18

Ravok's POV

The only voice in my head was Sorvane’s, as my wolf, Ragnar, had been silent for three hundred years. There had been a time when his presence anchored me, but now, there was only the demon.

The haze lifted inside me and I stopped seeing red, the roar in my ears dulled into silence, and for a brief second, I remembered who I was. It hadn’t been me who stepped in to protect the red-haired girl.

It had been him.

I looked down at the floor and saw my mask lying there, split down the center. A symbol of the anonymity I had failed to keep. All eyes turned toward me, then, one by one, they began to kneel. 

“Your Highness,” someone whispered, voice shaking, barely audible.

Another echoed it louder. “Your Highness!”

And then it spread. Dozens of wolves, once drunk with desire, now bowed their heads, some pressing their foreheads to the floor.

They thought I was still the king they remembered, but the man they were kneeling to wasn’t just me anymore. He was me and the monster that lived beneath my skin.

The room was still heavy with silence. I straightened slowly, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves with calm. “The auction will continue.” I exhaled, letting my gaze drift to where I had left the girl, thinking I might catch the faint rhythm of her breathing or the glint of red hair.

But when my eyes returned to the floor, I found it empty.

She was gone.

My jaw clenched, and I turned toward the back of the hall just as the main doors creaked open and swung slightly inward, a soft sway that would have gone unnoticed to anyone else. But not to me.

She had run.

Without hesitation, I moved. Stone scraped under my boots as I pushed forward, straight through the rows of nobles and bidders. Bodies shifted in my path, silk and velvet brushing my coat, the sharp scent of perfume mixing with fear. 

No one dared touch me. Some stepped back too late, shoulders colliding, breath catching as I passed. 

My footsteps rang against the stone floor, steady, unavoidable, carving a narrow silence through the stunned crowd. I reached the doors without slowing and shoved them open, the heavy wood groaning as I slipped into the corridor beyond.

I heard it before I saw it: the scuffle of boots, a sharp intake of breath, a hiss of defiance. The smell of strawberry infiltrated my nostrils and I knew they belong to her.

And then I saw.

She had made it as far as the side passage, but a guard had caught up to her. He held her by the arm, gripping her tightly as she struggled, twisting her body, her other hand curled into a fist that she slammed against his chest.

The jacket I'd wrapped around her had slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing a streak of red where the guard’s fingers had bruised her throat. 

My own jaw clenched at the sight. “Let her go,” I said.

The guard froze, his grip loosening as if my words alone had burned through his skin. Slowly, he turned, and recognition hit him. “Y... Your Highness…” He released her at once, stepping back with wide eyes, his hands raised in apology.

She stumbled slightly as her arm slipped free, but caught herself, breathing hard, her lips parted as she stared at me. Her eyes, dark and shining, locked onto mine.

Not fear or submission.

I stared into the red-haired human’s eyes. They were green, but her pupils were so dilated they looked like polished obsidian, swallowing the color whole. Even lifeless, they still shone, and for a single heartbeat, they flicked to the side.

The guard still hadn’t fully retreated. He lingered too close, uncertainty stiffening his posture, the hilt of his knife peeking from beneath his belt. I could smell the leather of the sheath, worn and oily, mixing with sweat and old stone.

She noticed.

Not with her eyes, but with her body.

Her shoulders shifted, just a fraction. Her weight slid onto the ball of her foot. Then she moved. In one fluid motion, she pivoted toward him, fingers slipping under the edge of his belt and closing around the knife’s handle. The blade left the leather with a muted whisper.

She spun on her heel, red hair whipping across her cheek, and drove straight for me.

The air cut as the blade arced upward. I felt it pass close enough to stir the hairs at my throat. Then I caught her wrist.

My hand closed hard around her skin, warm and slick with grime, her pulse slamming wildly beneath my thumb. The impact of her body hit me a breath later... solid, desperate, fueled by rage and terror. 

She hissed sharply, teeth bared as she tried to wrench free, twisting and bucking against my grip. I rolled my wrist, forcing her arm down and away. Her fingers spasmed, and the knife slipped free, striking the stone floor.

I did not give her time to recover.

I stepped in, close enough to feel the heat of her back, and used the momentum of her struggle to turn her. Her shoulder met the wall with a dull thud. I pressed in behind her, pinning her there, my body a solid barrier she couldn’t push through.

One hand locked both her wrists above her head, fingers digging into her skin, holding fast. The other braced against the stone beside her face, palm flat, trapping her between my arm and the wall.

Her breath came fast and uneven, brushing my knuckles. I could feel the tremor running through her, raw and electric.

My chest settled flush against her back, so I could feel every breath she took.

She writhed beneath me, legs kicking once, but I shifted my weight and pressed my hips forward, anchoring her in place. “do not move,” I murmured, letting the heat of my breath trail against the side of her neck. “Or I stop holding back.”

She stilled, but I felt the tremor that ran down her spine.

The corridor was dim, lit only by wall sconces casting long, flickering shadows. The stone was cool beneath our bodies, but the heat between us built.

Her breathing was uneven now, no longer just from effort. Confusion. Frustration. And something more dangerous.

Want.

I could smell it.

Sorvane could smell it.

“You were going to stab me,” I said lowly, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, not quite touching.

She twisted her head just enough to spit the words back at me. "This is what you deserve for ruling over humans like a tyrant!”

I loosened my grip on her wrists, just slightly, letting my fingers slide down the inside of her arm until they reached her elbow, “I’ve crushed men twice your size for far less.”

“You should,” she snapped. "I won’t kneel. If you can't stand it, then go ahead and kill me." Her body was tense, defiant, yet she did not push me away... not again. 

She waited, so did I.

And for one second, there was nothing but the sound of her shallow breaths and the scent of wild strawberries.

I leaned in until my mouth hovered just behind her ear. “You ran from me once,” I whispered. “Do it again, and I won’t be gentle next time.”

Heat surged behind my eyes, sharp and invasive, as if something had clawed its way into my skull. The world tilted. A red blur seeped into my vision, bleeding outward from the edges until it swallowed every line, every face. 

My thoughts thickened, dragged through something hot and heavy, no longer moving at my command. He pressed closer. Not a voice... a presence. Sorvane coiled through my mind, sliding between my thoughts with obscene intimacy, brushing against memory, instinct, hunger. 

It felt like fingers tightening around my spine, like breath poured directly into my skull. My jaw locked. My teeth ground together as his weight settled behind my eyes, pushing, testing, demanding space. 

"Let me drain that insolent human," Sorvane purred.