Chapter 3: The Crimson Bath
The Obsidian Citadel didn't just look like a fortress; it looked like a jagged tooth rising from the jaw of the earth. As Malakai carried Elara through the massive iron-reinforced gates, the shadow of the walls fell over her like a heavy shroud.
"Put me down," Elara whispered. Her voice was stronger now, fueled by the strange heat radiating from the man holding her. "I can walk."
Malakai didn't even look at her. His gaze was fixed on the path ahead. "You can barely breathe, little silver. If I put you down, you'll collapse, and my guards will think you're prey. In this city, if you fall, you stay down."
"I've been down my whole life," she snapped. "I'm used to it."
A low rumble started in his chest—a growl that was almost a purr. "Not anymore."
He marched past rows of armored Lycan warriors. They stood seven feet tall, their eyes glowing in the dark as they watched their King return with a shivering, mud-covered girl in his arms. The whispers started immediately—sharp, biting sounds that cut through the air.
"Is that a human?"
"She smells like a broken pack-wolf."
"Why is the King touching such filth?"
Malakai stopped abruptly. He turned his head slightly, his gold eyes flashing with a predatory light. The whispers died instantly. The silence that followed was so heavy Elara could hear the torches flickering against the stone walls.
"She is my guest," Malakai's voice boomed, vibrating through Elara's back. "Anyone who speaks of 'filth' again will have their tongue fed to the hounds. Am I clear?"
A chorus of "Yes, Alpha King" echoed through the hall.
He carried her into a massive bedchamber. It was grander than the Silver Moon Alpha's entire house. The bed was draped in black furs, and a fire roared in a fireplace carved from white marble.
He set her down on a velvet bench near the fire. Elara flinched as the heat hit her frozen skin. It stung, a thousand needles of warmth returning to her numb limbs.
"Don't move," he commanded.
He disappeared into a side room, and a moment later, Elara heard the sound of rushing water. She looked at her hands. They were caked in dried mud and Kaelen's rejection. The purple bruise on her neck felt hot and swollen.
I look like a stray dog, she thought, a fresh wave of shame washing over her.
A woman stepped into the room. She was tall, with hair as red as fresh blood and eyes like flint. She wore leather armor that hugged every curve of her body. This was Commander Vora, the King's most loyal—and most jealous—warrior.
"The King is wasting his time," Vora said, her voice like sandpaper. She didn't look at Elara with pity. She looked at her with pure, unadulterated hate. "You're a rejection. I can smell the rot on your soul from across the room."
Elara straightened her spine, ignoring the ache in her bones. "At least I have a soul. You smell like you haven't had one in years."
Vora's eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, her hand moving toward the hilt of a dagger at her waist. "You little—"
"Vora. Out."
Malakai stood in the doorway, a steaming basin of water in his hands. He didn't look angry; he looked bored, which was somehow more terrifying.
"But Sire," Vora began, her face flushing. "She is a nobody. A servant from a gutter-pack."
"She is the first thing that has interested me in a century," Malakai said, walking toward Elara. "If you touch her, I will break your fingers one by one. Leave us."
Vora hissed under her breath, shot Elara a look that promised a slow death, and vanished into the hallway.
The room grew quiet, save for the crackling of the logs. Malakai knelt between Elara's knees. The King of the Lycans, the man who could crush a skull with one hand, dipped a silk cloth into the warm water.
"I can do that," Elara said, her heart racing.
"I didn't ask," he replied.
He took her foot in his hand. His touch was electric. Everywhere his skin met hers, a jolt of power raced up her leg. He began to wash the mud and blood away with agonizing slowness.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I'm an omega. I'm nothing."
Malakai paused. He looked up at her, his gold eyes locking onto hers. "They told you that you were an omega because they were afraid of what you actually are."
He reached up, his damp thumb brushing the rejection mark on her neck. Elara gasped, her back arching. The pain of the rejection bond usually lasted weeks, but under his touch, it began to dull. It felt like he was pulling the poison out of her.
"What am I?" she whispered.
"You have the scent of the Silver Moon," he said, his voice dropping to a low, husky growl. "Not the pack. The goddess. Your blood is ancient, Elara. Kaelen didn't reject you because you were weak. He rejected you because his puny wolf knew he could never rule a woman like you."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. "He gave me a gift. He threw away a diamond because he thought it was glass."
"I don't feel like a diamond," she choked out. "I feel broken."
"Good," Malakai murmured, his lips inches from her ear. "Broken things can be forged into weapons. And I am going to make you the most dangerous weapon this world has ever seen."
He stood up, pulling her with him. He was so close she could feel the thrum of his heart against her chest.
"Tonight, you sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, the training begins. And in a month... we go back for your sister's head."
Elara looked into his eyes and, for the first time since the bond snapped, she didn't want to die. She wanted to win.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the chamber burst open. A guard rushed in, his face pale.
"Sire! The Silver Moon Pack... they've crossed the border! Kaelen is at the gates! He's demanding the 'thief' return his property!"
Malakai's face transformed. A terrifying, predatory grin spread across his lips. He looked at Elara, then back at the door.
"Property?" Malakai laughed, a sound that chilled Elara to the bone. "Tell the Alpha's son to come in. I want to show him exactly what happens to men who touch my Queen's land."
He turned to Elara. "Stay here. I'll be back with his heart."
"No," Elara said, grabbing his arm. Her eyes glowed with a faint, silver light. "I want to see his face when he realizes who you are."