Chapter 6 CHAPTER 6
Dmitri's POV
My fingers drummed against the armrest, a slow, methodical rhythm that echoed through the empty throne room.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Two days.
Two days since I had carried her broken body to Meira's chambers. Two days since I had felt that strange, unfamiliar twist in my chest when her pulse flickered beneath my fingers. Two days of sitting here, trying to make sense of it.
Why?
The question would not leave me. I could not shake it loose. Could not think past it.
She should be dead.
They were always dead.
I leaned back, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. Her scent still clung to my skin—lavender and something sweeter underneath. Fear, yes. But something else. Something that made my Lycan go utterly still the moment I laid eyes on her.
That never happened.
My beast was a constant presence. Always demanding. Always hungry. It craved blood, violence, destruction.
But when I looked at her?
Stillness.
No. Not stillness. Anticipation.
Like it had been waiting for her.
Mine.
The thought had crashed through my skull the second Kastiel dragged her into the throne room. Not with the usual possessive hunger, the kind that wanted to rip and tear and consume.
This was different.
Territorial. Protective.
Wrong.
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling hard.
The only other time my Lycan had reacted like that—
My fingers curled into a fist.
Don't.
I shoved the thought down before it could fully form. That was the past. Dead and buried. I did not think about her. Would not think about her.
But this girl…
How in the gods’ names did she survive?
I had felt her body go limp beneath me. Heard her breathing stop. She had been gone.
And yet, hours later, she had gasped back to life like some kind of—
What?
A miracle? A fluke?
Or something else entirely?
My Lycan stirred, restless.
I ignored it.
I stared at the far wall, my mind replaying that moment in the healing chamber. The way her chest had risen. The soft, broken sound she made.
Alive.
Against every law of nature, she was alive.
And I did not know what to do with that.
The massive doors groaned open.
I did not move. Did not look up.
Footsteps echoed across the stone floor—measured, confident. Only one man walked into my throne room without being summoned.
“My Lord.”
Kastiel’s voice cut through the silence.
I still did not look at him.
“You have been sitting there for two days.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My fingers continued their rhythm.
“I am aware.”
“The council is asking questions. The guards are uneasy. You have not attended a single meeting, have not left this room except to…” He paused. “Except to visit the healing wing.”
My jaw tightened.
“Is there a point to this?”
“Yes.” Kastiel stepped closer, stopping at a respectful distance. “Are you well?”
I finally looked at him.
My Beta stood with his hands clasped behind his back, expression carefully neutral. But I could see the concern in his eyes. The confusion.
He had served me for decades. Seen me at my worst—covered in blood, feral, barely human. He had cleaned up the bodies. Buried the women. Never asked questions.
But this? This had him worried.
Good. It should.
Because I had no answer for him.
“I’m fine.”
The lie tasted bitter.
“With all due respect, my Lord, you do not look fine.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”
“You asked me to always speak plainly,” Kastiel said. “So I will. You have been sitting on that throne for forty-eight hours, barely moving, barely speaking. You have not eaten. You have not slept. And you checked on the girl…” He corrected himself. “Thea. Six times in two days.”
Seven. But who’s counting?
“The council needs you,” he continued. “The northern border dispute requires your attention. The trade negotiations with the Ironfang pack are stalling. And Lady Kira has been asking—”
“Let her ask.”
His mouth snapped shut.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, fingers steepled beneath my chin.
“Anything else?”
Kastiel hesitated. Then, quieter: “Is it because she survived?”
The air in the room shifted.
I did not answer.
“My Lord, if I may…” He chose his words with care. “No one has ever survived a night with your Lycan. Not in all the years I have served you. But this girl—wolfless, fragile, no more resilient than a human—she lived. That is unprecedented.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“She is alive,” I said. “That is all that matters.”
“Is it?”
My eyes snapped to his. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I am simply observing that your behavior has changed since she arrived. You brought her here yourself. You threatened Meira. You have checked on her repeatedly.” He paused. “You care whether she lives or dies.”
No.
“I don’t care,” I said coldly. “She is an asset. The white wolf bloodline is valuable. I need her alive for that reason alone.”
Kastiel’s expression did not change, but I saw doubt flicker in his eyes.
He did not believe me.
Good. Neither do I.
“As you say, my Lord.”
I stood. The movement was sharp, sudden.
Kastiel took an instinctive step back.
“I will attend the council meeting tomorrow. Handle the border dispute as you see fit. And tell Kira I will see her when I am ready.”
“And the girl?”
I stopped mid-step.
Thea. Her name is Thea.
Except it wasn’t, was it?
Something about her did not sit right. Hadn’t from the moment I first laid eyes on her. That flicker of wrong I could not name.
“What about her?”
“What would you like done with her? Once she is healed?”
My Lycan stirred—a low pulse of pure instinct reverberating through my bones.
I gritted my teeth.
“Nothing. She stays in the healing wing until Meira clears her.”
“And after that?”
After that?
I had no answer.
I should send her away. Give her a room in the servants’ quarters. Forget she existed.
But the thought of her being anywhere I could not reach made something dark and possessive coil in my chest.
No.
“I will decide when the time comes. Dismissed.”
Kastiel bowed and left.
The doors closed with a heavy thud.
Silence settled once more.
I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, trying to ignore the pull.
My Lycan pressed against my mind. Not words—never words. Just raw, primal need crashing through my skull like a battering ram.
Go. Now. Her.
It was not thought. It was instinct—pure and violent and impossible to reason with.
I gritted my teeth, fighting it back.
This was not normal. My beast craved blood. The thrill of the hunt, the snap of bones, the taste of fear. That was what fed it. That was what it was.
But this?
This clawing, relentless urge to go to her? To make sure she was—what? Safe? Breathing?
Weak.
I was being weak.
The pressure built behind my eyes, a dull throb that promised to split into something worse if I did not give in. My Lycan pushed harder, scraping against the inside of my skull.
Her. Need. Now.
My hands trembled. I forced them flat against my thighs.
“No.”
The beast snarled in response, fury radiating through my bones.
I took a step toward the door.
Then stopped.
What in the goddess’ names am I doing?
She was nothing. A girl. A means to an end. I had bought her, used her, and she survived. That was it. That was all it was.
So why could I not stop thinking about the way her pulse felt beneath my fingers? Thready. Weak. But there.
Why did the memory of her broken body make something twist in my chest?
I dragged a hand through my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
Get control. You do not do this. You do not—
The throne room doors creaked open.
I spun, a snarl forming in my throat.
Meira stood in the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her expression was calm, but she lingered at the threshold.
Smart woman.
“My Lord,” she said. “Forgive the intrusion.”
“Speak.” The word came out harsher than intended.
She did not flinch. “The girl has awakened.”
Everything stopped.
The pressure vanished. My Lycan went still—not calm, but focused, like a predator sensing movement.
Awake.
“When?” I asked, voice level.
“Just now. She is stable, though still weak. I thought you would want to know.”
Thought I would want to know.
Of course she did. I had been haunting the healing wing like a specter.
“Her condition?”
“Physically? Better than expected. Her wounds are healing quickly—faster than they should. But mentally, she is fragile, my Lord. Traumatized. I would advise—”
“I did not ask for your counsel.”
She fell silent.
I crossed the distance between us in three strides, stopping just short of looming over her.
“Is she in pain?”
“Some discomfort, yes, but nothing she cannot manage—”
“Is. She. In. Pain?”
Meira swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”
Something dark coiled in my gut.
Good. She should hurt. They all hurt.
But another part—one I did not recognize—recoiled.
I turned away.
“Give her whatever she needs. Keep her comfortable.”
“Of course.”
She shifted as if to leave, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Can she walk?”
Meira paused. “Not yet. Perhaps in a few days, with assistance.”
I nodded once.
A few days.
That should have meant nothing.
So why did it feel like too long?
“Anything else?”
Yes. Tell me why she is alive. Tell me why I cannot stop thinking about her. Tell me why my Lycan is acting like she is—
“No. You are dismissed.”
She bowed and retreated.
The door clicked shut.
Alone again, I stood there with clenched fists, claws breaking skin.
Awake.
The word echoed through my skull.
My Lycan surged, a wave of instinctive need that nearly drove me to my knees.
Go. See her. Now.
“No.”
Protect. Mine.
“She is not—”
But I could not finish the sentence.
Because I was already moving.