Chapter 5 Golden Gaze
Draven loosened the top buttons of his suit as soon as he stepped out of the main hall, a grin stretching across his face. The echo of his polished shoes followed him down the stone corridor toward the east wing.
His thoughts weren’t on pack politics. Not on warriors. Not even on the Lycan King.
They were on Elara.
The way she’d stared at the food. The disbelief. The hesitation.
He chuckled under his breath. Ronan D’Aric could nose around all he wanted. Once the King was gone, Draven would remind his little half-blood exactly who she belonged to.
When he reached the door, he stopped.
“No matter what that royal mutt wants here,” he murmured, “you’re not going anywhere. You’re mine.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
Rylan’s voice came from behind him.
Draven didn’t turn. “Shouldn’t you be busy pretending you don’t see things, little brother?”
Rylan stepped closer, jaw tight. “I needed to talk to you.”
“About what,” Draven said flatly, already knowing.
“…Elara.”
Draven scoffed and finally faced him. “Of course.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” Rylan said. “She grew up with us. She’s…”
“My mate?” Draven cut in sharply, a humorless laugh tearing out of him. “Don’t tell me you’re invoking that now.”
“You know it’s true,” Rylan said. “And since she is, then what you’ve been doing to her is wrong.”
Something dark flickered in Draven’s eyes.
“Wrong,” he repeated softly. Then his expression hardened. “You have a lot of nerve saying that.”
Rylan stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Draven stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Where were you, Rylan?”
Rylan frowned. “What?”
“Where were you all those years,” Draven snapped, “when she was locked in that room? When she cried herself sick at night? When I hurt her?”
Rylan’s face went pale.
“You stood there,” Draven continued, relentlessly. “My little brother. Her precious foster brother. And you did nothing.”
“I was your Beta,” Rylan said quietly. “You were the Alpha.”
“And you chose me,” Draven shot back. “You chose blood. Rank. Silence.”
Rylan swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the floor.
“So don’t stand in front of me now and pretend you care,” Draven said coldly. “If you actually did, you would’ve stopped me. You would have saved her from me.”
The corridor fell quiet.
Finally, Draven straightened. “Get someone to move her to the servants’ quarters. I don’t want the Lycan King anywhere near the dungeon.”
Rylan hesitated. “Draven…”
Draven’s gaze snapped back to him. “Think very carefully before you finish that sentence.”
A long pause.
“…Alright, Alpha,” Rylan said hoarsely.
Draven turned away. “Good.”
—
That afternoon, pale sunlight slanted through the tall windows of Draven’s study, catching on the glass decanters lining the shelves. Dust motes drifted lazily in the warmth but the air between the two Alphas was taut, stretched thin as wire.
Ronan sat opposite Draven, posture straight, unmoving. His gaze was cold, assessing.
“Your warriors have been losing ground to rogue attacks,” he said flatly. “Northwood’s border was breached twice this month.”
Draven forced a polite laugh. “Yes, it’s been… troublesome. I was actually hoping for your assistance in that regard, Your Highness.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Ronan replied. “I’ll be sending a few of my own to strengthen your ranks.”
Draven’s eyes brightened. “Truly? That’s very generous of you, your majesty.”
“On one condition.”
The Alpha blinked. “A condition?”
“Yes.” Ronan leaned back slightly. “On our way here, we passed a field of wild herbs. I want to take some back to my pack for research.”
Draven’s smile faltered instantly. “Something about that request didn’t sit right. All the way to Northwood… for some nameless herb?” His jaw tightened. “Of course,” he said quickly, forcing a laugh. “Though that area has been crawling with rogues. Too dangerous to send anyone unguarded. I’ll have servants fetch it immediately.”
Cierce nodded smoothly and began to mindlink someone.
Matthew spoke before she could finish. “Perhaps we should see all your servants, Alpha. It would help us assess your resources properly.”
Draven hesitated. “I don’t see why that’s necessary.”
“No.” Ronan’s voice cut cleanly through the room.
Draven frowned. “No?”
“I want to see all the servants,” Ronan said slowly. “I’ll choose who goes. If I find one worthy, I’ll take them back to my pack. In return, you’ll receive three additional warriors.”
Silence slammed down hard.
Cierce’s expression remained composed but her eyes flicked sharply to Draven. Rylan stiffened near the door.
Draven forced a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Very well. I’ll have them brought in.”
He mindlinked the pack member in charge, ordering all the servants to assemble in the study.
Moments later, the doors opened.
The servants filed in with their heads lowered and then, Elara entered.
She was clean. Bathed. Her hair fell softly down her back, no longer tangled or dull. The plain gray dress still hung loosely on her frame, but the scent made Ronan go utterly still.
It hit him full force this time.
Wild rose. Moon-warmed earth. Rain after fire.
His wolf surged violently, roaring in his chest, “Mate. Mine”
Heat ripped through his veins, sharp and electrifying. Excitement flared first. Raw, possessive and overwhelming.
Then rage.
Bone-deep. Devastating.
Because beneath her natural scent lay something else. Old pain. Blood. Silver. Poison.
Someone had hurt her.
For years.
Ronan’s hands clenched slowly at his sides as his wolf snarled, Kill them. All of them.
Across the room, Draven’s body went rigid. “I told you not to let her be seen,” he snarled through the mindlink at Cierce, “Why is she out?”
Cierce’s reply was calm, too calm. “She’s cleaned. Presentable. No one will suspect anything.”
Elara lifted her gaze and froze.
Golden eyes.
She knew them.
She’d seen them before-blurred through pain, glowing faintly when Draven forced the wolfsbane down her throat. Terror wrapped tight around her chest.
Yet warmth seeped from the Lycan King like sunlight breaking through stone. Something in her ached toward it. “Maybe… maybe he could help me,” she thought desperately.
“Her,” Ronan deadpanned.
Her fragile hope shattered.
“She’ll go,” Ronan added, eyes fixed on her.
Draven reacted instantly. “Your Highness, no! That servant isn’t suitable.”
Elara flinched.
Ronan turned slowly. His wolf snarled loud enough to shake his bones.
“Her,” Ronan said, voice deadly calm.
The pressure of his aura rolled through the room like a storm. Cierce lowered her head immediately. Rylan took an involuntary step back.
Draven’s jaw tightened. His wolf raged. But he bowed.
“Y-yes, Your Highness.”
Elara stepped forward shakily.
As she stood in front of Ronan, a familiar warmth brushed her skin gentle, aching. Her breath hitched.
Ronan mindlinked sharply, controlled but lethal.
“Kael. Guard her. Do not frighten her. If anyone touches her, kill them.”
“Understood, my King.”
Elara bowed. “I’ll… I’ll fetch the herbs.” With that, she turned and left with her heart pounding.
The moment the doors shut, Ronan spoke again. “Where were we?”
Draven tried to recover, straightening his collar and clearing his throat. “Your highness,” he began carefully, “about the rogues… they’ve been multiplying near the southern ridge. We’ve sent warriors, but the attacks have been… unpredictable.”
Ronan leaned back, expression unreadable. “That’s because you’re spread too thin,” he said coolly. “Half your warriors patrol for territory you can’t control, and the other half play guard dogs while you entertain yourself with slaves.”
Draven froze. “I…”
“Don’t waste my time, Draven,” Ronan interrupted. His eyes flicked briefly to Cierce. “Get your house in order. I’ll have your warriors trained by my men. As for that girl,” he referred to Elara, “She will come with me.”
Draven gritted his teeth as he forced a nod, beads of sweat forming at his temple. “Y-yes, your highness.”