151. Having some fun

151. Having some fun

KENNY

Pamyel, 57 years ago – Warrick’s Bar

Warrick’s Bar was stifling, the air thick with the stench of spilled beer, smoke, and the heat of packed bodies. I know what you’re thinking: “Warrick’s an Aladian too, so why don’t you hate him?” Well, he was there when I was rescued from my pack by the people of Pamyel. He’s been on our side from the start.

I was leaning against the counter, Mara, a wild-eyed lycan warrior, clinging to my arm. My wolf growled, and I knew instantly. I saw her before I even wanted to. She walked through the bar’s door, her fiery red hair glowing under the torches, defying the dimness. Her amber eyes scanned the place, cold, distant, like nothing could touch her. Nobody dared look at her wrong. She’d been with us for a year, and somehow, she’d earned the respect of the warriors.

The bond betrayed me, making me feel her pulse, the pain she hid behind that icy mask. The Aladian king’s daughter, sent to die in Pamyel. And, damn the Goddess, the woman I couldn’t get out of my chest.

Mara laughed loudly, slapping my shoulder, pulling my attention back. “What’s up, Kenny? You look like you bit into a sour lemon!” She leaned in, her hot, mead-soaked breath hitting me.

I forced a smile, but my eyes were on Seraphine. She was across the bar, near the counter, alone. Perfect. Untouchable. And it pissed me off. My wolf howled, wanting her, but my anger screamed louder.

I couldn’t want her. I wouldn’t want her. So I did what I knew best: I provoked.

I pulled Mara to me, my lips crashing against hers in a hard, almost cruel kiss. She laughed against my mouth, her hands gripping the back of my neck. “Thought I’d be waiting all night for you to make a move,” she murmured against my lips.

I wanted Seraphine to see. I wanted it to hurt, like it hurt me every time the bond reminded me of what I’d thrown away.

I glanced sideways, expecting to see anger or jealousy in her eyes. But Seraphine… she didn’t even look my way. Her gaze slid past me like I was nothing, and she turned to the counter where Warrick, the only Aladian I liked, was wiping a mug with a grimy rag.

“Drummel. The strongest you’ve got,” she said, her voice steady but carrying that melodic tone that still made me grit my teeth.

Warrick raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face. “Rough day, sweetheart? Or is Pamyel’s cold just getting to you?”

“Day like any other,” she replied, curt, her eyes fixed on the mug he slid her way.
My chest burned. How could she ignore me? How could she pretend I didn’t exist? Mara was still talking, something about a hunt, but I wasn’t listening. My wolf growled at me, pissed that I’d provoked her.

The prince of Pamyel approached the damned Aladian. He hadn’t yet met Alice, his true mate, and back then, he was just a young wolf with a heart bigger than his common sense. He sat down next to Seraphine, so close I felt the bond twist, like a knife plunging into my chest.

“You okay, Serph?” Aemon’s voice was low, gentle, but I could still hear him. He always called her that, like they were old friends. Like he had the right.

Seraphine turned to face him, and for a split second, I saw something in her eyes. Pain. Anger. Something she didn’t show anyone else. “Doesn’t matter, Aemon,” she murmured, taking a swig of her mead. “Nothing changes what is.”

He touched her shoulder, and she smiled, a smile that made my wolf want to rip his hand off. “You’re not alone here,” he said. “I promised you that.”

“I know, but too much is going on.”

“What do you want to do to make it better?” he asked. And without warning, without hesitation, Seraphine leaned in and kissed Aemon. It was quick, impulsive, like she was pouring everything she felt into that moment. Her lips on his, a challenge, an escape. Aemon froze for a second, eyes wide, before kissing her back, hesitant, his hands hovering over her shoulders. The bar seemed to vanish.

“Wanna get out of here?” I heard him murmur.

My wolf howled, a pain so raw it nearly brought me to my knees. The bond was a burning chain, searing me from the inside. She was kissing him. And I couldn’t do a damn thing, because I’d rejected her. I’d chosen this.

Mara laughed beside me, oblivious. “Whoa, looks like the outsider’s having fun!” she said, nudging my arm.

“Shut up,” I growled, too low for her to catch fully, but sharp enough to make her back off.

Seraphine pulled away from Aemon, grabbed her mug, and downed the rest of the Drummel in one cold, calculated motion. “Don’t say anything,” she said, her voice cutting. “Just… stay with me.”

He nodded, and they left the bar. I knew what came next. The bond didn’t lie. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I felt her. Felt the echo of other men, other touches, other beds. Each time, it was like claws tearing my wolf apart from the inside. And I did the same. I threw myself into the arms of lycans like Mara, trying to erase Seraphine with every kiss, every night. But it never worked. She was mine, and I was hers, no matter how hard we both tried to deny it.

I stormed out of the bar without looking back, the biting cold of Pamyel’s winter swallowing me whole. I glared up at the moon, mocking me from
above, like it knew I’d never escape her. My mate.