Chapter Two: The Lycan King

Had I smelled him before leaving the pack, I would never have taken more than two steps into this restaurant.

But that’s the thing about glimpses into the future; information is never complete.

So much for a unique wolf attribute.

“Turn to me, Alba. I will not ask again.”

This time, he speaks the words and waves off the server for privacy, privacy I could do well without.

If I act any more suspiciously, he might catch on to the secrets I carry, so I turn and bow without meeting his gaze, yet even that minuscule act causes my animosity towards him to yield at the despicably enticing scent he exudes.

“I greet his majesty, the Lycan King of Ketria.”

I respond using the link he formed, and rather than free me from this hideous responsibility, he steps right before me and lifts my gaze from the inky blackness of his shoes to meet the silver of his eyes.

Christ, but the man is the definition of perfection. His long white lashes and cropped silverish-white hair grant him an ethereal-like glow and are perhaps the only qualities in his human form that match his fur as a wolf; for whatever reason, his eyebrows maintain an inky blackness that adds to his facial definition. His perfectly chiselled jaw holds a deep scar that adds to his dangerous aura, a scar that I did not leave behind and one I long to run my tongue against just to taste his flesh.

‘…Mine’

A startling low growl from within me protests without my conscious permission, so I yank my face from his light hold.

Kaisa, my wolf, is still active?

I do not get to ponder this question for long, for he cups my cheeks more harshly and forces my gaze on his.

Every fibre of my being melts to him, I nearly nuzzle my head against his hand, but I bite my tongue just in time.

Is the scent lowering, or am I growing immune to its effects?

Although a puzzled look crosses his face, his eyes still hold their clarity which can only mean that the concoctions are indeed working; he does not recognise me as his mate.

But then why are they not working with me?

Still, I cannot help the bitterness I feel at knowing I am the only one feeling this yearning—this need to possess him, to rub myself against him until he smelled only of me.

Something startling crosses his gaze, but the Lycan does not tear it from me.

“Alba? Is everything okay?”

Peter’s voice cuts through the thick need I held to melt into his majesty, but before I can turn away for a second time, his voice, clear and condescending, speaks.

“You ran away from Ketria to dress like this and entertain men?”

“I did not run away; the old king gave me permission to leave.”

“Alba?”

Peter calls again.

The position we are in, the Lycan’s hand on my chin and his obvious fury at my romantic life spark some conclusions in Peter.

"Wait, wait, wait, are you out on a date with me while in a relationship with someone else?”

Though it is too late, I tear myself from the Lycan's hold.

"A date, is it, Alba?"

The Lycan asks, using my name not to call my attention but to ensure I noticed his judgement with his purposefully misleading tone.

"That's not-”

I try to explain, but Peter cuts me off.

"Do you know how much I spent on you? How much I looked forward to this night, but this was just a joke to you?"

If jumping to conclusions had a face, it would be his.

"First of all, this is...”

I hesitate.

As much as the title ‘The Lycan of Ketria’ comes to mind, if only to add distance to our relationship, Peter is human.

“My stepbrother, Marko."

I would rather never introduce him as anything, but the Moon Goddess loves her jokes far too cruelly.

"You expect me to believe such a lie? Had I known the kind of whore you were-"

The Lycan steps before me, his broad shoulders blocking every view I had of Peter.

It is a guess, but he looks livid. It is not his body language that I observe but the gnawing urge forming at the pit of my stomach, begging me to hold him back. But I do not trust myself to touch him innocently, so I clench my purse tighter.

"A-anyway."

Peter continues, his voice losing its confidence.

"Don't call me, don’t text, better yet, lose my number. Good luck hauling a cab from here. Bet you didn’t even bring any money ‘cause women with only looks going for them assume men like us will care for everything."

"This bitch..."

The words leave my mouth as a whisper as Peter walks away with his head held high; on the one hand, his audacity feels offensive, but on the other, his situational awareness gladdens me.

With a resolved sigh, I attempt to, like Peter, walk away from the situation, but the Lycan’s cold stare keeps me pinned.

Perhaps it is that he is taller, but he has a knack for staring down at me as if I am an ill-behaved child.

"What are you doing?"

He growls the words as he turns to face me fully.

"Thinking about leaving the restaurant; why?"

"You left Ketria to dress suggestively and date humans that lack even the most basic of manners. Are you a child? Do you need someone to watch you constantly so you don’t wind up face-down in a ditch somewhere? "

His question is meant rhetorically, but his harsh stare demands a response.

A man dressed in a black and white tux climbs down the same stairs the Lycan approached from.

The recognition is instant; Alpha Rhett of Ketria, the Lycan’s second in command.

“It appears you had a dining partner.”

I say quickly as I prepare my escape.

“Please allow me to free his majesty from the burden of conversing with this ill-behaved child.”

His lips curl in distaste at my statement, but I turn away from him before he can respond.

My body feels better, normal. I only wish the sleek moisture between my most private folds did not exist; it makes walking difficult because each stride teases the sensitised nub nestled in my core deliciously; that I can still feel his gaze on my flesh due to the dress’s design does not help.

My bathroom need has suddenly grown irrelevant; all I need is my coat and the damned exit.

**

The wind outside the restaurant is cold; no matter how much I try to curl my body in my coat, its harshness does not leave me.

What the hell was that?

I have taken those potions since I was eleven; Kaisa shouldn’t even be alive, let alone call out for him that wantonly.

It is one thing for her to run to him during the full moon; we are miles away from Ketria, she would never reach him anyway, but this…

"Urgh...Fuck!"

A curse escapes me as I enter the cab I had called, desperate to leave the vicinity.

**

It took an hour to reach my apartment complex due to traffic, and despite the night’s chill, I stayed outside. I didn’t want to enter. What would I do with my restlessness if I did?

Questions like ‘would he try to reach me to catch up for the eight years we have been apart’ or ‘would he pretend we did not meet’ roamed my mind, and while I favoured the latter outcome, an emptiness claimed me at the concept.

Should I move?

My hand reaches for the herbal honey dew-scented smokes in my bag; they contain no nicotine; their main task is to keep my oral fixations, the primal need to sink my teeth into flesh after a hunt, at bay.

The instant I light it, the scent soothes me.

“You smoke now?”

I startle at the familiar deep voice that comes from behind me.

Good God, he did not have me followed; he followed me himself!

In one fluid motion, he exits the large black SUV he arrived in and walks towards me; why I stiffen in my spot, I do not know, but my stillness makes it easy for him to take the lit cigarette pressed between my lips and crush its embers.

“You followed me?”

“The childish run-away game is outplayed, Alba. I don’t care that you never manifested a wolf; you cannot handle yourself here.”  

“Who the hell are you to determine that?”

I want to yell, scream at his overbearing sense of superiority until the fury trembling my flesh at his audacity ceases. Still, we are in public, outside my apartment complex, no less. I would be the one to suffer from my hysterics.

Yet again, I would suffer because of something he incites. It is always a pattern with him.

“And…and what even is that deduction based on; a bad date?”

I finish, my voice is low, but it carries my surprise at his rudeness well.

“Does a bad date typically leave one aroused?”

A sudden shudder leaves the blood in my veins cold, his question is one thing, but it is another that he punctuates it with a step toward me.

“Excuse me?”

He takes another step to ensure I can hear him better.

“I asked if a ‘bad date’ is why you are walking in a public space sporting your arousal?”