All Chapters of Claimed By The Lycan King: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

I stared at the remnants of dried blood on my hotel room door, now being scrubbed away by a uniformed staff member whose eyes never quite met mine. The crimson letters had spelled out "NOT MY QUEEN" in what I knew was not paint but actual blood—Benjamin Thorne's idea of a calling card. My fingertips tingled with a strange numbness, but my chest burned with something heavier, something that settled between my ribs and sank down into my stomach. The weight of consequences. The acid taste of blame.Theo stood beside me, his shoulder close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him without actually touching. His presence was both comfort and anchor, keeping me from drifting into the darker currents of my thoughts. The hallway buzzed with activity—security personnel speaking in hushed tones, hotel staff trying to maintain normalcy, the occasional flash of a camera documenting the scene. I

The dining room had thinned to a whisper of its earlier chaos. Only a handful of souls remained, scattered across tables like forgotten chess pieces on an abandoned board. I sat across from Theo, our empty plates pushed aside, the warmth of his knee against mine under the table sending quiet jolts through my body with each subtle shift. Elijah and Elena sat opposite us, nursing cups of coffee that had likely gone cold, their faces bearing the weight of Benjamin Thorne's unexpected appearance just an hour before. The silence between us felt heavy yet comfortable – the kind that forms between people who don't need words to understand the gravity of their situation."We need to carry on as planned, don't we?" I finally said, my voice cutting through the stillness. The question hung between us, though I already knew the answer.Theo nodded, his amber eyes ref

The crowd pressed in around us, their voices a strange mixture of technical analysis and romantic speculation. Half discussed the finer points of taking down a larger opponent, while the other half cooed over the King and his new mate—me, somehow. I stood there, still catching my breath, my hand clutched in Theo's much larger one, wondering how I'd gone from pack Gamma to spectacle in the span of a single match."Did you see how she used his weight against him?" A Lycan guard was explaining to his companion, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Pure technique, not strength.""But the way he looked at her when she pinned him," a female werewolf sighed dreamily nearby. "Like she hung the moon itself."I felt heat crawl up my neck, spreading across my cheeks like wildfire. The training mat beneath my feet suddenly s

I walked the plush carpeted hallway from my suite to Emma's, a smile playing at my lips that I couldn't quite suppress. The image of her face when she'd first seen my bathtub—eyes wide with wonder, lips parted in delight—had etched itself into my memory. Such a simple thing, that massive marble tub with its gold fixtures and multiple jets, something I'd taken for granted my entire royal life. But through her eyes, I was seeing my world anew, seeing the privilege for what it was. And somehow, that made me want to give her everything.The memory of last night lingered like a sweet taste on my tongue. Just twenty-four hours ago, we had accepted each other as mates, the bond between us still fresh and delicate as a newly unfurled leaf. I'd spent 175 years waiting for this, for her, without even knowing it. The fierce protectiveness that surged through me whenever I thought of Emma startled me with

I woke to darkness and the taste of copper in my mouth. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, a dull percussion that seemed to echo in the cold, damp air around me. As consciousness seeped back, I became aware of the bite of metal against my wrists and ankles—chains, heavy and unyielding. The realization slithered through my foggy mind: I was restrained, captive. A prisoner. Memory hovered just beyond reach, fragmentary and slippery, but instinct told me to remain still, to assess before revealing I was awake.The room smelled of earth and mildew, with undertones of something chemical that stung my nostrils. A basement, my mind supplied. The floor beneath the chair I was bound to was concrete, uneven and moisture-slick. The air hung heavy, still, suggesting we were underground with little ventilation. My werewolf senses, dulled though they were, picked up traces of rodents, old wood, and the metallic