How is this even possible?
Kira wondered as she walked into her father's huge living room, her eyes still on the Lycan King.
Most werewolves, especially the younger ones like her, had never seen a photo of King Derek Wolfe. Rumours, yes. Terrifying stories, definitely. But never his actual face. And yet here he was, the same terrifying man who had saved her from the rogue last night. Had he already been scouting their territory before he even sent word that he was coming?
This man was something else.
The moment the double doors opened, Derek's long fingers stopped their slow, impatient tapping on the arm of the leather chair. He watched as Rolf's Luna entered sobbing dramatically, followed by nervous omegas. But Derek only had eyes for the girl in the middle. He noticed three things about her instantly.
First, she was the girl from the river. Second, she was indeed as beautiful as the reports had said. Third, she didn't smell like a wolf, only the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood.
No wolf? His eyes narrowed. How was the heir of Moonfang supposed to rule without one?
Then, a dark satisfaction settled in his gut. This made his plan even better. He didn't need a seer to know that Rolf Thornclaw would have wanted a powerful werewolf son-in-law to bolster his legacy. By taking away his "heir apparent," Derek wasn't just hurting Rolf emotionally; he was leaving the pack vulnerable to every rival Alpha looking for a weakness. It was the perfect opening move in a war Rolf didn't even know he was losing. Derek had sworn a long time ago to crush Rolf.
Something still felt off. Why had she been alone by the river on her own birthday? Had she been upset about not finding her wolf on her birthday? And why the blood scent beneath her skin? Something smelled distinctly fishy.
"Your Majesty," Rolf said quickly, pulling Derek out of his thoughts. "This is my daughter, Chloe Thornclaw. The bride you asked for," he lied.
Derek let his gaze slide slowly to the girl beside her father. She wasn't crying or trembling like the others. In fact, she was glaring at him with enough heat to melt the polar ice caps. Normally, he found defiance an invitation to violence, but looking at her now, he felt a strange urge to smirk. Let her glare. She belongs to me now, whether or not she likes it.
Rolf gave Kira a sharp nudge, silently ordering her to show respect, but she remained as still as a statue, her chin held high. Inside, Rolf was screaming. If this idiot girl ruined everything now, he would kill her before the Lycans could.
But Kira did something even more dangerous. She opened her mouth, nearly sending her father into cardiac arrest. He thought the girl was about to spill the truth.
"I would like to have a word with my husband-to-be," Kira said clearly. She didn't look at her father, who was glaring at her. She kept her eyes on Derek. "In private."
Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought they might crack. This was the ruthless king from the nightmare stories, yet she had to know — why on earth was he destroying her life like this? It was the twenty-first century. Who forces arranged marriages anymore? Apparently, this cold bastard did.
Rolf's face went a sickly shade of grey. "Have you lost your mind, girl?" he hissed in her ear, his fingers digging painfully into her arm. He turned to Derek with a fake, shaky smile. "Forgive her, Your Majesty. She's just overwhelmed. This is a lot for a young girl. Let me just… talk some sense into her outside."
"No need," Derek's voice cut through the room. It was deep, smooth, and colder than a winter grave. He watched Rolf's attempts to drag her away with a look of bored disdain. "If she wants to speak, I'll listen. Alone."
Declan, his beta, pulled closer to him and leaned towards his ear. "Are you serious right now, Derek? This could be a trap."
Derek didn't look away from Kira. "No, Declan." He raised a hand to stop his Beta. "I can handle a little wolf-princess. Everyone out. Now."
The room cleared out in a blur of hushed whispers and shuffling feet. Both Lycans and werewolves alike rose without a word, some glancing curiously, others avoiding eye contact altogether, until only heavy silence remained. Kira stood her ground, refusing to shrink under the king's intense stare.
She quickly crossed her arms over her chest like a shield, partly to look tough, but mostly to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. Up close, he was even more intimidating: tall, broad, and radiating danger in a way that made the air feel thicker. He didn't just take up space; he owned it. For a split second, Kira wondered if she had overplayed her hand. Despite her racing heart, she lifted her chin. She was Kira. She had survived worse than a cold stare. She could handle him.
Derek didn't move. He lounged back in the chair like a big cat watching his next meal, waiting for the door to click shut.
Kira cleared her throat, trying to sound firm and commanding, but when she finally spoke, her voice came out in a tiny, annoying squeak. "I'll start by letting you know that I'm not scared of you."
"You're not?" Derek asked in a deep, husky voice that sent an involuntary shiver racing down her spine. He didn't look convinced as he pinned her with those glowing amber eyes. She knew he could probably hear her heart racing from across the room. Her blood was roaring in her ears. "Because it definitely doesn't feel that way to me."
He leaned forward, his gaze raking over her lace-covered body.
"You have a very... interesting scent, 'Chloe'," he said, mocking her name. "Why do I perceive the smell of blood on my bride?"