Valkyrie My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else. The worn leather of my sword hilt bit into my palm as I tightened my grip. The Lycan King. For the first time, I stood before him—not as a whisper of prophecy, not as a hunted shadow, but face to face. And I was not ready. Ragnor tensed beside me, his breathing sharp and controlled, but I could feel it—his barely restrained fury. His wolf burned just beneath the surface, clawing to break free. The king’s golden eyes swept over us, calm, assessing, as if he had all the time in the world. His lips curled slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a sneer. Just the insufferable confidence of someone who had already won. “I must admit,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk. “I expected you to be dead by now.” Ragnor let out a low growl. “Disappointed?” The king chuckled. “Not at all. I do enjoy a challenge.” My throat felt dry. My body screamed for rest, wounds throbbing with every breath, but weakness was
Last Updated : 2025-03-14 Read more