#7. The alpha’s fear

Lucas paced back and forth in his office, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He hadn’t slept a single minute.

How could he, knowing that beast was out there loose, wild, and enraged?

That bloody lycan, The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across the room, dancing on the maps and parchments strewn across his desk. Outside, the early morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting a dull gray light over the kingdom.

But there was no peace.

No safety, Not anymore.

Lucas stopped pacing only to run a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. He had sent out his best soldiers hours ago. Hunters. Trackers. Warriors trained for battle.

But deep down, he knew the truth, They wouldn't survive.

Draka wasn’t an ordinary lycan. He was power incarnate—a primal force with centuries of strength coursing through his blood. A nightmare in the form of a man. And now he was free.

A threat.

A reality.

Lucas exhaled sharply, then muttered under his breath, “What the hell are you planning, Draka?”

His thoughts drifted to the human boy. The small, frail servant who had spent too much time near the prisoner. Lucas’s lips curled in disgust.

“Is that what you're into now?” he sneered at the empty room. “Small boys?”

But no, he shook his head. That didn’t sit right.

Draka had always been… particular. Ruthless, yes. Merciless. But he didn’t touch boys. The Draka he knew could only be stirred by something real. Something primal. Something female.

That boy… something about him…

Lucas’s brows drew together, suspicion tugging at the back of his mind. No one had looked closely at the servant. He’d passed unnoticed for so long.

Could it be?

His eyes widened for a brief moment, before narrowing again.

“No, he couldn’t be a girl, I would have smelt her easily”

But he didn’t care. Whether Draka killed the servant or used them as some twisted plaything didn’t matter. What mattered was that Draka was out and he would come back.

For revenge.

Lucas felt a cold shiver slide down his spine.

Draka wouldn’t forgive. He never forgot.

And when he returned, blood would follow.

Far from the kingdom, in a quiet clearing buried deep within the forest, the air was cold and damp. The ground was soft beneath the trees, and mist clung to the earth like a second skin.

Aria lay curled on a makeshift bed of worn cloth, her breathing soft and steady.

She hadn’t meant to sleep. Not next to him. Not under the gaze of a monster.

But exhaustion had won.

Draka hadn’t touched her. Not last night. Not yet. Instead, he had sat there, still and watchful, like a predator deciding when to strike. And now, as the pale light of dawn filtered through the trees, he remained wide awake.

Lycans didn’t sleep much, Not the ancient ones.

He sat nearby, arms draped over his bent knees, watching the girl as she slept. Something unreadable danced in his eyes.

The cold had rolled in during the night. And though she’d shivered, she hadn’t complained. He’d found some old worn cloth nearby, ripped and half-burned and draped it over her sleeping form.

Now, he watched her closely.

Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her dark hair spread across the fabric like a shadow. She looked small, fragile and even with her unusual height. Taller than most women he’d seen.

But still so small compared to him. He tilted his head, his gaze darkening. Would she fit him?

The thought curled into his mind like smoke, thick and hot.

He could already imagine the struggle. The way she’d fight him, bite him, curse him with those fierce little eyes. But in the end, she’d submit. She’d have no choice.

Because he needed her. Mating wasn’t just desire. It was survival.

Binding with a woman would unlock what had been caged inside him for centuries, an ancient force buried in blood and fire. Power older than kings. Power he needed now more than ever.

He could feel it already pulsing beneath his skin, aching to be awakened.

But it could be anyone.

Yet he needed her.

Aria stirred slightly, her lips parting as she turned over. The blanket slipped down, revealing the curve of her waist beneath the loose fabric of her disguise. Even in those drab clothes, he could see the lines of her body now. Soft. Feminine.

Deceptively strong, His throat tightened.

Heat spread through him, low and urgent. He shifted, his body straining under the force of his own restraint.

He wanted her, Needed her.

And soon… he would have her.

As if hearing his thoughts, Aria let out a quiet sigh and blinked her eyes open. She met his gaze—startled, unsure, still caught between sleep and the nightmare she now lived in.

She sat up quickly, pulling the cloth tighter around her shoulders.

“You didn’t kill me,” she whispered.

“No,” Draka replied, his voice low and rumbling.

“Why?”

He rose slowly to his feet, towering over her, the shadows of the trees sliding across his bare arms. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were fire.

“Because killing you would be a waste,” he said.

She swallowed, backing up instinctively.

He stepped forward.

“There are other ways,” he murmured. “Better ways.”

Her back hit the bark of a tree, her breath catching as he stopped just inches from her. The heat radiating from him was almost overwhelming. Her heart pounded so loud, she was sure he could hear it.

Draka leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

“You’re going to help me, Aria,” he whispered.

She froze.

He pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet, his gaze molten and hungry.

“You’re going to help me with my needs.”

Her lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping.

The way he said it—deep, rough, possessive, sent a tremor through her entire body. It wasn’t a question, It was a promise.

She could barely think, barely breathe. Every instinct told her to run. But her body… it didn’t move.

“I’m not—” she began, her voice shaking.

“You will,” he said, eyes burning. “Before the sun sets, you’ll understand.”