All Chapters of Mated to the Alpha King: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

“Just enjoying the fine afternoon, Beta,” Rasmus said, his voice oozing false deference. “Imagine our surprise at finding such a rare flower blooming in our dreary garden.” His pale eyes fixed on Winter, his gaze insolent and slimy. “Your post is on the eastern wall, Rasmus,” Jax said, his voice dangerously low. He took a step forward, positioning himself between them and Winter. “I suggest you return to it.” “Oh, I think my time is better spent here,” Rasmus replied, his smirk widening. He and his men began to spread out, their movements slow and deliberate, a predator’s circling. “We were just so worried about the lady’s welfare. After that terrible business with poor Kaelen. We came to offer our protection.” “She has my protection,” Jax snarled. “Now get out!!” “Your protection doesn’t seem to be worth much,” Rasmus sneered. “You let the King hide away while his pack rots. You let this witch whisper her poison in his ear.” He took another step, his gaze never leaving Winter. Sh

The word hung in the bloody air, a brand seared onto the sudden, ringing silence. ‘Mine’ It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a term of endearment. It was a statement of fact, as absolute and final as the death surrounding them. He had declared ownership, and the proof was cooling on Winter’s skin and soaking into the flagstones at her feet. Her mind, which should have been screaming, was eerily, blessedly quiet. It was a void, a hollow space where terror had burned itself out, leaving only a strange, echoing calm. She watched as his blood stained finger, the one that had just intercepted a drop of another man’s life, slowly lowered. His golden eyes, still blazing with the last embers of the wolf’s fury, held hers captive. He was looking at her, really looking, as if trying to see through the gore to the thing he had just claimed. A choked gasp from behind them shattered the moment. “Spirits....” Jax breathed, his voice raw with shock. He was still on one knee, staring at the carnage,

Winter stared at him, her mind failing to comprehend. “What?” His gaze dropped pointedly to her blood soaked dress. “The dress. Take it off. It’s..ruined.” He said the last word with a kind of finality, as if passing judgment. The command, so blunt and intimate, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. Her hands flew up to clutch the collar of her dress, a futile gesture of modesty. “I... I can’t.” A flicker of raw impatience crossed his face. He looked as if he were about to just rip it off her himself. The wolf inside him was urging him to do just that, to strip away the ruined fabric and see what was his. But the man, the cursed king, fought it back. “Fine,” he bit out. He turned and stalked out of the washroom, his movements stiff with contained violence. Winter stood there, trembling, her heart a wild, panicked bird. A moment later, he returned. He threw a bundle of dark fabric at her. She fumbled to catch it. It was one of his own tunics, a simple, unadorned one of black lin

the tunic was a shroud and a shield. It smelled of him...of pine, cold night air, and the ghost of a lightning storm, and the scent was a constant, dizzying reminder. Winter spent the first day after the slaughter in a state of muted shock, wrapped in his scent, her mind a placid lake of exhaustion. She moved between the vast, empty rooms of her cage, the black linen of his shirt whispering against her skin, a secret caress from a man who would never touch her kindly. Late in the afternoon, Jax returned, his own forehead now bearing a stitched up cut. He carried a pile of clothes , simple, practical dresses of dark wool, chemises, and stockings. They were of far better quality than anything she had ever owned, but the sight of them filled her with a strange, hollow ache. “Figured you might be tired of looking like his favorite shadow,” Jax said, his voice quiet as he placed the clothes on the massive bed. His usual weariness was tinged with a new, wary respect. “Thank you,” sh

As he led her away, Winter chanced one last look at the tower. Ezekiel was gone. But the echo of his terrified fury still resonated in the bond, a strange and powerful comfort.Jax led her back through a different section of the Citadel, a wide, covered causeway connecting the main keep to the armory. As they passed a large, open archway, the rhythmic clang of steel on steel echoed out, along with grunts of exertion.It was a training yard.Winter stopped, her gaze drawn inside. The yard was stark and functional, littered with weapon racks and battered training dummies. In the center, a single man moved.It was him.He was shirtless, his torso bare to the waist, his black hair damp with sweat. He was a living sculpture of brutal, masculine perfection, every muscle coiling and uncoiling with a fluid power that was mesmerizing. He moved with a dancer’s grace and a predator’s lethality, his fists and feet striking a series of thick wooden posts with breathtaking speed and force. This