile thread of hope that kept my heart beating through years of bruises and nights spent in terror. “My mate will see me. He will know.”

Noelle had laughed, a beautifully cruel sound that carried pure hatred. “If your unfortunate mate turns out to be someone strong, I’ll take him. I’ll take everything from you, little sister, it’s what you’re for.”

And then came the Moon Ceremony.

“I, Alpha Silas of the Silver Moon Pack…”

His voice was void of any emotion. His eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were clouded over with a strange and natural glaze.

“...reject you, Emery Vance…”

No!

I see myself running through the rain chased by the enforcers. I see the edge of The Black Ridge. I see the uneven base yawning below.

And then I jumped.

“Breathe child.”

The voice is deep, venerable and rings through the space like a roiling thunder through a storm.

My eyes snap open.

Pain is the first thing that hits me in a massive, blinding wave of physical torture that makes me choke out a ragged gasp. My chest feels like it has been crushed repeatedly under a boulder. My ribs are screaming, my left arm is bound tight in flints and my skin feels raw like it had been dragged against sharp glass.

I spring upwards on instinct, trying to pull away, trying to defend myself.

“Careful,” The voice commands calmly and a large scarred hand reaches out to hold my shoulder, keeping me from tearing my open wounds.

I flinch violently.

My body acts before my brain could process where I was. I drop my head, tucking my chin into my chest, pulling my uninjured arm inward to protect my ribs, curling into a tight defensive ball.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up.” The words rip out of my raw throat before I can stop them. “Don’t step on them-please-I…”

Silence fills the space.

It is not the cruel, mocking kind of silence that I am used to in the Silver Moon Packhouse, but it is a heavy, quiet sort of stillness.

Slowly and painfully I force my eyes open so I can fully look at my surroundings.

I am not in the damp basement. I’m also not at the bottom of a bloody ravine, there are no bodies long rotting and broken surrounding me. I’m lying on a low wooden bed covered in soft, thick furs inside a massive cavern of what looks like an ancient grey stone.

Sunlight streams down from high arching fissures in the ceiling, illuminating the lush green vines climbing the walls and the scent of crushed herbs cedarwood and dried white sage fills the air.

Beside the bed sits a man.

His shoulders are broad, towering over me even while sitting, dressed in a simple dark shirt and faded jeans. His hair is thick and dark, streaked with silver at the temples and his face is marked with the kind of hard, timeless scars that belong to an ancient warrior. But it is his eyes that make my pulse spike, they are a clear, glowing gold radiating an authority so dense it makes the very air in the cavern hum.

“You are safe,” the man says softly, his golden eyes scanning my pale face. “No one is going to step on you here.”

I swallow hard, my raw throat feeling like sandpaper. I try to pull back further against the stone wall, my eyes darting towards the door.

“Who are you?” I demand, trying to make my voice sound sharp, snarky and dangerous though it comes out at little more than a croak. “Where are the enforcers? Did Silas send you to finish the job?”

The man’s dark brow pulls together. “Silas? The young alpha of the Silver Moon?” he shakes his head slowly. “He has no authority here. No regional Alpha holds power in the Royal Haven.”

“The Royal Haven?” I ask, perplexed.

He gives a little chuckle, it is a dark rumbling sound deep in his chest. “You might know it as The Black Ridge," he says.

The Black Ridge is a death-trap,” I spit, immediately wincing as the movement pulls at my cracked ribs. “Everyone knows that monsters live in the abyss.”

A ghost of a smile touches the man's lips. “The world believes the ridge is a place of darkness and doom because it was magicked to look that way centuries ago,” he says smoothly, reaching for a carved wooden bowl resting on a stone stool beside the bed. “It keeps the foolish Alphas from intruding on my peace and it is where the Kings of the past have come to take Solace. It is not a death-trap, child. It is a Haven.”

He lifts the spoon filled with a fragrant stew toward me.

I don’t open my mouth instead my eyes lock on the steam rising from the bowl and a certain reflex takes over my body. My hand darts out, trembling and I snap a small piece of dried bread resting on the edge of the tray.

I do it before I even realize what I am doing.

Keep the scraps. Hide the bread. You don’t know when Noelle would lock the basement door again, you don’t know if you will eat tomorrow.

He stops. His golden eyes drop to my sleeve where the shape of bread is clearly visible.

A sudden flash of shame washes over me. I clamp my jaw tight, glaring at him, waiting for the strike, waiting for him to call me a thief, to slap my face, to force me onto my knees to clean up the spilled stew.

Instead, he gently sets the bowl back down, he doesn't raise his voice, he simply reaches into a pouch and pulls out three more pieces of dried meat and bread and lays them on the blankets right beside my hand.

“There is no need to hide food here," he says quietly, his voice carrying a deep warmth “There’s enough for you. Always.”

“Why are you helping me?” I snap, masking my confusion with pure snark. “Are you blind or did you just miss the fact that I don’t have a wolf? Can you not scent it? I’m an Omega, a ground-crawler. I’m wolfless.”

“Wolfless?” He chuckles again. He leans closer, looking directly into my eyes. “Is that what those fools in the valley told you?”

“It is what I am!” I shout, my voice cracking. “I’ve never been able to shift. I’ve never been able to protect myself, not even when my own sister pointed her claws against me.”

“You jumped off a two hundred foot cliff to keep your spirit unbroken,” he corrects firmly. “That is not weakness, Emery Vance, that is the pride of a Lycan.”

I freeze at the sound of my name coming from his lips. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

He stands, his tall frame blocking the sunlight, the air around him suddenly grows heavy, thick with the weight of an ancient terrifying power that makes my skin prickle.

“My name is Valerius Blackwood,” he says calmly.

My heart drops into my stomach.

Valerius Blackwood.

The missing Lycan King. The legend who ruled every pack before disappearing fifty years ago, presumed that by every Alpha on the continent. The man whose name is carved into places of high respect and honor in every pack.

“That can’t be possible…you’re…you’re the Lycan King of all wolves.” I whisper, staring at him in disbelief.

“I was,” Valerius replies. “And when I pulled your broken body from the rocks at the base of the ridge last night, I only intended to give a dying girl a quiet place to pass. But then something remarkable happened.” He looks down at me, a soft smile playing at his lips.

“When my hands touched your skin to close your wounds, your heart stopped.” He murmurs. “Then your eyes opened. They did not turn brown or blue or gold like a common wolf, they flared with pure, blinding liquid silver.

A power blessed directly by the Moon Goddess herself,” Valerius says. “You are not worthless, Emery. Your wolf is not missing. She was sealed, locked deep behind a barrier to protect you until your body was strong enough to bear the fire inside you,” He reaches out and places a hand over my heart and that is when I feel it.

A tiny dormant spark of intense white hot heat.

“They humiliated you, abused you and chased you to the end of the abyss, but you survived. And now, little wolf, now you are going to learn how to burn.”

*** ***

AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!

If you’ve made it this far, thank you!

Seriously.

Writing Emery’s journey (and watching her hit absolute rock bottom before finding her footing) has been an intense process, and having you guys along for the ride makes all the late night typing worth it.

We’re finally stepping out of the dark phase of her life and moving into the part of the story where she gets to discover who she really is when she’s not just trying to survive.

I’m completely invested in making this story the absolute best experience it can be for all of you and I promise there's going to be some insane turns coming up as she steps into her power.

Please drop a comment and let me know how you’re feeling about her dynamic with Valerius so far! I will read through the feedback while I'm drafting the next chapters, your thoughts mean more than you know.

Thank you for reading, for sticking with Emery, and for giving this book your time. Next chapter drops soon!