VALORIA WILDEROSE
The very next second, I feel air rushing into my lungs and my essence thrown back into my body, jolting upright in bed.
I wake rattled, gasping for air, sucking it in as if to make up for the many years I couldn’t breathe—only to break into a coughing fit that sends tumbling onto the hard, cold wooden floor.
It’s only when I finally stabilize my breathing that I realize where I am. My old room. Not so degrading, walking corpse in the middle of the woods.
I rush to the mirror—its broken glass nailed to the small wall—and stare at my reflection.
My soft olive skin is fresh, void of cuts or stab wounds.
My face is young and smooth, if a little malnourished, with shimring aquamarine eyes and wild, cascading deep-brown hair that falls past my hips.
I look exactly as I did the night I ran away, despite suffering more than a thousand years of torture.
I really am back.
I break into a sob, falling apart, crying tears of joy and sweet relief, offering thanks to the Goddess wherever she might be. But my rejoicing is short-lived.
The door flies open without warning, and Ronan pokes his head through.
"Father is calling. The Zeta will soon arrive to take you to the Lycan King," he announces, dull and cold, uninterested.
Seeing him again—outside of a simulation—hits like a blow.
An instant rush of disgust and repulsion rolls over like a wave, choking , reminding of what I’ve suffered, of what a single mont of fresh air made forget.
I used to love this man. I would have died for him.
Now all I want is to kill him.
"Hey, did you hear ?"
I flinch, startled by his irritated shout. I’m reminded that my hatred doesn’t magically grant the confidence to face him.
"I heard you," I snap in a low whisper. It doesn’t an I’ll be nice.
I get to my feet and move for the door, walking right past him, holding my rage, but he grabs my arm, pulling back.
"You’re still angry, aren’t you—that I chose your sister?" He paused, an arrogant grin splitting across his face. "Well, technically, I fucked her, but that’s besides the point. You’re still jealous."
"What?" I stare at him like he’s insane, but he chuckles.
"That’s why you’re putting up this new act, isn’t it? To get my attention."
"Let go." My voice is low but serious, barely holding it together. His touch alone brings back flashes of my torture.
"Even if we’re not mates anymore, I can still save you, Val. We just need to help each other out a bit." He starts off in the voice I once considered syrupy sweet, sliding a hand down my back.
My blood boils. An instant, repulsed reaction surges through , and my claws retract.
Without thinking, I slash him across the face the second his hand goes lower, drawing blood.
"You bitch!" he yells, clutching his wounds, fury twisting his face.
I don’t wait for him to react. I’m still a weaker wolf, and he could kill . I will not be dead again.
I rush past him before he can grab , flying down the stairs until I reach the ground floor, where Father awaits—and another cold chill runs down my spine.
He stands stiff as a statue beside the Lycan King’s Zeta, a man even stiffer, in his late thirties. The first thing I notice is his size.
I’ve never seen a Lycan with my own eyes before. Being locked away like an abnormality kept from ever glimpsing one. Are they all so... huge?
"Present yourself properly, Valoria," Father commands in a harsh, bitter tone. I offer an imdiate bow.
"Do we leave now?" I ask, a hint of urgency in my voice.
My question leaves the Zeta montarily surprised before he nods. I assu none of the other girls dragged to their deaths have ever appeared eager for it.
But my story will be different.
I will not die.
I will kill the Lycan King.
And so we both walk toward the car waiting outside, I with nothing but the clothes on my back. I own nothing according to Father, so I have no right to take anything with .
All my sisters line up at the mansion gate to my surprise, each standing by Father’s side to form the façade of a perfect family bidding one of their own goodbye.
But they stare coldly. No farewells. No goodbyes. Nothing.
Not that I expect it—or need it. Their coldness only fortifies my mind, making it that much easier to rain hell on them when I return.
Because I know one of them already killed once—and for all I know, they’re just waiting for their chance to finish the job again.
* * *
I stare through the window, drinking in the outside world for the first ti in years.
Hours pass before the car finally turns into an estate larger than the one back ho, a literal grand castle rising at its center—a building big enough to swallow three of Father’s mansions and still have space to spare.
The car parks, and the quiet, brooding Zeta steps out without a word, moving toward the large mahogany double doors—a silent command to follow.
I jump out, practically jogging to match his pace, welcoming his cold indifference as a good thing. I’d pick indifference over blatant, unexplained hatred any day.
"Will I be eting His Majesty today?" I ask, confused and unsure of what happens next. He hasn’t filled in on anything.
I’m answered with silence just before we walk in.
The castle is grandiose, beautifully decorated, painted entirely in white, and it has my jaw dropping. I suddenly feel too filthy in my old, washed-out dress to be standing here.
"Zeta Kieran!" a maid suddenly bursts out of a room, panic written across her face as she frantically runs toward him. I notice her maid uniform—fancier than anything I have on.
"What is it?" he snaps coldly.
"There’s been an ergency..." Her eyes flicker to for a mont. "A code blue," she adds in a lowered, urgent tone.
He groans, suddenly infuriated, and shoots a hard, warning look.
"Stay here."
Then he follows her.
I know it’s a bad idea, but he’s already gone before I can protest, leaving standing by the door, waiting.
I stand still for minutes, overwheld by the feeling of being stuck again—waiting for soone to give orders.
Goddess Selene’s words filter into my mind about not waiting around, about taking life by the horns.
I want to do that, even as every muscle in my body begs not to defy his command—years of brutal training screaming at to obey.
I channel my inner Marcella, imagining what she would do.
If I were her, I’d ignore him, walk around, and find the Lycan King myself—leave a good first impression.
So that’s what I will do.
I defy his command and begin my own exploration with no plan in mind, stumbling into rooms, staring at antique decorations, hoping I’ll find soone I can ask for directions.
My wandering eventually lures into a dimly lit room.
The space is nearly empty, except for the beautiful paintings hung along the walls that instantly catch my eye.
Even without much light, I can see how magnificent they are. I draw closer, tempted to trace the painter’s strokes, to feel a bit of what they were thinking as they created them.
Just as I reach out, sothing shoots past —close enough for the rippling wind to echo in my ear.
An arrow pierces the painting ahead of , vibrating from the impact.
I freeze, crippled with fear, petrified.
Footsteps behind grow louder, closer, until a heavy, choking presence presses in—a wall of darkness, a demon.
My entire body is on high alert, my instincts screaming one thing over and over: Danger. Run.
"What is this?" A deep male voice echoes from behind, traces of disgust sharp in his tone, obviously directed at .
I cower, nearly shaking apart, but force myself to turn.
He is a wall—six-foot-four of muscle and nace towering over . The rest of his face is barely visible, but his eyes are: glowing in a rich golden hue, terrifyingly brilliant and srizing.
I forget to breathe, caught in a trance, until I rip myself free.
"Y-You alm-most killed ," I say, hiding the fear in my voice.
"Who let you in here?" he asks, ignoring my statent, clearly annoyed.
I steady my trembling legs, holding back the urge to flee.
"I sh-should be asking y-you that."
"I don’t have the patience to repeat myself."
"You might regret speaking to like that," I blurt, the words escaping before I can stop them—shocking even .
This ti he doesn’t reply imdiately, but his eyes change—from molten gold cooling to brilliant sapphire. Intrigue flickers there.
"Oh?" His voice softens, amused.
"I’m the newest concubine," I stamr, pointing a shaky finger at him. "His M-Majesty won’t like the id-dea of s-soone daring to t-touch what belongs to him before he c-can."
Whoever he is, I’m sure he’s as terrified of the Lycan King as anyone would be.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then he chuckles—low, deep, and sinfully smooth. The sound slides through , unsettling sothing I can’t na. It’s infuriating and yet sohow draws a flush to my cheeks.
"How loyal. It seems an interesting little mouse has wandered into my palace."
The last two words hold captive and confused.
"Your c-castle?" I shoot him a look, figuring he’s just trying to intimidate . Everyone knows the Lycan King is an old gray-haired freak that is over seven hundred years old. "Does the king know that so b-bastard like you is w-walking around claiming his castle as his?" I square my shoulders, daring him to scare .
I hear his smile—wicked, twisted—like he’s holding back sothing deranged and purely evil. A cold shiver crawls down my spine.
The door swings open before I can say more.
Zeta Kieran storms in, fury and terror etched across his face. He rushes toward , but before I can blurt an apology, he drops to his knees, forehead pressed to the cold tile.
"Sire, forgive my insolence. She was under my watch. I didn’t know when she wandered off."
Five seconds. That’s all it takes for the realization to crash over . My stomach drops. I fall to my knees, panic seizing .
"Yo-your maj-jesty!"
His laugh breaks loose then—dented, echoing off the walls until the entire room vibrates with his darkness. Every hair on my body stands on end. The air tastes of death.
"Now you kneel and cower? So you do know fear when it stares you in the face."
I tremble. "I-I-I d-didn’t know..."
"Ah, pitiful." He slides a boot beneath my chin, tilting my face up as if I’m nothing but filth. "You were right about one thing though. You are my property... and it’s only right I welco my newest toy to the collection the proper way."
I don’t like the sound of that.
"Kieran."
"Sire?"
"Prepare her for the vetting ceremony."
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