Zarek's POV
The moment her body collapsed, his world tilted.
Her small frame crumpled to the mossy ground, those wide green eyes fluttering shut — and something ancient inside him snapped.
Panic.
Possessive, gut-wrenching, primal panic.
No, no, no…
He lunged forward.
Her scent — sweet, wild, impossibly wrong for this world — tangled around him, maddening and magnetic. His massive form closed the distance in a heartbeat, chest heaving with frantic breaths.
The ruins pulsed faint blue beneath the vines, ancient symbols glowing faintly along the cracked arches.
This can't be real…
And yet — her. His mate. His.
For a heartbeat, he hovered — wolf instincts warring with the brutal vulnerability clawing at his chest.
Then instinct won.
Trembling with adrenaline, Zarek scooped her effortlessly into his arms.
Too fragile…
Her skin was warm — too warm. Fevered. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Her wild brown hair tangled over his forearm, dirt smeared across her cheek.
Her heart fluttered — weak, but steady.
"Veylin'ka…" he whispered, voice rough with disbelief.
Mine.
The impossible mate the Elders swore fate had denied him — here. Mortal. Alone. Lost in a battlefield only Lycans dared tread.
A sharp growl rumbled in his chest as he straightened, cradling her closer.
His wolf howled beneath his skin, restless and possessive, urging him to run.
So, he did.
With a shuddering inhale, his form snapped back — fur bursting along his spine, silver eyes flashing as his body elongated into the towering midnight wolf once more.
The girl's unconscious frame nestled carefully between his massive front paws, his movements delicate despite his size.
Then — he bolted.
The forest blurred around him, trees bending with the force of his speed, paws thundering against the earth as he raced toward Nyxvalen.
Every warrior he passed paused — jaws slack, eyes wide — their Alpha returned carrying someone.
The whispers ignited instantly.
"The King's scent changed."
"It's a mate — gods above, it's real!"
"Impossible…"
Shock rippled through the ranks, but none dared follow as Zarek stormed past the castle gates, silver eyes blazing with fury and protectiveness.
The towering spires of Nyxvalen loomed overhead, stained-glass windows casting blue light across the pristine courtyards.
As he approached the royal wing, guards scrambled aside, the heavy doors creaking open at his command.
The scent hit the castle halls — ancient, undeniable.
Fate.
He shifted mid-stride — fur vanishing, skin rippling with warmth as his human form emerged, the unconscious girl still clutched to his chest.
Naked, unbothered, raw power bleeding off him in waves.
Then — his parents.
"Zarek?" his mother's voice, sharp with alarm, echoed down the marble corridor.
She appeared the next breath — Queen Selya Sylion, silver hair braided down her back, violet eyes widening as they landed on the girl.
King Daemon followed, his broad frame filling the hall, eyes narrowing with ancient calculation.
They froze — staring.
The scent hit them instantly.
Fate. Bonded. Real.
The Queen pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with stunned disbelief. "You… you found her."
"Impossible," Daemon muttered, eyes locked on the fragile, unconscious mortal in Zarek's arms.
Zarek's voice dropped, rough and low with warning. "Not here."
He stalked past them, shouldering into his private chambers — the vast suite lined with navy silk, silver tapestries, polished marble floors.
The air shimmered with protective wards as he crossed the threshold.
Gently, he lowered the girl onto his massive bed, her tiny frame sinking into layers of velvet and silk.
Her lashes fluttered slightly, her breathing shallow but steady.
His wolf prowled beneath his skin, restless.
The Queen hovered beside him, voice quieter now. "She's… mortal." Her tone held disbelief — mortals hadn't survived into adulthood for centuries.
"She's mine," Zarek snapped, silver eyes flaring.
Daemon exhaled, shoulders stiffening. "The Elders will lose their minds."
"They won't know," Zarek growled. "Not yet."
Only those he trusted would see her.
The maids arrived at his silent summons — trusted, efficient, but even they faltered, eyes wide, jaws nearly unhinged as they inhaled her impossible scent.
"Clean her," Zarek commanded, voice brooking no argument. "No questions. No rumors. You speak of this… you answer to me."
The maids bowed hastily, gathering silks and warm water.
Nyxvalen's garments — flowing fabrics woven with moon-thread, shimmering faintly under torchlight.
Her new attire: a fitted midnight-blue underdress, layered with gossamer silver robes embroidered with ancient runes — symbols that pulsed softly with protective magic.
Her wild hair was brushed smooth, her skin cleaned of dirt and bruises, though she remained unconscious.
Zarek watched every movement — silent, possessive, conflicted.
And then… unable to help himself…
He sat beside her, his calloused hand brushing along the curve of her cheek.
Warm. Soft. Breakable.
Yet fate had wrapped its claws around her. Around him.
His fingers lingered — tracing the pulse point at her throat, marveling at how fragile she seemed… yet how everything inside him roared mine in defiance of reason.
"You shouldn't exist," he whispered, thumb brushing her jawline, voice rough with wonder and disbelief. "But you do."
Finally, he turned to his parents, voice cold, decisive. "Summon Nira."
Daemon's brow lifted. "Your Beta?"
"I want a witch found — discreetly," Zarek ordered, silver eyes never leaving the sleeping girl. "This isn't… normal."
The Queen's eyes softened, her hand brushing his shoulder. "She's beautiful."
"She's impossible," Zarek corrected, knuckles ghosting along the curve of his mate's hand.
Servants whispered beyond the chamber walls.
"He found her — the mate…"
"But she's… mortal?"
"The Elders will—"
"Silence," Daemon's voice cut sharply, power reverberating through the halls.
The room quieted.
Zarek's Beta, Nira — sharp-eyed, lethal, loyal — arrived moments later, her boots silent on polished marble.
"You called, Alpha?" she asked, eyes flicking to the girl, sharp curiosity masked beneath control.
"Find me a witch," Zarek ordered, silver eyes blazing. "One who understands forbidden magic. Discreet. Fast."
Nira's brow arched but she nodded. "It will be done."
As the door closed behind her, Zarek exhaled, shoulders taut.
His father's hand clapped his shoulder, pride and concern woven into his expression.
But Zarek's gaze never wavered from the girl — unconscious, impossibly real.
And no one would take her from him.