"Mate," he says, his voice a silent thunder, a command. As if, he knows who I am, he is just making sure everyone else does either.
I have heard stories about this. How you just know. A blessing. No matter who you are, how you are, what kind you are, a blessing for all. But somehow I led myself to believe I was an exception. I have never been so happy to be proven wrong.
I raise my hand. He can't be real. I breathe in. I have a mate. I breathe out. My palm touches the fabric of his cursed mask and everything falls into place. I sigh, a wave of gratification rendering me breathless for a whole minute. He's real.
"Mine," I gasp, more shocked than joyful.
My mate likes that. The slight crinkles under his eyes show that. His eyes are sharp, sweeping through every inch, every corner of me.
I do the same. Though, there is not much to find. A dark cloack, a dark mask and a dark cap. All I can see is his eyes. A part of me screams to rip the cloth off his face and stare at him for eternity. Another shameless part of me tells me to rip everything off him.
I shake my head.
My mate takes another step closer. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, as if memorising my scent. When he opens them the blue is glowing. Not shining or shimmering under the light, but glowing. An unnatural blue.
"Mine," he whispers back, voice deep and mystifyingly daunting. He very gently, very slowly leans in my touch.
I feel safe. I am at the end of my luck, rogues are here, kalhai can take one look at me and I will be gone, rogue hunters find a good enough reason to pay me a check and I am gone. Yet, I feel safe. As if my mate could fight the whole world for me. I havenn't felt this safe even under the protection of Alpha Renier.
Feeling the strength and solidity oozing off him, I can finally breathe.
Another explosion.
I suddenly realize my ears are still intact, it really was the noise which had died down. My already wide eyes widen even more so when I turn my attention from my mate to the people around. The once panicking people are now bent down, hands pressed to their chests and eyes not moving from the floor. Men, fifteen to twenty, stand in between the crowd and us. Their hands spread like a wall. Nothing makes sense.
Then also for the first time, I note a sort of dark but glimmering shadow my mate emits, like he is the dark and the light itself. Who he chooses to be from the two depends entirely over what he thinks of you. Waves of authority ripple the air around him and before I know it my knees beg me to kneel as well.
I look around in utter perplexity. I open my mouth to say something.
I close it just as quick. A shiver parades down my spine.
White eyes, emotionless and inhumane, stare right at me. The second I meet them, sharp silver teeth greet me with the most venomous smile. I take a step back.
Kalhaii.
Humans who offer up theirs souls to gain immortality. Rogue alphas take advantage of their desperation and bind them into bargains that can not be completed. Years and years they serve until their death.
I take another hesitant but steady step back. My movement rattles my mate and his gaze narrows. He tilts his head, genuine concern etching into his barely visible brows and then steps closer again, hands reaching for me.
I flinch away from him, shaking my head.
This time he doesn't follow.
You're better off leaving. I'm better off leaving.
He blinks. Once. Then twice. Then thrice. This time when he opens his eyes all emotion is gone. The unnatural glow brightens. The temperature plummets.
Every where you go you bring death. Aria's words have haunted my mind ever since the funeral. Leave. I have been told this so many times that now I abhor every syllable of the word. Leave. Leave. Leave.
Lights flicker. Sparks crackle in the air, like lightening would strike at a minute's notice. My thoughts must me showing on my face because the glint in my mate's eyes turns to something else. Something dark. Something dangerous. The people bow lower.
"I'm sorry," I breathe and it hardly makes a coherent apology. My voice comes as broken as it was when I screamed for Aria, screamed that her husband wasn't breathing. When I lashed all my grief on Rey, accusing him of things I wish I could take back. When I whispered for my father, my mentor, my alpha, my everything to stop teasing me and wake up. When I spoke two words at his funeral. The same two words I just told my mate.
I should run. I have to run. I was running.
Because if man in front of me is my fated one, then I shall be damned than let him find me for who I am.
For I am his as much as he is mine. But I am nothing and he looks like so much.
Unfair.
That is what this mate bond is to him.
And so I turn. I turn and I run like the dead are after me—because they are, and the creatures have no decency to not attract the wrong kind of attention.
They are the wrong.
We are in Noah’s office. A spacious dark room with rows of tall book shelves lining the right, a wide desk with tall stacks of paper in the middle right in front of yet another glass wall, and a plunged in sitting area in the middle with more stacks of files. It would look like any other office it wasn’t for the enormous painting of the former King both sides of the entrance. Six people sit in the middle and pale a little when Noah slowly walks in behind me. “Leave,” is all he says and they all comply, dropping whatever files they had in their hands or whatever conversation they were having. I get a very strong urge to join them but stand my ground, waiting for the door behind me to shut and for my very visibly frustrated mate to say something. “You have a habit of doing the worse possible thing at the worst possible time.” He finally faces me, his brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. “I got useful input,” I offer.
There is a dark shadow looming over Haze’s face as he inches down Noah. The realisation of whose presence he is in dawns on him the moment the presence entered the room. There is more eye in his pupils than his eyes. The fear there, it makes me proud as much as it makes me sick. I do not dare to look at my side. I can feel the scorching gaze pinning me in place, but I do not have time to entertain it or fear it. Stepping aside Elma, I slap my hands onto the table. "Speak!" I do not mean for my voice to come out like I am a wild boar, but it does. And it startles Haze enough to snatch his widened eyes from my mate back to me.‘Speak before I kill you.’I feel Noah stepping closer to me, not just because of the increasing waves of thundering pleasure but because of Haze inching away from me every second. Noah comes to stand right behind me, the flurrying heat from his body making me feel things I should not be feeling in a prison. I still do not turn around. My mate makes use of tha
Haze does not look up as I enter the room. He does not seem to even notice as I take a place at one of the chairs in middle, until I say, "You seem comfortable." He looks up at me lazily, through heavy lashes, thickened with sleep and wolfsbane. Silence. Then his eyes crinkle, his head tips back and all I can hear is the ricochets of his loud, reverberating laughter. I grit my teeth, willing patience in my nerves. If I kill him here, how much questions will that raise? Many, a voice says. I don't think killing someone would be an ideal position for me to gain trust of my new found mate's court, whose resources I very dearly need. So I quietly settle for a glare and gesture him to take a seat. His gaze narrows but he obeys, standing with poorly hidden lethargy and dropping down with a careless thud. "I should've known you would weasel your way out." "I should've known you would be such a pain in the ass." "Well, we need some catching up to do then," he drawls, rolling bac
No elevator leads to the interrogation rooms—a glorified name for a torture cell, in my opinion—so we climb down an infinite number of stairs. The atmosphere grows heavier with each step. The concrete walls here are thick and cold, with the faint echo of dripping water occasionally punctuating the silence. Finally we reach a heavy steel door, its surface scratched and worn from use. Malcolm pushes it open, revealing a dimly lit corridor. The light flickers intermittently. The air is dank, carrying a faint scent of iron and decay. But I can see everything, further confirming my senses are now intact again. Malcolm leads me down the corridor, past several heavy doors, each marked with a small, scratched metal plate indicating different sections—Interrogation, Holding Cells, Evidence Storage. We pass a few holding cells, their barred fronts casting long shadows in the faint light. Inside, the cells are bare, save for a single cot and sorry excuse for a toilet. The place is practica
Malcolm serves me looks full of pity and genuine sorrow as I amble aimlessly through the empty corridors, passing by various rows of offices in the palace. During this time I find out that the palace is divided into three core sections that further branches into wings. The first section is the public square, where the whole kingdom's affairs are handled. The throne room is also present there. The second section is the pack square, where pack affairs are handled. It is where Noah's and his court is located—War room, meeting rooms, guest rooms, offices, everything. The third section, crooned into the bed of a mountain, is where I just came from. I have now walked almost every empty lane in the pack square, as most pack members are dispersed and distracted in work as their superiors are occupied in the war room with my mate. Malcolm does not meet my eyes, wordlessly following wherever I go, and only speaking when I turn to a section of the palace
The communication office is a spacious room with numerous screens and numerous people sitting in front of them. Malcolm walks swiftly, leading me from behind the booths before any one of them turns and notices us. We saunter to the right end where an open door awaits me. When I enter, a man, with grey streaking his hair from the sides and a stoic expression on his face, bows low. "Your Majesty," he says, his voice hoarse and heavy. "The line is ready. Do send for me when you are done." Just like that he slips to the side and leaves. I swallow an invisible lump down my throat as I pick up the thing. Would Rey want me to call him? Or would he tell me how stupid I am for doing so when he clearly told me to stay away? How did he react to me being mated to the king? A million questions swirl around my head, the answers nowhere to be found unless I call. My grip on the phone tightens. Leave, he had said. But I did