Chapter 6

The shots never came. Just clicks—empty, hollow sounds from guns with no bullets.

I opened my eyes, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I’d trapped, my chest heaving. The air was heavy with tension, the gaze of Lucas sending cold bites on my skin, and the silence after the clicks was louder than the screams that had torn through the night.

Lucas stood there, his gray eyes glinting, a smirk curling his lips like he’d won a sick game.

“Fifteen of your rats shot at you,” he said, voice low, dripping with venom. “No loyalty. They’d kill my personal toy, their queen, just to save their skins.”

His words stung, sharp as the mate bond twisting in my gut, his scent still choking me despite the open air.

My wolf whimpered, still clinging to him, but I shoved her down, my blood hot with hate.

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet, and five of his men moved, dragging the fifteen rogues who’d pulled the triggers.

Clara wasn’t among them. Her gun had hit the dirt when Lucas counted “three,” her bruised face steady, her eyes locked on mine. Fred, her friend, hadn’t shot either. They’d chosen death over betraying me, and the weight of that, of their loyalty and my failure, all crushed my chest like a stone.

Lucas shifted, a blur of gray fur and savage power, his wolf bigger than any I’d seen, moving like a storm.

He tore into the fifteen, claws ripping, teeth snapping, blood spraying the mud. I shut my eyes, but the sounds, wet thuds, choked screams, bones cracking, burned into me.

My stomach churned, bile rising, but I couldn’t look away for long. His power wasn’t just wolf; it was something else, something darker, like he’d been forged in blood and shadow.

He shifted back, naked and blood-smeared, his tanned skin glistening under the moonlight. Almost at the same time, he dressed up in another robe handed to him, so fast.

Someone tossed him a napkin, and he wiped his hands and mouth, the cloth staining red.

His eyes met mine. “We’re going home,” he said, voice flat, like he hadn’t just ripped apart my entire clan.

“Chain the two survivors. The man works the mines. The woman…” He glanced at Clara, her face pale, blood matting her black hair. “She’s for the pleasure houses. Make their lives hell.”

My heart stopped, my breath catching as his men moved, syringes glinting in their hands. They jabbed Clara and Fred, and their bodies jerked, chains clinking, their groans deep and raw, like the needles were burning them from the inside. Clara’s eyes met mine, pain twisting her face, but she didn’t cry out before they both passed out.

I wanted to scream, to tear the syringes away, but my legs were rooted, my arm still throbbing from Lucas’s claws as it healed slowly.

Two of his men came for me, syringes gleaming in their hands, their grins sharp and hungry. “Don’t fight, sweetheart,” one said, his voice oily, his breath sour with liquor. “You’re too pretty to waste. Be a good girl, and you might last.”

“Don’t touch me with that,” I snarled, fists clenched, my voice raw.

I wasn’t chained, and I’d fight before I let them poison me. My eyes darted for Lucas instinctively, searching for him like he’d save me.

Stupid.

He was already climbing into a cart, his back to me, his scent fading.

That glance was my mistake. One man swung, his fist slamming my cheek, pain flaring hot, my vision blurring.

I hit the ground, mud cold and gritty under my hands. “Gonna be fun breaking you,” the other laughed, his voice thick with lust. “That body’s begging for it.”

Their words lit a fire in my veins, rage unhinging me. I kicked up, hard, my boot smashing the first man’s groin.

He screamed, doubling over, and I rolled, slamming my fist into the second’s stomach, the impact jarring my knuckles.

He fell, groaning, and I stomped his face, the crunch satisfying, my blood pounding.

Lucas stepped down from the cart, clapping slow, his smirk infuriating. “Not bad, Rogue Queen,” he said, voice low, almost amused, his eyes glinting with something I hated. Excitement.

“You passed.”

I glared, my cheek throbbing, mud clinging to my hands. “Passed what?” I spat, my voice shaking but sharp.

He picked up a dropped syringe, the needle glinting, and twirled it like a toy. “This,” he said, his smile cold, “kills in seconds. I sent them to test you, see if you’d fight. You didn’t disappoint.”

He stepped closer, his scent overwhelming, making my wolf whine once again. “I like your fire, Mia.”

I wanted to spit in his face, but my eyes flicked to the syringe, my heart racing. He turned to the man still groaning, clutching his groin.

“Weak,” Lucas said, voice hard, and plunged the syringe into him. The man convulsed, a choked grunt escaping, then went still, eyes empty.

My breath caught, my stomach twisting. He was serious and I could see that killing was nothing to him.

The other man crawled back, trembling, his eyes pleading. “Please, my king,” he stammered, voice high with fear. “I’ll do better—”

Lucas raised a finger, silencing him, the gesture sharp as a blade.

He then suddenly tossed me a gun, the metal cold and heavy in my hand. “Finish him,” he said, his voice low, commanding, his eyes locked on mine. “Prove you’re worth keeping.”

I stared, my pulse hammering, the gun trembling in my grip. “Me?” I said, voice cracking, my eyes flicking to the man, his face pale, begging.

“Do it,” Lucas said, stepping closer, his voice a growl that sent a shiver I hated through me.

I raised the gun, and fired the entire bullets at the man, blood pooling under him.

Lucas nodded, his smirk gone, his eyes unreadable. “Good,” he said, turning to the cart. “Get in, Mia. We’re done here.”

I followed, my legs heavy, the gun still warm in my hand. “I could’ve shot you,” I said, voice low, raw, as we climbed in. “You left yourself open. Do you think I can’t kill you even if I will be killed by your men?”

He didn’t look at me or said anything, just leaned back, the cart rattling over the bloody ground, the air thick between us. His eyes on the window.

The journey was silent, the cart’s creaks and the distant howls the only sounds.

I stared at him, his jaw sharp, his tattoos dark against his skin, his scent filling the space, pulling at the mate bond I despised.

How could someone be this cruel? He’d killed my clan, his own men, for nothing. Just fun, maybe, or some twisted sense of justice and supremacy. And now I was his, headed to his pack, my life hanging on his whims.

“You’re a monster,” I said, my voice breaking, the words spilling out. “You kill irrationally, not reason. You don’t deserve to breathe.”

He turned, his gray eyes meeting mine, and for the first time, I saw something different flicker. Pain, maybe, or something deeper which I can’t explain.

“Keep talking, Rogue Queen,” he said, voice low, almost soft, but sharp. “You’ll learn what monsters are made of soon enough.”