Marked by the Alpha, Claimed by the Enemy King
“If you leave this palace tonight, you become prey”
Lyra Vale got rejected by her fated mate like yesterday’s trash, hauled into enemy land, and turned into the single most lethal prize a blood-soaked kingdom has ever drooled over.
In Dravenhold they don’t chain prisoners.
They drape them in silk that costs more than most packs see in a lifetime and call them queen.
Kael Draven, the Enemy King, had every reason to slit her throat the second she hit his dirt.
Instead he put his mouth to her ear and claimed her protection. Claimed her.
Now the whole damn continent whispers the same filthy truth: her blood can make kings.
Or drown them.
The past won’t stay buried.
Rowan, the Alpha who ripped her heart out to “save his people,” creeps back through the shadows with one desperate, cocky demand: come back to me.
Stay here and she becomes Kael’s living blade, soaked in power and whatever else he decides to take from her body.
Leave, and she lights the match that turns every pack into smoking graves.
One man wants her soul to rule with.
The other already shattered it and still thinks he deserves the pieces.
Lyra’s done being the girl who waits to be chosen.
In a world where power gets ripped out of throats, not politely handed over…
she isn’t prey anymore.
She’s the f*cking throne.
And she’s deciding who bleeds for the right to sit on it.