Chapter 43 - My Omega Queen
POV: Grace
Without Raksha, I stand no chance against a wolf this huge. Without Raksha, there’s no way for me to outrun him. The thought of surrendering crosses my mind for a millisecond. But then a crazy idea comes up to me.
The wolf begins walking toward me. I wait for it to get closer, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. It doesn’t growl or bare its teeth, so my strategy works.
The wolf tilts its head at me a few times, trying to figure out my intentions. It slowly reaches me and takes in my smell. Reflexively, I also take a whiff of him out of courtesy, even though I cannot feel anything other than the smell of pine trees. After all, we are surrounded by them.
I let him walk around me.
“A bit closer.” I think as I try to keep my heart under control.
The wolf’s hackles rise to my shoulder, brushing my skin and sending tingles down my arm.
“Just a bit…”
Then, the wolf stops at my side and opens its jaw.
“Now!” I think as I raise my leg and stomp on the wolf’s paw as hard as I can with my whole weight. Its instant yelp almost makes me regret it, but it is too late now. I take advantage of the situation and climb on the tallest tree that I can put my eyes on.
Leaping through the air, the wolf stretches its powerful limbs in an attempt to reach me, yet I have already distanced myself beyond its reach. My heart pounding with adrenaline, I swiftly seize hold of a sturdy, towering branch. With agile grace, I straddle it between my thighs, perching myself above, granting me a commanding view of the brown-furred predator below. The whole thing amuses me. “Haha, you don’t look so big from up here!” I shout, knowing fully well that he would have heard me even if I whispered. The wolf snarls at the tree bark in frustration, ripping off a few pieces.
“Hey,“ I shooed toward him, “leave the tree alone.”
The wolf watches me for a moment before it retreats behind a tree, away from my vision. Just as I thought this was too easy, a familiar sound jolts me.
Breaking bones.
Sh*t. F*ck. It’s shifting.
Despair washes over me. I quickly look around and the idea to jump from tree to tree takes form in my mind. I begin to climb higher up, hoping to lose sight of him through the thick canopy of the tree. Yet, just as hope takes hold, my injured knee sends a sharp lance of pain through my body, causing my foot to lose its grip, and my heart sinks as I slip, teetering on the edge of doom.
I shut my eyes tightly and brace for the pain.
But it never comes.
Wait.
“Ugh… and here I thought it was gonna be difficult to bring you down, Princess.” Suddenly, a gruff voice, filled with a mixture of amusement and arrogance, resonates near my ear, sending shivers down my spine. The coarse timbre of the words makes the fine hairs on my forearms stand on end. Heat rushes to my cheeks, betraying my startled reaction, and I swiftly rise to my feet, pivoting to confront the source of the voice.
As the King’s daughter and a member of the Midnight pack, I’ve seen my fair share of fine men. Yet this man is nothing like I’ve ever come across. He is the embodiment of primal allure, his mane of brown hair wildly rustling with the breeze.
He is only wearing a pair of rugged shorts, displaying the most toned and well-defined eight-pack I’ve ever put my eyes on. An intrusive thought invades my mind – a fleeting curiosity to feel the firmness of his chest.
“My eyes are up here, Princess.” He says, wearing a smug smile.
My cheeks burn and I purse my lips in shame.
"Princess," he utters with a sly grin, drawing my attention away from his perfectly sculpted chest. “are you all right?”
Embarrassment floods my cheeks, their warmth betraying my momentary lapse in composure. I instinctively purse my lips, a gesture of self-reproach, as I regain control over my thoughts and emotions. It becomes clear that my brief distraction had not gone unnoticed.
“You know who I am,” I state the obvious. “It sounds only fair for me to know who you are, too.”
The man watches me with curiosity, his eyes fixed upon me, unyielding and intense. Though I can feel myself melting under his gaze, I refuse to let it show.
“My name is Zain,” his voice carrying an air of confidence, and my eyes narrow with recognition. Lyra spoke of him, that he should be somehow handling me, “and I have a gut feeling that you will get to know me much better soon.”
My eyebrows furrow in response, “Your gut must be pretty delusional to spout such nonsense.”
Zain laughs, and the sound of it inexplicably makes my chest warm. I want to hear more.
Wait, what? Why the f*ck would I think that about my kidnapper?!
I need to get out of here. “What pack do you belong to? What do you want from me?” I ask, not breaking my fighting stance and slowly retreating, hoping my questions will deter him from noticing the distance I put between us.
Zain stops laughing but maintains his charming smile, this time passing a hand through his short but wild, dark brown hair.
“So many questions, Princess.” He remarks, his voice filled with amusement and mystery. With just two swift steps, he effortlessly closes the distance between us, leaving me startled and my heart momentarily frozen in my throat, “There are many things I want from you.”
As he looms above me, Zain's commanding presence dominates the space. With a deliberate gesture, he lifts his arm, gently tucking a stray lock of my white hair behind my ear. His touch is unexpectedly gentle, contrasting with the intensity of his words. “But for now, it is enough if you stop trying to run away from me.”
“That’s a big request coming from someone that poisoned and kidnapped me.”
I try to act tough, but we both know that I don’t have any other choice but to follow his demands.
Zain chuckles and a corner of his fang comes out, which I find cuter than I should. He shifts his position to make way for me, extending his hand toward the direction of the camp, “After you, Princess.”
I let out a scoff. If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have done so by now.
“Oh, please, you should come up with better strategies to look at my ass.” I retort, as I begin walking ahead of him, intentionally swaying my hips left and right.
Suddenly, two hands grab my middle and stop my movements. The point where he touches me feels warm and tingly, instead of repulsing and disgusting.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Zain leans on my shoulder and whispers in my ear in a low, threatening voice, “Careful, Princess… I know your wolf is still under the poison’s effect, so I am doing my best to hold mine under control. Don’t push your luck.”
Then he lets go of me and begins walking in front of me, leading the way. I remain bewildered for a moment, confused by my own body’s reactions at his actions, but eventually, I follow him. There is no point in trying to run. He would easily catch me.
What worries me is that I am tempted to do it anyway.
It must be the poison that’s making me think and act like this. I am convinced that Raksha will drill some sense into me.
I choose to walk the rest of the way in silence. All I have to do is avoid getting poisoned and wait for Raksha to recover. Easy.
As we reach their encampment, I see multiple tents spread all around, and people dressed in rags like Ava’s, doing chores. Little children, most of them clearly malnourished, run around and play by themselves. This is not normal. Regardless of the county that we are in, any pack under the protection of a King should be able to provide food and basic necessities to their pack members. Money is shared among the packs of a county. This sight triggers an ache in my chest. Nobody should live in these conditions.
Lyra and a few other people run toward us. One of them is holding a rope and approaches me. I snarl at him, baring my teeth in warning. The flames of Hell will extinguish themselves before I let them tie me again.
Zain puts a hand between me and his man, “Thanks, Alaric, but that won’t be necessary. She will stay in my tent.”
Alaric seems to be as confused as I am, but he takes a step back nevertheless, obeying. Lyra’s brows visibly furrow with concern etched on her face.
“Lyra, please walk her Majesty to my tent. I’ll be there in a moment.” Zain orders and Lyra follows suit with no retort. The hierarchy of their pack is beginning to take shape in my mind, even if Raksha’s nose would instantly solve this puzzle for me.
After Zain leaves, Lyra grabs me by my upper arm tightly and drags me away. Her sudden tight grasp almost makes a whimper escape me, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of hearing me cry. She drags me confidently toward a tent that’s bigger than the rest. Her rough handling of me is visible to the passer-by people, and my mind is split between letting her behavior go for the sake of another chance to escape or showing Lyra to her place and risk being drugged and tied up again in the prison tent.
I decide to let it go for now, but I make a mental note to remind her of our hierarchy at the first chance.
When we arrive at the tent, Lyra pushes me inside so roughly that I stumble and trip, a carpet softening my fall.
I have faced worse bullies than this, so my patience threshold is higher than average, but I couldn’t stop myself from noticing the irony, “So much for not wanting to hurt me.”
She lets out a light chuckle filled with venom, “I don’t know what Zain is thinking, bringing you to his tent, but do not get any ideas about escaping. You will see that your royal blood means jack sh*t around here. We are all watching you.”
Her wording makes me realize that she must have gotten blamed for my earlier escape, and that brings a smile to my face. “Glad to hear it. Perhaps all of you combined will be enough to confine me this time,” I retort, spitting back defiantly as I attempt to rise. Lyra scoffs and forcefully presses one leg against my chest, driving me back down and robbing me of breath.
“Tell me, your Majesty,” she sneers the last word as she puts more weight on her leg, “Do those of royal lineage also spill blood akin to us? Does the blood of nobility still possess the same scarlet hue as ours?”
I struggle to breathe and claw at her leg to push it off, but she just laughs it off.
Just as darkness begins to appear at the edges of my vision, power flows through my veins, akin to the unleashed torrents of a lake breaching its dam.