Chapter 7 - The True Face of the Beast
With a deafening, earth-shaking roar, the giant black wolf intercepted the silver bolt mid-air.
He slammed into the lead assassin with the force of a runaway freight train, sending the man crashing violently into the dirt. The remaining three mercenaries panicked, raising their crossbows and firing wildly into the melee.
The wolf moved with terrifying, blinding speed, tearing through the attackers like a storm of teeth and shadow. Two of the assassins scrambled backward in sheer terror and fled into the dark woods as fast as their legs could carry them.
The third man, trapped beneath the wolf’s massive paws, managed to wrench a heavy silver dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into the beast’s shoulder.
The wolf let out a choked, agonized growl, his teeth sinking into the man’s shoulder before tossing him aside like a broken doll.
“Get away from him!” Meera screamed, rushing forward with her knife drawn, intending to protect the animal that had just saved her life.
She reached them just as the last assassin scrambled into the brush and vanished.
The giant black wolf stood alone in the burning clearing, swaying heavily on his paws. A thick, silver-tipped crossbow bolt was buried deep in his left shoulder, black blood pouring rapidly from the wound.
Meera dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering frantically over his massive frame.
“Hold on,” she choked out, tears stinging her eyes. “Hold on, I’ll get the medical kit—!”
Before she could move, a blinding flash of white-hot light erupted from the wolf’s body.
Meera gasped, stumbling backward onto the grass, shielding her face from the glare.
The massive black fur began to melt away, dissolving into the night air like smoke. The sharp paws lengthened into human hands. The broad snout shifted, restructuring into a jawline cut from granite, framed by long, dark hair matted with sweat and blood.
When the light finally faded, a man lay collapsed in the smoking grass.
He was breathtakingly tall, powerfully built, and entirely naked, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. A deep, ugly wound pierced his shoulder, where the silver bolt was embedded, and a jagged scar ran across his jaw.
But it was his face—and his eyes—that made Meera’s heart stop beating entirely.
Luminous, piercing gold.
The high cheekbones. The commanding, terrifying presence she had seen etched into royal portraits hanging in the village square.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak.
Because she recognized him instantly.
“The... Alpha King…” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips like broken glass.
Kyle Ravenmore slowly lifted his head. His golden eyes locked onto hers, filled with a raw, agonizing vulnerability that no subject in forty packs had ever been privileged to see.
Bleeding.
Exposed.
Unable to hide behind the beast anymore.
“Meera…” he rasped, his human voice deep, gravelly, and vibrating with an emotion that nearly brought him to his knees.
Meera’s hand slowly, mechanically moved upward, coming to rest against her right shoulder—over the healed, painless rejection brand that had faded under the healing touch of his tongue night after night after night.
Then, like falling dominoes in her mind, every single piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
The nights.
The licking.
The impossible healing of her brand.
The mate legend she had laughed off as a fairy tale.
Her deepest secrets, whispered into the fur of the most powerful Lycan in existence.
Her humiliation, her pain, her entire vulnerable heart laid bare to a king who had sat by and listened without saying a word.
She stared down at the bleeding sovereign of the North in sheer, unadulterated horror.
“Every night…” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Kyle said nothing. He reached out a bloodstained hand toward her, a silent plea for mercy in his golden eyes.
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Meera’s voice broke, shattering into a sharp, furious cry that echoed across the burning meadow:
“It was YOU?”
