Chapter 2: The Beast in the Shadows
The mud was freezing. It felt like a thousand tiny needles were stabbing into Elara's skin as she lay outside the Great Hall. Behind those thick oak doors, the music had started again. She could hear the muffled sound of laughter and the clinking of ale mugs.
They were celebrating. Her fated mate was kissing her sister, and they were celebrating her death.
"Get up," Elara whispered to herself, her teeth chattering so hard it hurt her jaw. "If you stay here, they'll kill you for sport."
She forced her fingers to dig into the slush. Her fingernails tore against the frozen ground, but she didn't care. The pain in her chest—the jagged hole where the mate-bond had been ripped out—was much worse than any physical wound.
She managed to pull herself to her feet, swaying like a blade of grass in a storm. She looked back at the Silver Moon Packhouse. It was the only home she had ever known, and now, it was a fortress of enemies.
"I hate you, Kaelen," she choked out, her voice a ragged sob. "I hope the Goddess curses every breath you take with her."
She turned away and began to limp toward the treeline.
The Black Forest.
Even the strongest warriors of the Silver Moon Pack didn't go in there. They said the trees were alive. They said the things that lived inside were older than the Moon Goddess herself—monsters that didn't shift, but stayed in a permanent state of bloodlust.
As soon as Elara stepped under the canopy, the temperature dropped another ten degrees. The wind died down, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing against her eardrums.
Crunch.
Elara froze. Her heart leapt into her throat.
"Who's there?" she cried out. Her voice sounded small and pathetic in the vast darkness.
No answer. Only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the distant howl of a wolf from her old pack. They were starting the hunt.
She stumbled deeper, her bare feet bleeding as she stepped on sharp stones and frozen twigs. Her vision began to blur. The cold was moving from her skin into her bones. She knew what this was. Hypothermia. Her body was shutting down.
"Just a little further," she lied to herself.
She tripped over a thick, gnarled root and went down hard. Her head clipped a stone, and the world spun in a dizzying circle of black and grey. She tried to push herself up, but her arms felt like lead.
She was going to die here.
She closed her eyes, imagining Kaelen's face. She imagined him laughing as he draped a Luna's cloak over Selene's shoulders. The anger flared in her one last time, a tiny spark of heat in her freezing gut.
If I die, I'll haunt him, she thought. I'll be the nightmare that keeps him awake.
Then, she smelled it.
It wasn't the scent of a normal wolf. It was the smell of old blood, ozone, and expensive leather. It was a scent so powerful it made her inner wolf—the one that had never shifted, the one everyone called "weak"—suddenly let out a high-pitched whine of terror.
Thud. A heavy weight hit the ground nearby. The earth vibrated.
Elara forced her eyes open.
Standing ten feet away was a nightmare.
It was a wolf, but it was the size of a grizzly bear. Its fur was blacker than the night around them, and its eyes weren't hazel or blue like the men of her pack. They were glowing, molten gold.
The beast didn't growl. It just watched her. Its muscles rippled under its coat like coiled steel.
"Kill me then," Elara rasped, a single tear freezing on her cheek. "Do it. It's better than being rejected."
The beast tilted its head. It took a slow, deliberate step toward her. The sheer power radiating off the creature made it hard for Elara to breathe. This wasn't a shifter. This was a Lycan. A King of the ancient world.
The massive wolf leaned down, its hot breath hitting Elara's face. It smelled like woodsmoke and iron. She expected teeth to sink into her throat. She expected the end.
Instead, the wolf let out a low, vibrating huff. It nudged her shoulder with its wet nose.
"What... what are you doing?" she whispered.
The wolf's form began to blur and shift. The sound of bones cracking and snapping filled the quiet air—a sound that usually made Elara sick, but now it sounded like a strange melody.
In seconds, the wolf was gone.
Standing over her was a man. He was tall—easily six-foot-five—with shoulders that blocked out the moon. He was naked, his bronzed skin covered in jagged white scars that looked like lightning bolts. His face was hauntingly beautiful, but his expression was as cold as the ice beneath them.
He looked down at her, his gold eyes scanning her broken form, her bloody feet, and the "Rejection Mark" that was beginning to bruise dark purple on her neck.
"A little bird thrown out of the nest," the man said. His voice was deep, like the rumble of an earthquake. "And she smells like... silver."
Elara tried to scramble backward, but he was too fast. In one blurred movement, he was over her. He grabbed her chin with a hand that felt like hot iron, forcing her to look up at him.
"Who... who are you?" she gasped.
"I am the man who owns these woods," he said, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "And you are trespassing on my land, little omega."
"Kill me or let me go," Elara snapped, her old fire returning for a second. "I've already been through hell tonight. You don't scare me."
The man's lips curled into a dark, dangerous smirk. "You have fire. I like fire. It makes the meat taste better."
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. Elara's heart did a strange flip. Even though she was terrified, even though she was dying, she felt a pull. A magnetic, electric spark that was ten times stronger than the bond she had felt with Kaelen.
"You're the King," she whispered, her eyes widening. "The Lycan King."
"Malakai," he corrected, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you, Elara Vance, are coming with me."
"I won't be your slave," she spat.
"I don't need a slave," Malakai said. He reached down and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He held her against his bare, warm chest. "I need a Queen who knows how to hate. And you hate the Silver Moon Pack very much, don't you?"
Elara looked into his gold eyes. She saw a promise of power. She saw the chance to make Kaelen scream.
"I want them to burn," she whispered.
Malakai's grip tightened around her. "Then we are going to get along just fine."
He turned and began to run through the forest, moving faster than any vehicle Elara had ever seen. The wind whipped her hair, but for the first time in her life, she wasn't cold. The heat coming off the King was like a furnace.
Behind them, the howls of the Silver Moon hunting party grew louder. They were close.
"They're coming for me," Elara said, fear tightening her chest. "Kaelen... he'll kill us both."
Malakai let out a dark, booming laugh that echoed through the trees.
"Let them come," the King growled. "I haven't had a good hunt in decades. I'll send their heads back to their Alpha in a box."
As they reached the edge of a massive cliff, Elara looked down. Nestled in the valley below was a city of black stone and glowing torches. The Obsidian Citadel.
Her life as a maid was over. Her life as a monster was about to begin.