The man's hand was cold against my skin, yet where his fingers touched my jaw, a searing heat radiated through my entire body. It was a sensation more powerful than the fated mate bond I had shared with Silas a bond that was now nothing but a blackened, necrotic scar on my soul.
"Two hundred years?" I managed to breathe, my voice trembling. "That's impossible. No wolf lives that long."
The stranger's lips curved into a predatory smile. Up close, his beauty was terrifying. His cheekbones were sharp enough to draw blood, and his eyes weren't just violet; they were swirling galaxies of ancient power.
"I am no mere wolf, Elara Vance," he rumbled. He stepped closer, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the moonlight. "And you... you are far more than the broken Omega your pathetic Alpha discarded like trash."
Panic flickered in my chest. "How do you know my name? How do you know what happened at the ceremony?"
"I have been watching you from the shadows of this forest since you were a child," he confessed, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "I watched you suffer the taunts of your sister. I watched you seek comfort in the arms of a boy who was never worthy of your light. I waited for the moment he would prove his foolishness. I waited for him to reject you, so that I could finally claim what has always belonged to me."
I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, unyielding. "I don't belong to anyone! I've just been rejected. I am wolf-less. I am nothing!"
"Nothing?" He let out a dark, melodic laugh that sent shivers racing down my spine. "You are the daughter of the White Moon lineage. Your wolf isn't missing, Elara. She is waiting for a King to wake her up."
Before I could process his words, a howl echoed from the direction of the pack house. It was Silas. I knew that howl it was the triumphant cry of an Alpha who had just completed a mating ritual. The realization that he was likely in bed with my sister at this very moment felt like a fresh blade to my heart.
The stranger's eyes flared a dangerous, glowing purple. The air around us began to vibrate, the trees groaning as if a storm were passing through them.
"He dares to celebrate while you bleed," the man hissed. "He thinks he has won. He thinks he has traded a diamond for a piece of glass."
"Please," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "Just kill me. If you're the monster they say you are, just get it over with. I have nothing left to live for."
The man's expression softened, but only slightly. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek. The tenderness in the gesture was more frightening than his anger.
"I am a monster to them, little wolf," he said, his voice like velvet. "But to you, I am your destiny. I am Malachi, the High King of the Lycan Throne. And I do not kill what is mine. I protect it."
The High King? The myths were true. The Lycans weren't just stories told to scare pups; they were the ancient, immortal ancestors of our kind. And their King was standing in front of me, claiming me as his own.
Malachi leaned down, his nose grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, right over the spot where the rejection scar throbbed. I felt his breath hot and smelling of sandalwood and rain.
"He rejected you," Malachi murmured against my skin. "He broke the bond. That means your soul is open, Elara. It means I can do what no Alpha has ever dared to do to a fated mate."
"What... what are you doing?"
"I am overwriting his mistake," Malachi growled.
Suddenly, he bit down.
It wasn't the shallow nip of a pack mate. It was deep, possessive, and filled with a surge of raw, golden energy. I arched my back, a silent scream dying in my throat as his power flooded into me. It felt like liquid fire was being poured into my veins. The blackened scar from Silas's rejection didn't just heal; it was incinerated.
In its place, a new sensation bloomed. A roar echoed in the back of my mind not Malachi's roar, but my own. For the first time in twenty-one years, I felt her. My wolf. She wasn't the gray, small creature I had imagined. She was massive, her fur as white as the moon itself, and she was screaming for vengeance.
Malachi pulled back, his mouth stained with a drop of my blood. He looked down at me with a possessive pride that made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"There," he whispered. "The King's Mark. Now, when you return to your pack, they will not see a rejected Omega. They will see a Queen."
I looked down at my hands. They were glowing with a faint, ethereal light. The exhaustion and pain that had weighed me down for years had vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.
"I can't go back there," I said, my voice sounding stronger, deeper.
"Oh, you are going back," Malachi said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "You are going back to collect your things. And I am going with you. I want to see the look on your Alpha's face when he realizes he just gave his throne to his greatest enemy."
He held out his hand. It wasn't a request; it was a command.
I looked at the Forbidden Forest behind him, then back toward the pack house where my family had betrayed me. I thought of Silas's cold eyes and Tanya's cruel laughter.
I reached out and took the King's hand.
"Wait," I said as we began to walk toward the lights of the pack house. "You said you've waited two hundred years. Why me? Why now?"
Malachi stopped and looked at me, the violet in his eyes burning brighter than the stars.
"Because, Elara," he said, "the world is ending. And you are the only one with the power to sto
p it. Or to help me burn it down