Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
The rogue’s growl vibrates through the damp night air, low and guttural, it’s as though the ground itself is warning me. My back hits the rough bark of the tree again as I drag myself backward on my hands, dirt grinding into my palms. My ankle throbs where I twisted it, every movement sending hot needles up my leg.
Where the hell is Alaric?
I whip my head around, scanning the shadows between the trees. There’s nothing but black trunks and moonlight cutting through the branches. No patrols. No guards. Everyone’s too busy downing champagne and pretending the world doesn’t exist inside the packhouse. And I–idiot that I am–ran straight into the woods like some horror movie cliché.
Oh man.
The rogue’s snarl gets louder. He steps closer, paws pressing into the wet earth with slow, bone–cracking weight. His eyes are wild–black–rimmed, feverish. He reeks. Rot, bile, and something worse. My stomach twists.
Get up. Come on, Sorin.
I force myself upright, ignoring the pain screaming through my ankle. My wolf thrashes inside me, frantic, and I grab onto her presence like a lifeline. Shift, Sorin. Now.
I let go.
Bones snap and reform in a rush of pain that burns through my veins. My body collapses forward, fur bursting across my skin as the world sharpens. My vision floods with silver and gold. My paws hit the ground, smaller than most, but fast. Strong enough. I bare my teeth.
The rogue doesn’t hesitate. He lunges.
I twist sideways, his claws grazing my flank as I slam into him. We tumble across the dirt, snarling and snapping. His weight crushes the air out of me, but I dig my claws into his side and kick upward, flinging him off. He lands hard, rolls, and is back on his feet before I can blink.
Fuck, he’s fast.
I growl, low and a warning at him, circling him. The forest is too quiet, even the night itself is holding its breath. My paws sink into wet leaves. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, matching the rhythm of his panting.
“Grr…” He slowly growls and before I knew it, he charges again.
This time I meet him head–on. Teeth sink into flesh–mine. His jaws clamp down on my back leg, white–hot pain shooting through me. I yelp, thrashing, but his grip is brutal. He shakes me like I’m prey, ripping into muscle. I twist sharply, biting into his ear, tasting blood, and he lets go with a guttural snarl.
I stumble back, my leg trembling, barely holding me. My wolf whimpers inside. She’s trying to heal, but it’s
slow. Too slow.
He prowls closer, eyes glinting. He knows I’m weakening.
“Come on,” I growl through the bond, though my voice in this form is more a snarl than words.
I launch myself forward again, but he sidesteps and rakes his claws across my side. Blood spatters the ground. My legs give out beneath me. I hit the dirt hard. The world tilts. My wolf tries to fight, but the pain drags me under.
The shift back happens before I can stop it. Bones snap, fur recedes, and suddenly I’m on my hands and knees, human again. Naked. Bleeding on my knees and ankles, I can’t stand up. My breath comes in sharp, uneven
gasps.
The rogue’s eyes drag down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. He tilts his head, lips peeling back over sharp teeth. He fucking smirks–in his wolf form. Saliva drips from his mouth as he takes another step, slow and savoring.
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CHAPTER 39
“No,” I rasp, crawling backward. My wounded leg drags uselessly behind me, leaving a dark streak in the dirt. No, no, no. Don’t you fucking dare p>
He advances.
My hands scramble against the ground, searching for anything. A weapon. A stick. A miracle. My fingers brush something solid–a rock, heavy and jagged. I grip it with both hands, heart hammering against my ribs though it’s trying to break out.
He’s close enough now that I can see every filthy patch of fur, every drop of drool sliding down his muzzle. His breath hits my face, rancid and hot.
“Go to hell,” I spit.
I swing.
The rock slams into his snout with a sickening crack. He jerks back, a pained snarl ripping out of him. For one heartbeat, I think I’ve done it. But then his eyes snap back to me, black with fury.
Oh fuck.
He lowers himself, muscles bunching like a spring. A growl rattles out of his chest, deep and murderous. My arms tremble. I can’t stand. I can barely breathe. Panic claws up my throat, but beneath it–somewhere deep–is that stubborn flicker that refuses to die. I’ve survived worse. I’ve survived them. I will not let some feral bastard take me down.
But goddess, my leg-
He lunges.
I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my arms over my face.
“NO!” I scream.
And then-
Silence.
And then a sickening splurt of whatever is happening before my closed eyes, and then a dying whimper.
I wait for the pain that doesn’t come.
One second. Two.
My hands are shaking so badly as cold air bites at my bare skin, the night damp with the scent of iron and wet soil. For a second, there’s nothing–no growls, no claws, no tearing flesh. Just my heartbeat, hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out too.
I blink, confused, lowering my trembling arm from where I’d thrown it up uselessly to shield myself.
Then-
“-What the fu p>
The ground vanishes under me, and I let out a strangled shriek as I’m yanked clean off the floor.
“Ah p>
Strong arms lock under my knees and back, my body lifted with dizzying ease. My stomach lurches, my heart leaps into my throat, and then I’m pressed against a broad, blood–warm chest that smells like cedarwood, rain, and something dark–feral.
My head whips to the side, my hair sticking to my damp cheeks. The rogue lies sprawled on the ground like a gutted animal. His chest is cracked open, ribs bent like peeled bark, and there–right beside his mangled body -is his heart. A whole fucking heart, still twitching faintly on the dirt though it hasn’t realized it’s been evicted. My hand flies to my mouth. A sound escapes me–half gasp, half strangled sob.
And then I see him.
Alaric.
CHAPTER 39
Amber–gold eyes glowing like a wildfire, streaks of blood splattered across his jaw and hands. There’s a drop on his lower lip, and he doesn’t even bother wiping it off. He looks terrifying. Beautiful. A monster in human skin.
He tilts his head, his gaze dragging over my naked body like he owns every inch of it. And then, in a voice low enough to crawl straight down my spine, he murmurs,
“No one touches what’s mine. No one sees this body but me p>
It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking verdict.
Before I can even think of a comeback–or slap him, because that’s definitely brewing–he shifts me against his chest with one arm, then unhooks the clasp of his black coat with the other. The heavy fabric falls over my shoulders, swallowing me whole in his scent. Warm. Rough. Wild. My fingers fist the edge of the cloak on instinct.
He doesn’t say anything else but starts walking.
The wind outside is sharp, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the distant hum of the pack still buzzing from the earlier chaos. His boots crush gravel with every step. I wrap my arm around his neck, more for stability than comfort–at least that’s what I tell myself. My body, traitorous as always, melts a little against his heat.
We cross the gates, and the massive marble packhouse looms ahead, lights spilling from the arched windows. The moment we step through the doors, the atmosphere shifts like a drop of blood in still water.
Conversations stop mid–breath. Every pair of eyes swivels toward us.
The air tightens, electric. One by one, wolves part like a living tide. The first kneels as he passes, lowering his head without a sound. Then the next. And the next. Until the entire damn hall is on their knees, heads bowed, as the Alpha King walks through carrying a bloodstained, half–naked woman in his arms.
I bury my face into his neck before anyone can get a clear look at me. My pulse slams against my throat.
His scent is everywhere now–burning cedar and clean storms. His skin is hot against my cheek, his pulse steady and slow, a cruel contrast to my own panic.
I catch glimpses through the edge of the cape. Ornate marble floors stretch beneath us, polished so smooth they reflect the golden chandeliers like pools of liquid light. Tapestries depicting Lycans and wars line the walls. The same ones I had the omegas put up designs for.
Every step he takes echoes–thud, thud, thud–and it’s the only damn sound in the entire hall.
I try to keep my head down, but my eyes dart around, searching. Camila. That snake of a woman. She’s usually glued to the center of the room like she owns it. But she’s not here. Either she’s hiding, or she knows better than to stand in the way of a feral Lycan King with blood on his hands.
Good. One less headache tonight.
The cape slips slightly down my shoulder as he adjusts his hold on me, and I immediately clutch it tighter, my fingers brushing the hard plane of his chest under his shirt. Of course, the bastard notices. His head dips just enough that his lips ghost over the shell of my ear.
“Relax,” he mutters, voice rough, low. “No one will touch you p>
Easy for him to say. He’s the walking embodiment of a death threat. I’m just trying not to flash half the pack.
Then we near the entrance to the throne room. That’s where they’re standing.
Wade. Ariel.
My stomach clenches, twisting into something cold and ugly. I don’t look up, but I can feel them. Wade’s scent hits first–pine and betrayal. Ariel’s sickly sweet floral perfume follows, cloying like poison.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My arms tighten around Alaric’s neck before I can stop myself, dragging myself closer until my face is buried completely against his throat. If I could crawl inside his damn chest cavity to avoid being recognized, I would.
CHAPTER 39
My breath hitches, and I feel his body stiffen slightly, like he knows exactly who we’re walking past. His chest rumbles–a low, warning growl.
The crowd doesn’t move. They don’t dare. Every single person we pass drops to their knees, heads down, as if the heaviness of his aura physically forces them there.
And then-
“Your Majesty p>
The voice slices through the silence like a gunshot.
Alaric stops mid–step. He doesn’t turn. His grip on me stays solid, possessive.
Wade’s voice again, steadier this time. “Can I… can I see her face p>
My blood freezes.
What?
My heart lurches violently, slamming against my ribs. I press my forehead harder against Alaric’s neck, shaking my head imperceptibly, willing him to just keep walking. Please. Just move.
The silence stretches, a taut wire about to snap. The entire hall seems to hold its breath. I feel the shift in Alaric before I hear it–the way his chest expands slowly, the way his claws just barely extend against my thigh where his hand supports me.
When he finally speaks, it’s quiet. Dangerous. “Say that again p>
Wade doesn’t back down. I can hear the idiot inhaling like he’s trying to smell me through the cape. “Her face,” he repeats, softer, almost desperate. “I just want to see–ha…” I hear him sigh.
“My wife has a tattoo on her ankle too. As per the woman in your arms.” He continues and I quickly stiffen.
Shit. My ankle is visible.
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