Chapter Two

My heart pounds against my ribs as I press myself against the cold stone walls of the castle. The night air bites at my skin, but I barely notice. All I can think about is escape.

Three hours ago, Aleron's roar shook the very foundations of the palace. The sound still echoes in my memories – raw, primal, filled with something I'd never heard from him before. Pain.

Now, well past midnight, the hunt continues. The celebration fires have died down to embers, but torches flicker through the grounds as Aleron's elite guards search for me. I clutch my makeshift bag closer to my chest, willing my breathing to slow as heavy footsteps approach my hiding spot.

"The Lycan King will kill us if we don't bring his mate back." The guard's voice carries clearly through the darkness. "Did you hear his anguished cry? It was like his heart was torn out."

"And here I was thinking the King didn't have a heart," another replies with a bitter laugh.

"Well, this one was his mate, and I hear he only discovered it too late. If we don't find her, we won't like it."

"Who is she anyway?"

"Just some lowlife omega the king bought months ago. Her foster dad sold her like a sack of potatoes. Now she's running from the king. Some people are so ungrateful. King Aleron is the wealthiest, most powerful man in the southern packs. She should be grateful that he wants her now."

"But I heard from the maids, he used to chain her up in the basement and treat her like a pet. We all know our king—"

"Shhh! What you speak is high treason that can get you killed. Let's just find the girl."

Their words make my stomach turn. Grateful? That he wants me now? After months of chains and humiliation, after parading other women in front of me, now he suddenly realizes I'm his mate?

I shift slightly, trying to ease the cramping in my legs. The movement dislodges a small stone, and it clatters against the castle wall. The sound might as well be thunder in the quiet night.

"There!"

I run. My feet barely touch the ground as I sprint through the gardens, but I hear them gaining on me. Powerful werewolves, trained warriors, all bearing down on one frightened omega.

They surround me in seconds. Five, no, seven of them, their eyes gleaming with triumph in the moonlight. I try to break through their circle, but rough hands grab at me. I fight, scratching, kicking, but I'm no match for their strength. One particularly aggressive guard sends me sprawling onto the ground.

The first sign that something's wrong is the way the guard to my left suddenly goes rigid. Then he's airborne, flying backward as if hit by a battering ram. A figure materializes in the space he'd occupied – tall, powerful, moving with inhuman speed.

The guards react instantly, but they might as well be moving through molasses. The stranger catches the first punch thrown at him, using the guard's momentum to slam him face-first into the ground. Another guard lunges with an animalistic growl, claws extended. The stranger sidesteps, grabs the guard's wrist, and in one fluid motion sends him crashing into two of his companions.

"Get him!" someone shouts, and three guards attack at once.

The stranger meets them head-on. His fist connects with the first guard's jaw with a sickening crack. He ducks under a wild swing from the second, delivering a devastating uppercut that lifts the guard off his feet. The third manages to land a glancing blow, tearing the stranger's shirt, but pays for it with an elbow to the temple that drops him like a stone.

The remaining guards circle more cautiously now. One produces a knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight. The stranger's lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl.

"Really?" His voice is deep, amused. "You'd draw steel against your own kind?"

The guard with the knife hesitates – fatal mistake. The stranger moves like lightning, disarming him with one hand while the other delivers a palm strike that sends the guard staggering backward, gasping for air. The last guard turns to run, but the stranger catches him by the back of his collar and throws him bodily into a nearby bush.

The entire fight lasted maybe thirty seconds.

Then he turns to me, and time stops.

He's beautiful in the moonlight, his chest bare where his shirt was torn in the fight. Muscles ripple under bronzed skin as he extends his hand to me, barely breathing hard despite the violence he just unleashed. Concern etches his striking features.

"Are you alright, miss?"

Our eyes meet, and the world shifts on its axis. His eyes flash a brilliant shade of yellow, and a low, dangerous growl escapes his throat.

"Mate."

I shriek, scrambling backward, but his hand catches mine. The touch sends electricity racing through my body.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, lowering his head. "I didn't mean to frighten you. My wolf just got excited." His voice softens. "Do you feel it?"

He stretches his hand out again, palm up. "Here. Touch me. Feel the connection."

My trembling fingers meet his, and the spark becomes a current. My wolf stirs, not with the desperate yearning I felt with Aleron, but with a pure, undeniable recognition.

"Mate," I whisper, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, making him even more handsome. I can't help but stare at him, at the way the moonlight plays across his muscled torso, at the kindness in his eyes that seems so foreign after months with Aleron.

"You're my mate." His voice holds wonder, joy, none of the possessive cruelty I've grown used to. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"Clara... Clara Bennet." My voice shakes, but not from fear.

His smile widens, and then he says the words that make my world tilt for the second time tonight:

"I'm Asher Sinclair. The Lycan King of the Northern States."

I stare at him, my true mate, as another roar of rage echoes from the southern castle. I realize that my escape has just become infinitely more complicated.