The Enforcer's Queen - Divine Blood Series Book 1

In this city, monsters and humans had lived side by side for decades. Werewolves held down construction jobs, succubi ran nightclubs, and the local bartender was probably a vampire who just wanted to finish his shift before sunrise.

Monsters in rut, heat, or mating season often paid humans very well to be a warm, willing body for relief—no strings, no romance, just cash and aftercare. It felt like a miracle that Fenrir Moonclaw, the current leader of the Moonclaw Pack, had somehow found his one true mate through a paid app. A lucky bastard.

The clank of iron and heavy bass of gym music echoed through Iron Fang Fitness, a 24-hour monster-friendly gym. Werewolves, orcs, and minotaurs pushed heavy weights while humans who craved the thrill spotted them.

Ronan Veyr lounged on a bench in the free-weights area, a phone gripped in one massive hand as he scrolled with a sneer. His snow-white hair was messy and sweat-damp, clinging to his forehead. His striking blood-red eyes narrowed in disgust as his jet-black wolf ears twitched irritably and his thick black tail thumped against the bench.

His black tank top was soaked, plastered to every ridge of his powerfully muscled torso. Sweat gleamed on his sun-bronzed skin as he laughed low and bitter.

"Golden boy Fenrir’s out here looking all giddy like a damn lovesick pup because he found 'The One' on a paid rut app," Ronan muttered. "Pathetic. Next thing you know, he’ll be collared and domesticated. One good lay and suddenly you’re locked for life? Complete bullshit."

He tossed the phone aside and aggressively loaded more plates onto the barbell with loud clangs.

He was impossible to ignore—especially when he lay back, gripped the bar, and started pressing a weight most people wouldn't even attempt. His massive arms and chest flexed with each powerful rep, veins swelling, his breath coming in deep, controlled growls.

Then disaster struck.

On the fourth rep, one of the collars slipped. The plates on the right side shifted violently. Ronan’s red eyes widened for a fraction of a second as the loaded bar tilted hard toward his chest.

Acting on pure instinct, Nyxara lunged forward, grabbing the end of the bar and shoving with all her strength. The sudden movement threw her completely off balance. The bar slammed back into the rack with a deafening clang as she tumbled straight down onto the massive werewolf beneath her.

Her chest pressed flush against his sweat-slicked, furnace-hot pecs. Her legs straddled one thick, powerful thigh. For the first time, Ronan truly saw her—tall, athletic, and built with a striking, predatory grace. Long, pitch-black hair tumbled in waves down to her waist, framing sharp, aristocratic features, full lips, and flawless porcelain skin. She wore a tight, black tactical crop top with long sleeves that left nothing of her figure to the imagination. Her striking, moon-silver eyes locked onto his, flashing with a sudden, intense light.

For a frozen heartbeat, everything stopped. His blood-red eyes widened in shock. His black ears shot straight up. Then his expression twisted—embarrassment flashing across his face before it hardened into defensive anger.

"Get off me," he snarled, his voice low and rough. He shoved her back just enough to sit up, his cheeks flushed dark beneath his tan—a mix of exertion, adrenaline, and pure humiliation.

He glared at her like she had personally offended him. "I didn’t need your goddamn help. I had it under control."

Ronan stood to his full intimidating height, towering over her with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His black tail lashed sharply behind him. "The last thing I need is some clumsy human playing hero and falling all over me like a desperate reject."

He scoffed again, trying to reclaim his usual cold sneer, but his black ears kept twitching toward her, and he refused to quite meet her eyes. "What, you want a thank you? A reward? Go chase someone else. I’m not my cousin—I don’t buy into that 'mate for life' fairy tale crap."

He turned away like he was dismissing her, but his body language shouted that he was still very aware of her presence.

"Keep telling yourself that, mutt," Nyxara purred, her voice dripping with amusement. "Maybe if you repeat it enough, your tail will stop wagging in panic."

Ronan's jaw tightened, and those blood-red eyes snapped back to her with dangerous intensity. His black ears pinned flat against his skull.

"Arrogant?" He barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Rich coming from the clumsy idiot who just launched themselves at me like a fucking cannonball."

He took a deliberate step closer, using every inch of his six-foot-eight frame to loom over her. The raw heat radiating off his sweat-slicked body was almost suffocating, and the sharp scent of pine, woodsmoke, and pure masculine musk hit her like a physical force.

"You got something to say, human? Speak the fuck up instead of muttering under your breath like a scared little—"

"I was actually commenting on your complete lack of form," Nyxara interrupted smoothly, tilting her chin up without an ounce of fear. "Though I suppose basic physics are hard to grasp when your brain is ninety percent testosterone."

His phone buzzed loudly on the bench behind him, cutting through his tirade. The screen lit up with an incoming call, and the contact name flashed: 'Fenrir 🐺💛' with approximately fifteen different heart and wolf emojis.

Ronan's scowl deepened impossibly further. "Christ, not now..." He muttered, grabbing the phone anyway and swiping to answer. "What?"

Even through the speaker, Fenrir's warm, enthusiastic voice carried clearly. "Ronan! Hey, I need you at the pack house in thirty. We've got a situation with the eastern border patrol and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I fucking heard you. Thirty minutes." Ronan cut him off sharply and hung up without waiting for a response. He shoved the phone into his gym bag with more force than necessary, his thick black tail still lashing in agitation.

When he looked back at her, there was something conflicted flickering behind the hostility. "Get out of my way. Some of us have actual responsibilities."

He shouldered past her toward the locker room, but paused just long enough to throw one last barbed comment over his muscular shoulder. "And learn how to spot properly before you go throwing yourself at random alphas. Not everyone's gonna be as fucking restrained as me."

"Restrained?" Nyxara called after him, her lips curling into a sharp, mocking smirk. "Is that what you call hyperventilating every time a pretty girl enters your line of sight?"

The locker room door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud.

Furious, Nyxara stormed straight into the men's locker room, completely unaffected by the scattered naked men inside. "Who do you think you are?"

She slapped him hard across the face.

The slap cracked through the humid locker room like a whip. Ronan's head snapped to the side, snow-white hair flying. For one frozen heartbeat, everything went dead silent.

Then Ronan's head slowly turned back, and those blood-red eyes were absolute blazing fire. His black ears were pinned flat, and a low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest.

"You just—" His voice dropped to something dark and lethal. "You just fucking slapped me?"

"Oh, did I?" Nyxara tilted her head innocently, her silver eyes sparkling with pure provocation. "My hand slipped. Much like your grip on that barbell."

Before he could take a step forward, she was already turning to leave, but his massive hand wrapped around her wrist—not painfully, but firm as iron.

"Oh no. You don't get to walk in here, put your hands on me, and just fucking leave." He spun her back around. "No one—" He stopped, his jaw working like he was physically biting back words. "No one has had the balls to actually hit me in years. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I have a deep intolerance for oversized puppies with a god complex," she shot back instantly, tugging her wrist with effortless poise. "Let go before I lose my temper for real."

His grip loosened slightly, and he dropped her wrist like it burned him, taking a step back. One of the other wolves nearby muttered, "Dude, she just walked into the men's locker room and slapped Ronan Veyr. Is she insane...?"

"Shut the fuck up, Marcus," Ronan snapped without breaking eye contact with her.

"Who says I'm a human, wolf?" Nyxara sneered.

Ronan went completely still. His blood-red eyes narrowed sharply, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply—really scenting her this time. His black ears swiveled forward with laser focus.

"What the fuck did you just—" He cut himself off, taking another deliberate breath. His expression shifted from anger to confusion to something far darker. "You don't..." He stepped closer despite himself. "You don't smell human. How the hell did I miss—"

His jaw clenched hard. "Christ. You're a wolf?" The word came out rough, almost accusing. "Then what the fuck were you doing acting like a clumsy civilian? Where's your pack scent?"

Marcus leaned over with sudden interest. "Wait, she's pack? I don't recognize her scent from any of the local—"

"I said shut the fuck up, Marcus," Ronan's growl was absolute. "Everyone out. Now."

The other monsters grabbed their gear and cleared out immediately, leaving just the two of them in the steamy locker room. Ronan crossed his massive arms. "Start talking. What pack? And why the hell are you running around this city without proper territorial markers? Because if you're rogue, that's a whole different fucking problem."

"A rogue?" Nyxara let out a cold, melodic laugh that sent a strange shiver down his spine. "Please. I don't belong to miserable little packs, and I certainly answer to no local alpha."

Ronan's entire body went rigid. Those blood-red eyes flashed dangerously bright, and for a split second, dark fur rippled along his forearms and up his neck—his wolf surging dangerously close to the surface. His black ears pinned back flat.

"Not a pack wolf?" Each word came out measured, controlled, but absolutely lethal. "Then what the fuck are you?"

He took two steps forward, looming over her. "You just walked into werewolf territory, into a werewolf gym, insulted my species, and now you stand there playing games?"

"Games?" Nyxara stepped closer to him instead of backing away, closing the distance until the air between them practically sparked with static and heat. "I don't play games, enforcer. I win them."

His nostrils flared as he tried to pin down her scent. "Talk. Now. Before I call Fenrir down here and make this an official pack matter."

"Call him," Nyxara whispered, a dark, wicked promise curling on her lips. "I'm dying to see how fast your precious alpha whimpers when he faces true royalty."

The moment her royal alpha aura slammed into the room, Ronan's eyes went wide with shock.

His knees buckled, and he crashed down hard onto the tile floor with a grunt of pain and disbelief. His massive frame shook as he tried to fight it—his jaw clenched so tight teeth were grinding, muscles straining as he attempted to force himself back up.

"What the— fucking—"

The weight of her royal bloodline pressed down like a physical force. His black ears folded back completely, and his thick tail curled tight against his leg in an involuntary submissive gesture that clearly enraged him.

His blood-red eyes lifted to hers, a mixture of shock, fury, humiliation, and awe flickering across his face. "Lycan... royal? You're a fucking Lycan? Here? In this shithole city?"

Dark fur rippled more prominently along his arms and neck as his wolf reacted instinctively to the superior predator. "How—" He tried again to stand, managing to get one knee up before the pressure forced him back down. "How the hell is a Lycan royal working out at Iron Fang and— Christ—"

His phone buzzed on the bench nearby again. Ronan's breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down his temples. When he looked back up, something raw burned in those red eyes.

"You gonna keep me pinned here like a goddamn pup?" he gritted out, his voice vibrating with strain and raw, untamed frustration. "Or are you going to stop toying with me and explain what the fuck you want?"

Nyxara laughed coldly, looking down at him as if he were the most fascinating insect she had ever stepped on. "The Moon Goddess must be insane to pair me with a pathetic, arrogant little thing like you."

And for the first time in his life, Ronan Veyr had absolutely no fucking idea what to say.