Chapter Three

Irina 

The carriage jerked to a violent halt. My bones ached from the freezing, terrifying journey. The heavy iron doors swung open.

"Get out," the guard barked.

I stumbled onto the frozen dirt. The Northern Keep loomed above me in the dark. It was exactly like the nightmare stories. Everyone knew the rumors about the Lycan King. They said his bloodline was cursed. They said his true mate left him years ago and the madness took over his mind. He refused to take a proper Luna ever since. He just bought women, used them for breeding an heir, and buried them when the curse destroyed their bodies. No one survived his bed.

Two guards shoved me into the grand hall. The stone floors were like ice against my bare feet.

"The tribute from the Blackwood pack, Your Majesty," the guard announced. He forced me to my knees.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor. My whole body shook uncontrollably.

"Stand up."

The voice was a deep, gravelly rumble. It did not sound like a madman. It sounded like pure, terrifying authority.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet. I looked up, and my breath completely caught in my throat.

He was not a hideous monster. He was devastatingly handsome. He wore a dark, unbuttoned shirt that revealed a chest covered in thick, black tribal ink. His jaw was covered in a rough, dark stubble. But it was his eyes that trapped me. They were a piercing, vibrant blue.

He walked toward me with slow, predatory steps.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes to meet his.

He stepped closer. His massive frame towered over me. His gaze dropped down my body. It was a cold, calculating inspection. He looked at the curve of my waist, the width of my hips, and the terrified trembling of my hands.

"She is too thin," he said flatly. "But her hips are wide enough. She will carry an heir."

I felt entirely stripped bare by his harsh words.

"Greta," he called out without looking away from me.

An older woman in a simple grey dress stepped out of the shadows.

"Take her to the washroom," he ordered. "Clean her up. Bring her to my chambers in an hour."

"Yes, my King," Greta said softly.

Greta gently took my arm and led me down a dark corridor. We entered a warm room filled with steam and the scent of wild mint.

"Sit down, child," Greta said.

She handed me a warm cup of water. My hands shook so badly the water spilled over the rim.

"Drink," she urged gently. "You are freezing."

I took a small sip. The warmth barely helped the ice in my veins.

"Do you want anything to eat?" she asked. "The kitchen can make you a quick broth."

"No," I whispered. My stomach turned completely at the thought of food. "I cannot."

Greta looked at me with deep sympathy. "I know the terrible stories you have heard. But you must be strong tonight."

"You do not understand," I choked out. Tears finally spilled over my cheeks. "I was with someone last night. The man I thought was my mate. He marked me and then he threw me away this morning. I feel so dirty. I cannot let another man touch me tonight. I just cannot do this."

Greta sighed softly. "The King does not ask for permission, child. He only demands results."

She helped me wash. Every touch of the cloth felt like sandpaper against my bruised skin. When she was done, she slipped a thin, white silk nightgown over my head. It hid absolutely nothing.

The King’s bedroom was massive and lit only by a roaring fire. I stood frozen in the center of the dark rug. The heavy door clicked open.

I flinched violently.

He walked in. He had taken off his shirt entirely. His chest and arms were a canvas of dark, dangerous tattoos. He locked the door behind him.

"Take the gown off," he ordered.

"Please," I whispered. My voice broke. "Please do not do this."

He stopped walking. His blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "I bought you to breed, little wolf. I did not buy you to listen to you beg."

He crossed the room in two massive strides. He grabbed my waist and pulled me hard against his chest. The sheer heat of his body was intoxicating.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I waited for the brutal assault.

His hand moved slowly up my spine. His rough fingers tangled in my damp hair. He tilted my head to the side.

I gasped as his nose brushed against the crook of my neck. He was smelling me. He was smelling Xander’s scent all over my skin.

Suddenly, his entire massive body went completely rigid.

He did not pull away in disgust. Instead, his breathing stopped. His hand tightened in my hair, his grip becoming almost painful.

"Open your eyes," he whispered.

The coldness in his voice was completely gone. It was replaced by a raw, desperate rasp.

I slowly opened my eyes.

He was staring directly at the fresh, bleeding rejection mark on my neck. His blue eyes had turned completely black. The air in the room suddenly crackled with a violent, terrifying heat.

His thumb slowly traced the edge of my torn flesh. A violent electric shock ripped through my entire body at his touch. It was not a tiny spark. It was an absolute inferno.

"Who did this to you?" he growled. His voice vibrated with a sudden, terrifying possessive fury. "Who touched my mate?"