Chapter 44 - My Omega Queen

POV: Grace

“This place reeks of disgusting rogues.” Raksha’s voice echoes in my head, grumpy from having been put to sleep by the poison, but growing increasingly more annoyed with each word.

“You’re late,” I tell Raksha using our shared conscience.

I feel my strength returning to me, flowing through my blood and into my muscles. I cease scratching at Lyra’s leg and instead grab it. Her frozen, sunken in expression tells me that she can tell the tables have turned.

With a swift motion, I effortlessly hurl her aside, much like one would toss a blanket sideways. A yelp escapes her lips. However, I maintain a firm grip on her ankle as I rise to my feet, casting a towering presence over her prone body. “Not so talkative anymore, are we?”

Her eyes shimmer with a mixture of feelings, and I swear I could feel a tinge of fear looming in her smell. Yet, in a fleeting instant, all that remains is pure rage, and Lyra, her warning clear, bares her teeth.

Raksha growls in return, silencing her instantly, then she takes control of my body and throws Lyra through the tent, ripping a hole into it.

From beyond the confines of our space, gasps resonate, swiftly followed by approaching footsteps.

I listen, consumed by a sense of dread. “We’re f*cked now,” I tell Raksha, accepting our bleak fate.

Raksha scoffs. “There’s no way in hell I’m gonna allow some rogues to trample over us. Let me show them what the rightful heir to the throne can do.”

Thanks to being the daughter of the Alpha King and Queen, both of them carrying pure Alpha blood, Raksha turned out exactly as one would expect. Proud. Dominant. Ruthless. When she’s out for blood, only Arthur can stop her from ripping the enemy to shreds.

For this reason, I refrain from unleashing her unless the situation absolutely demands it. No matter how insolent these rogues have proven to be, I refuse to allow Raksha to hunt down the innocent children I witnessed earlier, simply because fate dealt them the misfortune of being born into a rogue lineage.

Emerging from the tent, I hold my head high, resolute in my determination to confront whoever may approach us.

"At the very least, I'll make it difficult for them," I think to myself.

As expected, a crowd had gathered around Lyra, who seems to be unconscious from the fall. Two women tend to Lyra while three men, all of them clearly trained for battle, take formation to circle me and stop me from advancing toward Lyra.

“I’ve fought more opponents at once during my junior school classes,” I say confidently, as I take on my fighting stance and gesture them to attack. Of course, it’s just a lie meant to intimidate and rile my enemies, but they don’t need to know that.

My strategy works and I cannot subdue a smile from forming on my face as one of them breaks formation to lunge at me in anger.

“STOP RIGHT NOW!” A command echoes from afar, and everybody halts to turn toward the source, including me. My ears lean backward by reflex akin to how they respond when Arthur scolds us.

I see two figures approaching. Zain, in his full shirtless glory, displaying an eight-pack like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and none other than Chloe beside him. My nose twitches as the relaxing smell of pine trees and morning dew intensifies.

But that cannot be right.

A forest can’t possibly be moving.

My head tilts left and right as both me and Raksha try to make sense of the situation.

The crowd parts to make way for Zain, who halts in his steps at merely two feet away from us. His nose flares with recognition and his eyes lock in on mine.

“Mate” Raksha whispers to me, with excitement evident in her voice.

Zain’s eyes darken for a mere second before he growls lowly, “Mate”.

Then an instant, massive craving to jump on Zain’s delicious body takes over me, and I realize that Raksha’s feelings are pouring into me. I immediately put a mental wall between the two of us, pushing Raksha into a far corner of my mind, aware that it’s at most a temporary solution. The last thing I want is for her to mark a rogue by instinct.

The whole crowd gasps around us, and the world freezes over.

The short moment of silence is broken by a familiar voice, “Oh, sh*t.” she says. Chloe was just behind him, holding her arms behind her neck in a very relaxed and carefree attitude. That’s always been her way of intimidating the enemy; showing them just how weak they are in front of her.

I don’t even care why or how she got here. A wave of relief passes over me and I feel like hugging her with my whole strength.

Chloe mind-links me, “Of all the f*cking werewolves, Grace, your mate is the Rogue King?! No wonder you couldn’t find him, girl.”

I throw her a concerned look.

Massive. Pile. Of. Sh*t.

We are surrounded by rogues watching our actions intently.

When my eyes shift back to Zain, my heart constricts in my throat. His gaze darkens, trailing my body until it fixates on its target: my neck. I've witnessed this look countless times during the Yearly Mating Season gatherings, just before newfound mates mark each other, publicly declaring their ownership. It used to be a sweet and endearing sight when observed in others.

However, now that it's directed at me, my knees weaken, and a shiver courses down my spine. Chloe takes a step toward me, but Zain seizes her by the arm. She glares at him defiantly, retorting, "What do you think you're doing? We had a deal."

Without averting his gaze from me, Zain responds, "Our deal was for you to confirm the Princess's well-being and contentment."

Chloe scoffs and wrenches her arm free. Then, Zain blinks his wolfish glare away and finally glances at Chloe. "As you can see, she is unharmed.” He then addresses one of the encircling rogues, instructing, "Alaric, kindly escort this lady out of our encampment. She must report back to her King."

"Yes, sir," Alaric acknowledges, closing in on Chloe.

"I'm not leaving her here with you," Chloe furrows her brows, refusing to back down.

Zain's expression turns amused, a corner of his mouth tilting upward, "Of course you are," he asserts, his gaze narrowing on Chloe. "She is mine."

Chloe's jaw clenches, a telltale sign I'm all too familiar with. Whenever she defended me against my bullies, her jaw would tighten just before she lunged at their throats.

As expected, I receive a mind-link from Chloe, “Your father is waiting for you in the north. Run.”

Then, all hell breaks loose.