Chapter 308: A Crown I Didn't Ask For

Cyrus

“Amani is blowing up my phone because Damon is on a rant about you again,” Fireball says as I walk around our new home-slash-torture pad, trying to map out where exactly I want to hang the swing I got her for our sexy time. “I’m going to need a long beam or some really long rope. Maybe cut down an entire tree. They don’t make these things with long enough attachments.”

I pace around, eyeing the support beams like a deranged architect. The swing will hang. It will be glorious. And if I need to detonate half the structural integrity of this place to do it, so be it.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“Better than pissing on you.”

“I told you I’m not into that,” Raven growls.

“Neither am I. Now, if I put explosives deep into the ground around the tree, it should save me some time.” I’m all for blowing shit up, but I’m too busy to stand in the forest forever with a chainsaw. “Yeah. I’m going to blow one up.”

“Cyrus.”

“Fireball.”

“Cyrus, I need some of Raven’s hair.” Thane mind-links, buying me some time before Raven starts on me again.

“From what body part?”

“Her head, you idiot.”

“There’s probably some still wrapped around my fist.”

“I’ll take it from her hairbrush.”

“Hairbrush? With her curl pattern? You’ve lost your mind.”

“Just get me the damn hair.”

“Why?”

“Hunch.”

“Fine.”

I close the mind-link to find Raven staring at me.

“Thane wants some of your hair.”

Fireball’s eyebrow arches dangerously high toward her hairline. Something I have yet to figure out how to do.

“Maybe the weird hermit they found needs it for some type of payment,” she says. “The hair of fire for his secrets.”

“Shut up,” she growls.

“Don’t talk to me like that in front of Meatball. It’s not good for him.”

Our furry love child rarely leaves his mother’s shoulder now. Meatball blinks at me like he’s judging my entire bloodline.

“See?” I nod toward him. “Even our emotional support beast thinks your hair being requisitioned is suspicious.”

“Oh, I’m fully concerned,” Raven deadpans. “I just don’t know if it’s ‘we’re about to die’ concerned or ‘Thane’s hermit had a vision from the void’ concerned.”

“Hunch,” I scoff. “That’s worse than a vision. That’s dangerous guesswork.”

I get back to working on my swing contraption, doing everything I can to look as busy as my mind currently is.

“You’re thought spiraling again,” Fireball mutters.

Her voice isn’t sharp. It’s careful.

That’s worse.

“I am working,” I snap, yanking the rope tight enough it burns into my palms. The fibers bite down, rough and unforgiving, like the knot sitting in my ribs. “This swing ain’t gonna hang itself, and if I don’t figure it out, the whole ceiling could cave in on your pretty face.”

“I am innovating.”

I pick up a rope and bite it to the estimated length.

“You just tried to measure rope with your teeth.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

I ignore her and yank another coil across the floor. The chain rattles, echoing off the concrete like it’s judging my life choices, too. Her eyes track every movement I make.

Too aware.

Too focused.

“You’ve walked the same path four times,” she murmurs. “You haven’t even tied anything yet.”

My phone buzzes.

I don’t look.

“You’re ignoring pack communication,” Fireball says. “That’s a new one.”

“Pack communication keeps talking about Damon.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Damon bothers me.”

She steps closer, arms folding like she’s bracing for the storm she knows is coming.

“You didn’t use to care this much.”

“Maybe watching Captain Structure march around correcting stances and talking about formation etiquette got old.”

“He trains our fighters.”

“He color-codes his spreadsheets.” I snort. “That’s not intimidating. That’s seasonal depression in human form.”

Fireball stares at me.

“You’re not even trying to be clever right now,” she says. “You’re just… loud and increasing in rage.”

“Loud rage is my love language.”

“It’s not rage,” she says. “It’s deflection. You’re avoiding something.”

I stop moving.

The silence in the warehouse hums heavily. My jaw tightens.

“Observation isn’t a personality trait,” I mutter.

Silence stretches. Thick. Predatory. The kind that flips instincts from playful to territorial.

“What am I avoiding?”

She tilts her head. Eyes sharp. Seeing too much. “You’re growing increasingly obnoxious and irritating. I think you’re afraid of something.”

My head snaps up so fast my vision spots.

I laugh. Too fast. Too sharp. “I’m not scared of jack shit. I’m the beast in the nightmares, Fireball.”

“You smell like it.”

That freezes me cold.

My wolf snarls under my skin, hackles rising without permission, every instinct screaming to dominate or flee. My hands curl slowly into fists. My heartbeat slams once. Then again. Furious.

“You wanna keep diagnosing me like some damn therapist,” I growl, “or you wanna live in this place with a sex swing?”

“You smell like anger layered over fear,” she continues quietly. “Like you’re trying to bite the world before it bites you first.”

My teeth are gritting so hard that my jaw aches.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know your breathing just changed.”

I realize then how shallow it is. How sharp. How fast.

Damn it.

I turn away, dragging a hand through my hair, nails scraping my scalp. The air feels thicker now, like the warehouse itself is holding tension in its concrete bones.

“You’re scared of disappointing him.”

“Who? Damon? Please.”

Her gaze sharpens. “No. Try again.”

The words settle slowly.

Him.

Thane.

My jaw tightens.

“You ever get that look from someone?” I say quietly. “Like they’re measuring the space you’re meant to fill before you’re even ready to breathe inside it? Thane keeps lookin’ at me like I’m supposed to be more.”

Silence.

“You think he’s going to ask you to be Alpha,” she says gently.

“I think he expects it. He’s been training Damon as a beta, and I’m next in line.” My hand flexes. “And I know I don’t want it. I don’t wanna carry somethin’ I know I’d break.”

Fireball softens just a fraction, but her voice stays firm. “Why?”

“Because I’d ruin it.”

She scoffs. “You’d kill for it.”

“Exactly.”

I drag a hand down my face. “I’m not built for speeches and policies and making sure everyone’s got feelings about shit. I’m built for teeth and bone and moving fast when the world’s burning.”

“And you think leadership means soft?”

“I think leadership means every eye waiting for you to fail.”

She steps into my space, palm flattening against my chest. Warm. Solid. Real.

“You’re not acting out because you hate Damon,” she murmurs. “You’re acting out because you think if you’re unbearable enough, no one will ask you to step up.”

Something in my throat tightens.

“…I don’t want that burden,” I admit quietly. “And I don’t want Thane to look at me like I’m less because of it.”

A pause.

“I don’t want to be Alpha. I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want to fuck it all up.”

Fireball doesn’t pull away.

She doesn’t mock me.

Doesn’t argue.

Doesn’t soften me like I’m broken.

She just looks at me like I’m exactly what I’m supposed to be.

“Then don’t be,” she says. “You don’t owe him a throne. You owe him your loyalty—and he’s already got that. You’re not weak for knowing your limit.” Her thumb presses lightly against my chest. “You’re strong for refusing a crown you never asked for.”

“You really think he’ll understand?”

“I think he already does,” she says. “You’re just too busy being a menace to let him say it.”

I huff out a breath, tension bleeding away. “You think I’m a menace?”

“I think you’re terrifying, difficult, emotionally constipated, and mine.”

A grin tugs at my mouth. “Good. I worked hard for that.”

Meatball chitters approvingly.

Fireball finally relaxes, leaning her head against my chest like the storm inside me has quieted just a little. She looks up at me like I’m her whole fucking world. I feel the suffocating, obsessive love through the bond.

She’s not disappointed in me for not wanting the title. She doesn’t give a damn about titles. She isn’t angry. I’ve been an even bigger dick to Damon than usual.

She sees me.

She loves me.

Fates, I could drown in it.

“You stand there lookin’ at me like that,” I murmur, voice rough, low, “and you think I’m not gonna take what’s mine?”

Her chin tips up. Defiant. Wanting. Dangerous.

Meatball shifts on her shoulder, making an annoyed little hiss like he knows exactly where this is headed.

“Move him,” I mutter. “Before I traumatize our son.”

Raven snorts but gently lifts the opossum, setting him carefully on a nearby crate.

“Stay,” she tells him.

He chitters like a disapproving old man, tail flicking.

Good.

My hand slides to her hip, grip tightening like instinct, claiming territory. I back her slowly until concrete meets her spine, my body caging in, heat bleeding through the air between us.

“You don’t get to look at me like I’m your everything and then walk away untouched,” I murmur against her ear. “That’s a reward situation, Fireball. And you earned it.”

Her teeth scrape my throat. A warning. A promise.

I grin.

“Still the only one who sees me,” I growl, mouth trailing along her jaw. “Sees the ugly and wants it anyway. Makes me wanna fuck you for sport.”

Her breath stutters.

Exactly what I wanted.

I turn her effortlessly, palms sliding over curves I know better than my own heartbeat, pressing her forward just enough to remind her who holds the power—and who always gives it willingly.

My lips drag over her shoulder, teeth grazing skin. “You feel that?” I murmur. “That’s what you get for crawlin’ inside the monster and stayin’ anyway.”

She makes a sound that sets my wolf on fire.

My hand threads into her hair, tugging just enough. Not punishment. Invitation. “You’ll take it like it’s yours.”

Her hips shift back into me, a silent challenge that rips a feral laugh from my chest.

My mouth finds the place where her neck meets her shoulder—biting, kissing, claiming.

“This is your reward,” I breathe. “For seeing me. For not letting me tear myself apart. For reminding me I’m more than just teeth and rage.”

Her fingers clutch the wall, knuckles pale, breath breaking apart as my body moves behind her—every touch deliberate, hungry, threaded with devotion.

The scent of her floods my senses as I rip her pants down and free myself. “I’d tear the world apart for you,” I murmur, voice breaking just slightly. “But right now? I just wanna make you feel as good as you make me.”

Her loud-as-hell moan when I slam into her almost undoes me.

Music to my damn ears.

I grip her hair enough to get Thane that damn sample he needs as I drive into her in short, demanding strokes.

“Oh… shit… harder…” she pants.

I laugh.

“I could take you against this wall till you forget your own name,” I growl. “And you’d still dare me to do worse. You make me feel like a king and a rabid animal all at the same time.”

Her breath fractures, hips meeting mine with every thrust. I move with her, hard enough to steal coherent thought, slow enough to drag every second until the edge burns behind my ribs.

The closer we get, the more feral it becomes.

The nearer to breaking, the more worshipful.

Her hand flattens against the wall, and I lace our fingers together as my movements turn erratic.

“Cyrus—don’t stop. Please… please…”

“You beg so fucking good,” I snarl, slamming home as she comes undone beneath me, taking everything I give her and giving me everything in return.

“You didn’t knot me,” she says afterward, breathless, still pressed to the wall.

I smirk.

“That’s because I’ve got a swing to figure out.”