Chapter 10 CHAPTER 10
Dmitri's POV
Someone touched her.
The thought blazed through my mind like wildfire, consuming everything else.
Someone put their hands on what's MINE.
My Lycan roared to life, slamming against my control with such force I nearly staggered. Heat flooded my veins—molten, violent, demanding blood.
Kill. Tear. Rip apart whoever dared—
I dug my claws into my palms, feeling skin split. The pain was distant. Meaningless.
All I could see was that mark on her face.
Red. Swollen. The perfect outline of fingers across her pale cheek.
Someone struck her.
My vision bled crimson at the edges. The throne room tilted. I could feel the shift starting—bones cracking, muscles tearing, the beast clawing its way to the surface.
No. Not here. Not now.
I forced it back down with every ounce of will I possessed. The pressure built behind my eyes until I thought my skull would crack open.
Control. Maintain control.
But goddess, it was hard.
Because all I wanted—all my Lycan demanded—was to find whoever had done this and paint the walls with their blood.
"Lady Kira," she'd said.
Kira.
The name echoed in my head, and something cold settled beneath the rage.
Of course it was Kira.
I should have known.
Lady Kira Ashenheart. My... what was she, exactly? Not my queen—I'd never claimed her as such. Never mated her officially. Never bound myself to her in any way that mattered.
But she held status here. Power.
Because she was one of the few who could survive me.
One of the few Lycans left at all.
Kira was among the last of our kind—pure-blooded, ancient lineage, strong enough to have survived when so many others hadn't. The curse of the moon goddess had decimated our species, reduced us from thousands to mere dozens. My brother. Kira. A scattered handful of others across distant territories.
That was all that remained.
And Kira... Kira was strong. Her beast was nearly as powerful as mine—almost. Not quite, but close enough that when my Lycan took over, when I lost myself to the feral madness that demanded violence and dominance and release—
She could endure it.
Barely.
I'd seen the aftermath. The claw marks down her back. The bruises that took days to heal even with her enhanced recovery. The way she walked stiffly for hours after, like her bones had been rattled loose.
But she lived.
Always lived.
For years, she'd been enough. A vessel for my beast's rage. A way to satisfy the violent lust that came with the feral episodes without leaving bodies in my wake.
Until she wasn't enough anymore.
My Lycan had grown bored. Restless. It wanted something new. Something that didn't fight back with claws and fangs. Something softer. More fragile.
More prey-like.
So I'd hunted.
Found women—servants, travelers, merchants' daughters. Anyone my beast wanted. Brought them to my chambers. Let the monster have what it craved.
And watched them die.
Every. Single. One.
Their bodies couldn't withstand it. Couldn't survive the brutality of a feral Lycan taking what it wanted without restraint.
The guilt should have stopped me.
It didn't.
Because if I didn't give my beast an outlet—if I didn't let it have something—the madness would consume me completely. I'd lose myself entirely. Become nothing but the monster, rampaging through the castle, killing everything in reach.
So I fed it what it demanded.
And cleaned up the corpses after.
Until my spies brought word of the white wolves.
White wolves.
Rare. Blessed by the moon goddess herself. Powerful beyond measure.
My Lycan had fixated immediately. Wanted one with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
White wolves were special. Their bloodline was pure, touched by divine power. Strong enough to withstand a Lycan's fury. Maybe even strong enough to—
I'd hunted three before her.
Tracked them down. Paid fortunes to acquire them. Brought them to my chambers with hope burning in my chest.
This time. This time it will work.
It never did.
They'd lasted longer than the others—hours instead of minutes. Their enhanced healing had kept them alive through injuries that would have killed a human instantly.
But in the end, they'd died too.
Torn apart by a beast that didn't know how to be gentle.
And each failure had pushed me closer to the edge. Made the feral episodes worse. More frequent. More violent.
Until I couldn't control it anymore.
Until the madness threatened to swallow me whole.
That's when I'd heard about her.
The white wolf in the Kolgar pack.
My last chance. Thea.
Even now, I didn't understand how. Didn't understand why my beast had let her live when it had killed so many others.
But she had.
And now someone had touched her.
My hands trembled with the effort of not shifting right here, right now.
Kira.
Of course Kira would see her as a threat. Would want to establish dominance. Put the new girl in her place.
Kira had always been territorial. Possessive. She'd tolerated the others because they never lasted. Because they were temporary. Disposable.
But Thea—
Thea survived.
And Kira knew what that meant.
I turned to Kastiel, who stood perfectly still beside the throne. His expression was carefully neutral, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand hovered near his weapon.
He was ready. In case I lost control.
Smart man.
"Kastiel."
My voice came out too rough. Barely human.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Summon Lady Kira." Each word was ground out through clenched teeth. "Now."
He didn't move immediately. "My Lord, perhaps—"
"Now."
The command echoed through the throne room.
Kastiel bowed and strode toward the doors without another word.
I stood there, fists clenched, trying to maintain the threadbare grip I had on my sanity.
The girl—Thea—hadn't moved. She stood frozen at the base of the dais, eyes wide, face pale except for that angry red mark.
Mine. She's mine. No one touches what's mine.
The possessiveness was irrational. Dangerous.
I knew that.
Didn't change anything.
"Sit." I gestured to the steps of the dais.
She blinked at me, confusion flickering across her face.
"Sit," I repeated, softer this time. "Before you fall over."
She was trembling so hard I could see it from where I stood. Her legs looked ready to give out.
Slowly—so slowly—she sank down onto the lowest step, hands folded in her lap.
Good.
I moved back to my throne. Sat. Forced my breathing to slow.
Control. Just a little longer.
My Lycan prowled beneath my skin, demanding action. Violence. Retribution.
Soon.
The doors opened.
Kastiel returned, Lady Kira beside him.
She swept into the throne room like she owned it, crimson gown trailing behind her, head held high.
Confident. Regal. Untouchable.
Until she saw the girl sitting on the steps.
Her expression flickered—surprise, then calculation.
Then she looked at me.
And whatever she saw in my face made her pause.
"My Lord." She dipped into a perfect curtsy. "You summoned me?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Just stared at her.
At the woman who'd been my outlet for years. Who'd survived what no one else could. Who'd held a place of privilege in this castle because of it.
And who'd just made a mistake that might cost her everything.
"Did you," I said quietly, "strike this girl?"
Silence stretched between us.
Kira stood there, perfectly poised, that practiced smile still on her lips. But I saw the flicker in her eyes. The way her fingers twitched slightly before she clasped them together.
Calculation.
She was already weighing her options. Deciding what story would serve her best.
"I... I'm sorry, my Lord." She tilted her head, confusion painted across her beautiful face. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."
Liar.
She'd heard me perfectly.
My jaw clenched. The pressure behind my eyes spiked, threatening to split my skull open.
"I asked—" The words came out too rough. I stopped. Breathed. Tried again. "Did you strike this girl?"
The growl that undercut my voice was pure animal.
Low. Guttural. Promising violence.
Kira's smile faltered. Just for a second.
Kastiel shifted his weight, hand moving closer to his sword. The guards by the door went rigid, eyes darting between us.
Even Thea—sitting frozen on the steps—seemed to shrink further into herself.
Everyone in the room felt it.
The beast pressing against my skin. The fragile thread of control I was clinging to.
One wrong word. One lie. And I won't be able to stop it.
"My Lord." Kira's voice came out careful now. Measured. "I... yes. I did strike her."
At least she wasn't stupid enough to deny it outright.
"Why."
The single word came out flat. Dead.
More dangerous than any shout.
Kira straightened, lifting her chin. That calculated expression shifted—softening into something that looked like regret. Concern, even.
Performance. It's all performance.
"I encountered her in the corridor with Meira," she began, voice taking on a gentle, almost apologetic tone. "The girl was... distressed. Hysterical, even. She was crying, pulling at her gown, saying she couldn't—she wouldn't—" Kira paused, as if the memory pained her. "She kept saying she wouldn't go to you. That she'd rather die than face you again."
My Lycan went still.
What?
"I tried to calm her," Kira continued, taking a small step forward. Her hands spread in a helpless gesture. "Spoke to her gently. But she only became more agitated. More frantic." Her expression turned sorrowful. "I was worried, my Lord. Worried she might hurt herself. Or run. So I... I slapped her. To snap her out of it. To bring her back to herself."
She dropped her gaze, the picture of remorse.
"It was not done out of malice, my Lord. Only concern. I thought—I hoped—it would help ground her. Help her calm enough to come to you without incident." Kira looked up, meeting my eyes. "I apologize if I overstepped. I only wanted to ensure she arrived safely."
Beautiful.
The lie was beautifully constructed. Plausible. Even noble, framed correctly.
Concern for the fragile girl. A sharp correction to prevent something worse. All for my benefit, of course.
Except it's horseshit.
My Lycan snarled in my head. Not buying it for a second.
I could smell the lie on her. Could see it in the way her pulse jumped at her throat. The slight tension in her shoulders.
But more than that—
I looked down at Thea.
She sat perfectly still on the steps, head bowed, hands twisted together in her lap so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her whole body trembled.
Not with hysteria.
With fear.
She's terrified. Not hysterical. Terrified.
And not of me—not right now, at least.
Of what would happen if she contradicted Kira.
My gaze moved back to Kira. She stood there, waiting, that carefully crafted expression of concern still in place.
My fingers drummed once against the armrest of my throne, then turned my attention back to Thea. Let the silence stretch until I could hear her ragged breathing.
"Thea."
She flinched at her name.
"Look at me."
Slowly—so slowly—her head lifted. Those blue eyes met mine, wide and glassy with unshed tears.
"Is what Lady Kira said true?"