Author Note: This chapter is prone to future edits. Enjoy <3
[25/07/2025]
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The ashes were still warm.
The air was thick with the foul scent of smoke and blood, yet a young beautiful lady with fiery blonde hair like the setting sun knelt before the chaos.
Leona El Aslan, daughter of the Lion Pride.
Tears streamed down her face, and sobs racked her throat as she looked at the blackened remains of her home without blinking.
It was too painful, her heart was hurting, but she couldn't tear her eyes away in fear that the wind would sweep everything away.
She had only left the pride for three days, hoping to see the beauty of the world. She succeeded, but she wanted to complain to her father, mother, and brothers about how she was bullied and chastised for moving without her pride.
Her father was right. The world was a cruel place.
But how was she going to make her report when only warm ashes greeted her?
Apart from the cutting pain squeezing her apart, her heart was beating for another reason. A reason she could not name. Her porcelain skin was flushed crimson, not from the heat of the flames, but for something she wasn't taught.
But she couldn't care. It could wait.
"Mother... Father... Brothers..." she sobbed. "What happened to you guys...?"
'Why did all of this happen after I had left?'
Who did this?
Just then, a twig snapped behind her.
Leona's body tensed immediately, her sobs swallowed from fear that the enemy was still near. Her instincts flared instantly, but she stayed still and listened.
She stood slowly, positioning herself in front of the remains of her home like a battlefront. She was nervous, but right now... her whole being was consumed by the first instinct of a predator. Kill.
Her golden eyes narrowed.
"Show yourself," she snarled, her voice low and commanding as she looked at the thick bushel. Her instinct told her it came from there.
She bared her fangs and took one step forward—only for steel to kiss her skin, freezing her in place.
The blade was precise against her collarbone. One wrong shift and her head would be sliced clean. She had watched her father and brothers spar before, and even though she had never used a sword, she knew how dangerous it could be.
But another thing made her wary. The scent of the man behind her. He smelled of ripe oranges at a farm, and she didn't know why, but she wanted to lean into him.
When did he get there?
Leona had no idea.
She wanted to move slightly, but his thick, icy, and controlled voice interrupted her.
"Don't move." She could feel his aura pressing down on her neck, and before she could breathe another word, shadows dropped before her. They were soldiers, but something about them was odd.
She wanted to investigate what she saw, but the man behind her suddenly moved and stood in front of her, sheathing his sword back into its hilt.
Leona dropped to her knees, all the strength leaving her body. She took in huge breaths of air while clutching her chest, her cheeks still flushed. Only now did she notice the peculiarities of her body.
Now that she wasn't staring at the flames of her family.
There was a burning heat within her body, making it hard to calm down. Her breathing turned raspy, and she became overly conscious of how loud everyone else was breathing. They were making noises, but they sounded distorted in her ears.
"Ugh. What were they saying?" she complained.
She lifted her head, quite sure these were the people who caused the chaos. But her body felt weak. How was she going to kill them if she couldn't even lift herself from the floor?
As soon as she raised her gaze, it met the icy-cold man who had pressed a sword to her neck. For a moment, the whole world stood still—just the two of them, looking at each other like it was the first time a woman and a man had ever met.
There was curiosity in the man's gaze, and at the same time, there was curiosity in Leona's.
"What is your name?" she demanded, breaking the silence.
The stranger, none other than the King of Werewolves, Darcien Dogal, was stupefied. He knew that the moment his cold blue eyes met her golden ones, something in him reacted that no one else had awakened.
He was entranced by those eyes, and for a moment, flashes of what he could do to this woman painted themselves across his mind.
Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes... her behavior was familiar. But the aura of the great lion he had sensed on her was slightly faint, and he knew the reason why.
"Hey! I am talking to you," Leona snarled angrily, pissed that someone was ignoring her. How dare he? Did he have a reason to die? Why was he being disrespectful?
Wasn't he the one who made all this mess?
"Since you won't say anything, then tell me—why did you kill my parents? Why did you slaughter my pride? What did we ever do to you?" Her voice wavered, turning soft, her eyes reddening with tears ready to spill.
Darcien was caught off guard and froze.
"We didn't do anything to your pride. Stand and identify yourself," he demanded, ignoring the mess she was in.
Leona frowned, her gaze darkening with fury.
What was this? Were the enemies playing with her? He clearly came from behind her, which meant they were waiting for her to return. She should catch him off guard, draw his sword, and slice his throat. But what was this stupid urge?
As if she were hungry.
Just when she wanted to speak, her gaze caught something. A sweet scent was wafting from it. The space just beneath his belt, it was calling to her, and something within her trembled. A sweet sensation she had never felt before.
If she had that thing, would it finally clear the urge that had been biting her even before they arrived?
Leona was suddenly blinded by a new mission: To get whatever was smelling so good despite the one-meter distance between them.
She licked her lips like a hungry lion and cleared her throat. Surely, as the princess of the lion pride, this enemy would save her face and give her whatever she desired, right?
"What is that thing? I have never tasted it before. Can you give that to me?" she asked, still hungrily staring at his girth.
Darcien was shocked. What in the world? Was this little princess in her right senses at all? But then again, if it was because of that, he could understand.
He smirked and placed his hand against his girth.
"Do you want to touch it?" he asked in a thick and raspy tone. Leona didn't know why his voice sounded so good and close to her ears, but it felt like he was urging her to take something.
She nodded fervently. Was touching it the same thing as eating it?
The soldiers around all had straight faces, neither confused nor surprised by the events unfolding before them, as if they were trained to ignore such situations.
Darcien, seeing that he had her where he wanted, felt his heart race. He had no choice but to ignore the blood rushing to his girth.
He smirked.
"Then kneel and beg for it," he spat out.