16

I could run, move now, slip into the corridors, disappear into the noise before anyone reacted. My breath shortened at the thought, legs tensing as if they already knew the direction. 

Then the image of what would come after cut through me. If they caught me, I wouldn’t just be dragged back. I’d be made an example. Beheaded. Or worse. 

Dead girls do not kill kings. 

Dead girls do not end the Slave Rule. 

Dead girls do not slit the Alpha King’s throat. 

And that was when I saw him. Between shoulders and shadows, standing among the crowd as if he belonged there.

Dominic.

My breath caught. At first, I thought I was imagining him. Just another tall shape among too many bodies. Another shadow wearing a familiar outline. But then he shifted, stepping half a pace into the light, and the illusion shattered.

Dominic!

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like the floor tilted beneath me. Cold rushed through my limbs, draining my strength, leaving my fingers numb where they clutched my hair. 

I stared at him through the thin veil of red strands, hardly daring to blink.

But he saw me.

I knew the exact moment it happened. His head lifted slightly. His posture changed, subtle but unmistakable. His gaze locked onto mine and did not slide away like the others’. It stopped. Fixed. 

His eyes narrowed, and something dark crossed his face, fast and dangerous. His jaw tightened, muscles shifting beneath his skin as if he were restraining an instinct. The crowd around him blurred, faded, became irrelevant.

He knew me.

The noise of the room rushed back all at once. I flinched when the auctioneer’s voice cut through it, dragging the attention back to me.

“Oh,” he said, amusement thick in his tone, “she’s not just clumsy. She’s trying to make sure she sells well tonight.” And a few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

My stomach twisted. My hands tightened in my hair, fingers trembling as I held it in place, as if that thin curtain could still protect me.

The auctioneer leaned forward slightly. “Let’s show the little girl what happens,” he continued, voice rising, theatrical, “when a whore tries to get clever around here.”

Men shifted closer. I felt the space around me shrink, the air growing heavy, charged. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else as fear crawled cold along my spine.

I kept my head down.

But somewhere in that crowd, I knew Dominic was still watching.

Two guards broke from the side of the stage. Big men. Heavy steps. Boots striking stone in a steady, confident rhythm meant to intimidate. The sound alone made my shoulders fold inward.

I shrank before they even reached me. My chin dipped, arms drew in tight against my ribs. Every instinct screamed to make myself smaller, quieter, less noticeable. My breath came shallow, fast, caught high in my chest.

They were almost on me when a body moved into my line of sight.

The man who had caught me.

He stepped forward without haste, planting himself squarely between me and them. Broad shoulders, solid stance and feet set apart.

“Better keep your distance,” he said, and his voice wasn’t loud.

It did not need to be.

The guards did not stop. They advanced anyway, jaws set, hands flexing at their sides.

I stumbled backward, panic stealing the strength from my legs. One step. Then another. My heel caught on nothing, balance snapping all at once. I went down hard, palms scraping the stone, the impact rattling through my bones.

I curled instinctively, bracing for hands, for pain, for being dragged.

But he stayed there, for less than a second. Then... he moved.

It was sudden and violent, the kind of motion that did not warn or hesitate. One hand shot out, grabbing the nearest guard by the front of his jacket, fingers closing with crushing certainty. The man barely had time to gasp before he was yanked sideways and hurled into the second guard.

They collided hard.

Not stumbled. Not fell.

They flew!

Bodies slammed into each other and then into a row of tables, wood splintering, chairs toppling as the force sent them skidding across the hall like discarded weight. The sound was deafening. Bone against bone. Flesh against stone.

The room erupted.

And he stepped back into position just as easily, placing himself in front of me again, shoulders squared, breathing steady, as if he hadn’t just broken the laws of nature in front of everyone.

Silence spread outward in stunned ripples.

From the floor, I stared up at his back, heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt. My fingers dug into the stone beneath me, cold grounding me as the truth crashed in.

That hadn’t been strength, had been power.

Every man in the room felt it now. I could sense it in the way no one rushed forward, in the way space opened around him without being asked.

The room did not explode into noise.

It froze.

Chairs stood half-scraped from the floor, mouths hung open, breaths caught mid-inhale. The two guards lay sprawled across the hall where they had been thrown, groaning, unmoving enough to make no one eager to follow.

I was still on the ground.

My palms pressed against the cold stone as I lifted my head, breath trembling, heart slamming so hard it made my vision pulse. 

That was when I saw it: Near my knee, a black mask. It lay cracked against the floor, one strap torn loose.

I stared at it, my fingers curling instinctively as if it might bite. It must have fallen when he moved... when he crossed the room faster than thought, when bodies flew as if they weighed nothing at all.

The man stood between me and everyone else. Nothing hid him now but his back.

He exhaled slowly, controlled, as if the violence had cost him nothing. Then he reached up and shrugged off his coat. The sound of fabric sliding over his shoulders was loud in the silence.

He turned toward me, heat rolling off him in a tangible wave, carrying the scent of leather, clean sweat, something sharp and alive beneath it. He crouched just enough to drape the coat over my shoulders.

The weight startled me.

The lining brushed my bare arms, still holding his heat, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. My breath hitched as the cold retreated, chased off by him.

When he straightened, I looked up and saw his face.

Fully.

Strong lines, sharp and deliberate, a face built for command rather than kindness. His eyes were that same violent blue — unsettling, inhumanly bright — fixed on me with a focus that shut the rest of the room out.

I clutched the front of his coat, fingers whitening as the room held its breath.

He turned again, placing himself squarely in front of me, a solid line between my body and the world. The movement was instinctive, effortless. He scanned the hall in one slow, deliberate sweep, and something in that look pressed down on everyone at once.

No one moved.

Not even the guards still standing.

“She’s not for sale,” he said.

The auctioneer swallowed, his mouth opening as if to argue. Then someone gasped, not loud or dramatic.

Terrified.

“By the Goddess…” a voice whispered from somewhere behind us. “That’s the King.”

The words did not register at first.

“The King.” Another voice followed, shaking. “It’s him.”

Another, closer now. “By the Goddess… the Alpha King.”

Sound drained from the hall.

Men began to move, not forward, not back... down. Knees bending. Heads lowering. One by one, then all at once, bodies folding in submission like grass pressed flat by a storm.

I stared, confused, heart pounding. What were they doing?

My gaze dropped. At my feet, the mask lay shattered across the stone, broken beyond repair. I followed the line upward. His face was fully revealed.

Black hair fallen loose from the fight, a strong jaw, high cheekbones. A mouth set in control. His eyes... those impossible eyes, no longer merely blue, but burning with something merciless.

Recognition did not come gently.

It hit.

This wasn’t just a powerful wolf.

This was the man whose name ended wars before they began. The one packs bowed to. The one cities feared.

The Alpha King.