Chapter 6: Cold Water

His hands roamed over my body desperately, awakening sensations I thought were dead. Every caress was like fire against my skin, every brush of his lips along my neck sent shivers down my spine. My treacherous body wanted to give in, to surrender to that primitive desire wrapping around us.

But my mind screamed warnings.

He’s the King. Tomorrow you’ll regret it. Tomorrow he’ll discard you like all the others.

Memories of Ricardo—his false promises, his betrayal—hit me hard. No. I would not be used again. I would not be thrown away like something worthless.

With superhuman effort, I pulled away from him. His red eyes looked at me with confusion and frustrated desire.

“Wait,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have an idea.”

Without giving him time to respond, I ran to his enormous marble bathroom. I turned the bathtub faucets on full, adjusting them so the water would run as cold as possible. While the tub filled, I returned to his side.

Alaric was still on the floor, his muscular body trembling, his breathing ragged. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, and his eyes… his eyes were two burning embers devouring me.

“It’s the only thing I can think of, sir,” I said, approaching cautiously. “Come on, help me. You’re too heavy.”

With effort, I managed to get him to lean on me. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, and the contact of his burning skin against mine almost made me lose focus. It was like having a human furnace pressed to my body.

Step by step, I guided him to the bathroom. When we reached the bathtub, now half full of icy water, I hesitated for a moment.

“This is going to be… uncomfortable,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

With a quick movement, I helped him into the tub. Cold water splashed everywhere, soaking my uniform. Alaric let out a growl when his heated body met the icy water, but he didn’t resist.

Little by little, the water seemed to take effect. His breathing steadied, the tremors subsided, and the tension in his muscles began to ease. He closed his eyes and submerged himself up to his neck, releasing a deep sigh.

I kept a prudent distance, watching him. Even like this—vulnerable and drugged—he radiated a power and presence that filled the room. He was beautiful in a wild, primitive way. Like a predator resting after the hunt.

After several minutes, he opened his eyes. They no longer burned with that intense red; they had returned to their usual color, a deep amber with golden flecks.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, without looking at me directly.

“It’s nothing, sir,” I replied, keeping my head bowed as always.

An uncomfortable silence settled between us. The only sound was the gentle movement of the water when he shifted.

“Why didn’t you take advantage of the opportunity?” he asked suddenly, his voice firmer. “Many would kill to have me like that—vulnerable.”

The question surprised me. Did he really think I would have…?

“Because I’m not like the others, sir,” I answered honestly. “I’m not interested in getting into your bed.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I had made a mistake. His expression hardened, and a shadow crossed his face.

“Leave,” he ordered coldly. “I’ll be fine.”

I lifted my head briefly and saw the anger in his expression. Without another word, I left the bathroom and then the room, closing the door softly behind me.

Is he bipolar? I thought as I walked down the hallway. I save his life and he throws me out like a dog. Ungrateful.

As I was about to enter my room, I crossed paths with Amelia, who was hurrying upstairs with a tray of tea. Apparently, the King had called her. Wolves could communicate telepathically if they wished; it was an ability I had never experienced. Without a connection to my wolf, I couldn’t do it. Another weakness on my long list.

Amelia looked at me curiously but said nothing. She simply continued on her way to the King’s chambers.

I collapsed onto my bed, physically and emotionally drained. The memory of his hands on my body, his breath on my neck, his pleading voice chased me until sleep finally overtook me well past midnight.

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The next morning came too soon. I woke with a start, realizing I had overslept. The sun was already high in the sky, which meant I was late. Late to bring the King his breakfast!

I dressed in a rush, ran to the kitchens where the chef already had the tray prepared, and flew up the stairs. My heart pounded as I walked through the halls toward Alaric’s private wing.

In my haste, I didn’t see the person stepping out of the King’s room. I collided with a hard, muscular body, and the breakfast tray wobbled dangerously in my hands.

Strong hands caught me before I could fall, steadying the tray as well. I looked up and met the bright green eyes of Damian, the King’s personal guardian.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

To my surprise, Damian smiled. It wasn’t mocking or condescending, but genuine—warm.

“No problem,” he replied, helping me pick up some cutlery that had fallen to the floor. “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

As we gathered the items, our hands brushed for a moment. It was brief, innocent, but it sent a strange warmth up my arm.

I returned his smile, grateful for his kindness. He was the first person, aside from Sofía, who treated me like a human being rather than an invisible servant.

A loud clearing of a throat interrupted us. We both turned to find Alaric standing in the doorway of his room, watching us with an expression that could have frozen a volcano.

His eyes, normally amber, had returned to that intense red I had seen the night before. His jaw was tight, and his fists, clenched at his sides, showed prominent veins.

“Damian,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “Shouldn’t you be on patrol? Besides, we need to find out who drugged me last night.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

Damian visibly tensed. All warmth vanished from his face, replaced by a mask of professionalism.

“Yes, my King,” he replied with a quick bow. “I’ll take my leave immediately.”

Without looking at me again, Damian walked away quickly. I could almost feel his relief at escaping Alaric’s furious presence.

We were left alone in the hallway, me still kneeling to gather the last remnants of the mess, him staring down at me with those blazing eyes.

Suddenly, he bent down and grabbed my arm roughly, pulling me to my feet. His other hand seized my chin, forcing me to look directly at him. His fingers dug into my skin harder than necessary.

“You are my property,” he hissed, his face so close I could feel his hot breath. “And no one—listen to me well—NO ONE is allowed to touch you. And certainly not smile at you. Or you will pay the consequences. Understood?”

Fear paralyzed me. This was not the vulnerable man from last night. This was the Lycan King in all his intimidating glory.

I nodded, unable to form a single word.

“You are mine,” he repeated, and there was something primitive, something possessive in his voice that made me shiver.

As suddenly as he had grabbed me, he released me. Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard it echoed through the hallway.

My legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor. I was trembling uncontrollably, my heart pounding so hard it hurt, my breathing shallow and fast.

What the hell is wrong with him? I thought, rubbing my chin where his fingers had left marks. Are all alpha wolves this insane?

First Ricardo with his sick jealousy and violence, and now Alaric with this possessive outburst. What was it with alphas believing they owned women?

But there was something even more disturbing about all of this. Despite the fear, despite the outrage… a small, treacherous part of me had felt a shiver of excitement when Alaric had claimed me as his.

And that frightened me more than anything else.