Tonight was supposed to be mine, the beginning of forever.
My night.
My future.
Instead, it was the night I lost everything.
I gripped the edge of the goblet, my nails biting into the cold metal as I watched the scene before me—the man I had loved for years kissing another woman.
Not just any woman.
Lady Evelyne Ravenshire.
Daughter of King Edric Ravenshire, heir to the strongest Lycan bloodline in history. The whispers had already spread through the hall—Alaric had chosen power over love.
How could the man who once whispered that I was his world, who swore his love was greater than any title, now be holding her like she was his salvation?
A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Fool. I was a fool.
A sharp, husky voice broke through my spiral.
"A whiskey for me, and a wine for the lady."
I stiffened. The man had settled beside me at the bar, his presence dark and unwavering, as if the whole world bent slightly to accommodate him.
His voice was rich, commanding, like a man who never asked, he probably only took.
I turned to him, my heart still hammering in my chest. "Are you asking about my ruined mood, or are you just looking for company?"
He smirked, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his chiseled jaw. "A little of both."
The bartender placed a goblet before me, and I took a long, deliberate sip of my wine, willing to forget everything.
But nothing—not even the strongest drink in the kingdom—could drown the sight of Alaric touching her. His hand rested on the small of Evelyne's back, fingers caressing through layers of delicate silk. She laughed at something he whispered, leaning into him with the grace of a woman who knew she had won.
And she had.
He had chosen her.
A sharp ache splintered in my chest, but I forced myself to sit taller. To breathe through it.
The stranger beside me sipped his drink, watching me as though he already knew the story. "Who broke your heart?"
I scoffed, swirling the wine in my glass. "Who says my heart is broken?"
His smirk deepened. "Then why do you look like a woman plotting murder?"
I huffed a small, bitter laugh. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream, cry, or throw my drink in Alaric's face.
"Let me guess," he continued, voice smooth like velvet. "Your lover abandoned you for someone with higher political standing?"
A chill ran down my spine. How did he…?
I felt the walls of the grand ballroom closing in. The laughter, the music, the sound of goblets clinking—it all blurred into a suffocating hum.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't watch.
I turned sharply and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the concerned glances from those who recognized me. My vision blurred as I moved, my throat tightening with unshed tears.
I barely made it to the entrance hall when a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.
"Well, well… what's a fine lady like you doing all alone?"
The voice was laced with amusement, but the grip was anything but playful. I turned sharply, my body tensing as I found myself surrounded by three men—warriors from a lesser noble house, their uniforms slightly disheveled from too much wine.
"She's running from something," one of them mused, stepping closer, his eyes sweeping over me like I was prey.
"Or someone," another chuckled. "She looks heartbroken. Maybe she needs company."
A sharp bolt of fear shot through me as I stepped back, but my foot barely touched the marble before another hand grabbed the front of my gown.
The rip of fabric echoed in the dimly lit corridor.
My breath caught. The cool air kissed my exposed skin, and panic seized my chest.
"Let me go!" I snarled, shoving at the man in front of me, but he only laughed.
"I think she likes playing hard to get," the first one grinned, his grip tightening.
I clenched my fists, preparing to fight—to shift if I had to, consequences be damned—when suddenly, a deep, guttural growl filled the air.
A real growl.
Not drunken amusement. Not the playful arrogance of court wolves.
A growl that made my bones tremble.
The hands on me vanished. The men stumbled back, their faces paling as a shadow loomed over us.
I turned slowly, my pulse thundering.
He stood just feet away—tall, powerful, radiating an energy so dominant it felt like the air itself bent to his will.
The stranger from the bar.
Except now, his eyes were glowing a molten gold that pulsed with something dark, something ancient.
One of the men stammered, "M-My Lord, we didn't mean—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation, did i?" the man cut in, his voice dangerously quiet.
The entire hall seemed to still.
A heavy silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken authority.
The men bowed instantly, scrambling away without another word.
Leaving me alone.
With him.
I swallowed hard, my chest still heaving from the encounter. My gaze flickered up to his, and something deep inside me stirred.
A pull.
An instinct.
I knew this feeling—I had read about it, heard the stories of fated mates—but this was too strong, too consuming.
My wolf shivered inside me. Mine.
I quickly pulled what was left of my gown around myself, trying to steady my breathing. "Thank you, but I had it handled."
His lips curved, half amusement, half something else entirely. "Is that so?"
He stepped closer. I should have backed away—I should have put space between us—but my body refused to move.
He was too close now. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to see the faint scar running along his jawline.
I had never felt this kind of pull to anyone before.
Not even Alaric.
A servant passed nearby, glancing at my torn gown. I clenched my jaw, hating how exposed I felt.
"Come with me."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He turned, already walking toward the stairwell that led to the private suites above.
"Your dress is ruined," he said smoothly, not even looking back. "Unless you prefer to return to the ballroom like this?"
I hesitated.
I should say no.
I should walk away.
But something about him, the way he carried himself, the way he had looked at me like he already knew me made my feet move before my mind could stop them.
I followed him.
---
The Private Suite
The moment the door closed behind us, I felt the shift in the air.
This was a mistake. A terrible, dangerous mistake.
The room was grand, dark woods, rich tapestries, a roaring fire casting flickering shadows across the stone walls.
He turned to me, his golden gaze sweeping over my torn dress before he stepped closer, his voice impossibly soft.
"Take it off."
My breath hitched. "What?"
He arched his brow. "Your dress is ruined. I have something else you can wear."
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I reached up to unclasp the bodice. The fabric slipped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet.
I expected him to look away.
He didn't.
Instead, his gaze darkened, trailing over my bare skin, lingering at the mark on my collarbone, the one that would have been claimed by my mate had Alaric ever bothered to mark me.
A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. "You have not been marked."
A flush spread through me. "That's none of your concern."
But he didn't listen.
"Do you think you know me?"
He stepped forward, his heat pressing against me, his voice a low murmur.
"What do you know about me Genevieve?"
I should have asked how he knew my name.
I should have stepped away.
But instead, I answered without thinking.
"You're… handsome," I whispered. "Hot. Powerful. You probably change women like clothes."
His smirk deepened. "And you disapprove?"
Something sharp twisted in my chest. Did I?
He reached for me then, fingers trailing along my jaw, tilting my chin up.
"Why don't I prove you right?" He murmured.
Then he kissed me.
It was not gentle.
It was possession, heat and hunger and dominance all at once.
And I kissed him back.
I didn't care about logic, about Alaric, about the fact that I didn't even know this man's name. I just wanted to drown in the fire of him.
His hands slid around my waist, pulling me against his solid form, our bodies fitting together like fate itself had written it.
And then—
I saw it.
The mark on his chest.
The royal sigil of House Ravenshire.
A King's mark.
Realization slammed into me.
I wasn't kissing a stranger.
I was kissing Edric Ravenshire.
The Lycan King.
My fated mate was the Lycan King.
My entire body locked in terror.
Then before I could run, before I could even process what was happening, a sharp voice echoed in my mind.
A pack link.
Urgent. Panicked.
"Genevieve! It's your father, he's been arrested!"