Chapter 3 : THE SUPREME ALPHA KING

For someone who had been desperately trying to avoid a gruesome death less than twenty minutes ago, I seemed to be walking willingly toward my own execution.

I followed the massive warrior through the dark trees, my ruined silk dress clinging wetly to my freezing legs, my boots squelching in the mud. He didn't look back to check if I was following.

He didn't need to. The sheer, suffocating weight of his aura was like a physical tether dragging me forward.

We crested a small ridge, and the Northern war camp finally came into view.

It was terrifying. Hundreds of black tents were pitched in perfect military formation beneath the ancient pines. Iron braziers burned with roaring fires, casting long, dancing shadows over the faces of the most lethal werewolves I had ever seen.

These weren't the polished, perfumed guards of my father’s court. These men were massive, battle-scarred, and wore heavy pelts and dark leathers.

As we walked through the center of the camp, the conversations stopped.

The silence rippled outward until the only sound was the crackle of the fires and my wet boots slapping the dirt. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me.

I instantly wrapped my arms around my chest, pulling my damp travelling cloak tighter. I braced myself for the snickers. I waited for the whispers about the fat, ruined princess who looked like a drowned rat. I waited for the same disgust I had seen in Caelan’s eyes.

But the laughter never came.

Instead, the wolves stepped closer to the path. Nostrils flared as they caught my scent. Their eyes didn't hold the mockery I was so used to in Aurelia—they held something entirely different.

Their gazes tracked the curve of my hips beneath the wet silk, the fullness of my thighs, the heavy rise and fall of my chest as I breathed.

It was attraction.

A low rumble of appreciation came from a group of warriors near the closest fire. One of them, a man with a jagged scar across his chin, took a step toward me, his eyes dark with hunger as he smirked.

Suddenly, the commander walking ahead of me stopped dead.

He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply let out a low, bone-rattling snarl that vibrated through the earth itself.

The entire camp flinched. The warrior who had stepped toward me instantly dropped to his knees, baring his throat in absolute, terrifying submission. The rest of the men looked away, fixing their eyes firmly on the dirt.

The commander didn't say a word. He just turned and continued walking.

My heart hammered in my throat as I hurried after him, completely bewildered by what had just happened. What kind of general held that much absolute power over an army of killers?

He led me to the largest tent at the edge of the camp. It was made of thick, black canvas and surrounded by guards who bowed their heads respectfully as we passed.

Inside, it was warm. Thick furs covered the ground, and a massive map table took up the center of the room.

The commander walked to the center of the tent and immediately began stripping off his gear. He unbuckled the heavy sword from his thigh and tossed it onto the table with a loud clatter. Then, he reached for the clasps of his massive, fur-lined leather jacket.

I hovered near the entrance, shivering violently, watching the thick muscles of his back flex as he pulled the heavy jacket off and tossed it over a chair. Beneath it, his dark tunic clung tightly to a chest and shoulders that were entirely too broad to be human.

"Where is the King?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

He didn't respond. He didn't even look over his shoulder. He just unstrapped a secondary dagger from his ribs.

"I asked you a question," I pushed, taking a step forward. "I told you Elara isn't coming. Where is King Varek? I need to tell him so I can leave."

Still nothing. The silence in the tent was maddening.

Before I could demand an answer again, the heavy tent flap was violently shoved aside.

A younger northern soldier barged into the room, out of breath and holding a scroll.

"King Varek!" the soldier announced loudly

. "Commander Torin's scouting party is back from the eastern border, they—"

The soldier froze, suddenly noticing me standing near the entrance.

The room started to spin.

The words echoed in my ears, bouncing around my skull until they lost all meaning. King Varek.

Slowly, the massive man in the center of the room turned around. The firelight caught his face, illuminating the pale scar cutting through his eyebrow, the sharp, brutal angle of his jaw, and those terrifying, glowing gold eyes.

His gaze lowered to me, slow and predatory.

He wasn't the commander.

I hadn't just mouthed off to a general. I had just ordered the Supreme Alpha King of the North to step out of my way.

Pure, unadulterated panic exploded in my chest.

I didn't think. I didn't breathe. I just spun on my heel and dashed out of the tent.

I burst into the cold night air, my wet boots sliding in the mud as I scrambled frantically toward the tree line. If I could just reach the shadows...if I could just get back to the lake—

I didn't even make it ten yards.

He was impossibly fast. A blur of dark motion closed the distance between us in a fraction of a second.

Before I could even scream, two massive, muscular arms wrapped around my waist from behind. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs as King Varek lifted me effortlessly from the ground. My feet kicked wildly at the empty air.

"Let me down!" I shrieked, thrashing fiercely against the solid wall of his chest. "Let me go!"

He didn't even flinch. He just tucked me against his side like I weighed nothing at all, turned around, and carried me straight back toward the tent.

"I am not going to die here!" I screamed, kicking his shins and prying uselessly at the steel-like arms locked around my waist. "My only offense was bumping into you in the woods! It was Elara! My sister is the one you wanted! Go kill them instead!"

He kicked the tent flap open, stepped inside, and let it fall shut behind us, cutting off the stares of his amused soldiers outside.

"I mean it!" I yelled, my voice cracking with sheer panic as tears of frustration pricked my eyes. "Take your army and go kill my pack! They deserve it! But let me go!"

Varek finally stopped.

He loosened his grip just enough to let my feet hit the fur-covered floor, but he didn't let me go.

Instead, he spun me around to face him. His massive hands clamped down on my shoulders, holding me firmly in place.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the pain. I waited for his claws to tear into my throat.

Instead, a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the air.

"Open your eyes, Princess," his rough voice commanded softly.

I swallowed hard and forced my eyes open. He was looking down at me, and there was no anger in his terrifying gold eyes. Only a deep, burning possession that made my breath catch in my throat.

"I am not going to kill you," Varek murmured, his thumb brushing a stray, wet curl away from my cheek. His gaze dropped to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. "And I don't want your sister."