The Lycan
Queen Elara had spent three years pretending to be ordinary.
Three years of roughspun dresses, fetching her own water, and counting copper coins to afford her next meal. And she hated every miserable minute of it.
She lived in Briar Glen, a border village that smelled of woodsmoke and wet earth. The villagers knew her as a sharp-tongued seamstress with unusually soft hands and an unfortunate habit of defending the fallen monarchy.
They knew nothing of the crown she had lost. Of the kingdom reduced to ash. Or of the four monstrous rulers who had slaughtered her family.
She had been nineteen when she had fled the burning palace. Three years later, she still slept with a knife beneath her pillow and dreamed of driving it through the heart of the creatures responsible.
Unfortunately, revenge was rather difficult to accomplish when one could barely afford potatoes.
That evening, as she sat peeling the wretched things beside the hearth, a low growl rolled through the forest.
Elara stilled.
The sound was deep enough to rattle the windowpanes. Outside, the evening chorus of insects fell silent.
Her fingers tightened around the knife.
Then he stepped out of the treeline.
Tall. Broad. Black hair falling past sharp cheekbones. Eyes the colour of molten gold, glowing in the gathering dusk. A jagged scar cut through one eyebrow and down his cheek, disappearing beneath the collar of a leather coat that did little to conceal the sheer size of him.
Lycan. King. Executioner.
It was Kael.
She knew his face from the portraits that had once hung in her father's war chamber. The Lycan King who tore through armies for sport. The butcher who had led the assault on her kingdom's northern defences.
One of the beasts whose soldiers had dragged her father's body through the streets.
Her stomach churned.
"Queen Elara." His gaze swept over her humble cottage before settling on her. A cruel smile tugged at his mouth "How the mighty have fallen."
She rose slowly.
"Kael." She gave him a disdainful once-over. "I'd heard you were dead. How disappointing to discover the rumours were exaggerated."
His smile widened.
"Still have that sharp tongue, I see."
"And you still have that unfortunate face."
He chuckled, though there was nothing amused about his expression.
"I almost didn't believe the reports. The last queen of Avelorne, hiding in a mud hut and peeling vegetables."
"If you're here to admire my domestic skills—”
He moved.
One moment he stood beyond her garden. The next, the cottage door exploded inward, scattering splinters across the floor.
She had barely time to raise her knife before he caught her wrist.
Pain shot up her arm.
He twisted, and the blade clattered to the floor. Then her back struck the wooden wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
His hand closed around her throat.
"Three years hunting the last little remnant of your pathetic bloodline."
She ignored the heat radiating from his skin. "And yet, you still needed someone to tell you where I was. Perhaps your reputation is rather overstated."
His grip tightened.
"You're remarkably arrogant for a woman about to die."
"And you're remarkably talkative for an executioner. Do you always bore your victims to death first?"
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I was ordered to make it quick. Merciful, even." His thumb rested against the frantic pulse in her neck. "But looking at you now, I'm beginning to think your father wasn't the only member of your family who needed teaching a lesson."
She spat in his face.
For one glorious moment, the great Lycan King looked stunned.
He slowly wiped his cheek. "That was a mistake."
"Go on, then," she hissed, watching his fangs lengthen. "Finish your order. Prove you're nothing more than someone else's obedient hound."
His growl shook the cottage.
"Watch your fucking mouth."
"Make me."
He lowered his head and his fangs grazed the skin beneath her ear.
The world erupted with white light.
She cried out.
He snarled like he'd been struck, staggering backward.
For a second, she thought he had killed her. Until she felt it.
A searing heat beneath her skin. It twisted around her bones, burrowing into her chest. Glowing markings spread across her wrist.
Across his.
They were the same intricate symbols, burning gold.
The binding.
No.
No, that was impossible.
She had read of such magic in the forbidden texts of her father's library. Soul bindings were ancient, irreversible things. They forged two beings together, tying their lives and magic into a single fate.
A fate neither could escape without the other's death.
Kael stared at his wrists.
"No."
She swallowed.
"No, no, no." He growled and looked at her. "What the fuck did you do?"
"What did I do? You're the one who came barging into my home, attempting to eat me!"
His golden eyes blazed. "This is your magic."
"Right. Because I was just sitting here peeling potatoes and waiting to magically marry the family butcher."
He seized her wrist.
The blinding flared.
She gasped, feeling him. His anger. His disgust. The terrifying strength coiled beneath his skin. And beneath it all, something far more unsettling.
Lust.
Savage and consuming. It burned through his veins like some fierce hunger. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there with an intensity that made it painfully clear what he wanted to do to her.
She yanked her wrist free. "Don't even think about it."
"Believe me, princess, I'd sooner kiss a corpse," he hissed. "We're bound."
"Yes, thank you. I gathered that from the glowing wrists and your delightful personality suddenly invading my head."
A howl split the night.
Kael's head snapped up. His lip curled back from his teeth.
"Fuck."
She glanced towards the broken doorway. "What?"
"My hunters. They're coming to confirm your death. And when they discover you're still breathing, they'll finish what I started." He grabbed her arm. "We're leaving."
She dug her heels into the floor. "Oh, absolutely not."
"Elara."
"Don't you Elara me. You murdered my people, insulted my father, broke my door, and now you think I'm going to obediently follow you into the woods?"
"Unless you'd prefer to be torn apart by a dozen Lycans, yes."
"I'll take my chances."
His mouth curled. "Your funeral."
He released her and strode towards the doorway.
He had barely taken three steps when the binding flared, sending a sharp pain through her chest.
Kael swore and stopped dead. For a moment, he stood motionless before slowly turning to face her. His golden eyes glinted in the hearth's fire.
Her gaze darted to the knife lying between them.
She lunged.
But Kael was faster. Before her fingers could close around the handle, he caught her around the waist and hauled her off her feet.
"Put me down, you overgrown mongrel!"
"Gladly. Once we're out of here."
"I swear on every god still listening, Kael, I will make you regret the day you crawled out of whatever filthy den spawned you!"
He slung her over his shoulder as though she were little more than a sack of grain.
She hammered a fist against his back. "Put. Me. Down!"
"Keep screaming, little queen. I'm sure my hunters will appreciate you making their job easier."
Outside, the howling grew louder.
As Kael carried her through the ruined doorway, Elara twisted to look back at her cottage.
The splintered door. The potatoes scattered across her floor. The miserable little home she had spent three years building, all because she had foolishly believed she might one day have a life that was her own.
And just like that, it, too, was gone.
She hated Kael.
Hated the beasts who had stolen her kingdom, slaughtered her family, and forced her into hiding.
And now, through some cruel twist of ancient magic, she was bound to the worst of them. The very monster she had spent three years praying would meet a slow and painful end.
