Chapter 16 Teeth and Truths
16\. Teeth and Truths
The library still smelled like dust, iron, and one very poorly timed making out.
Ehem! I almost choked on myself, remembering what I just did.
I swear, my lips were still tingling. My brain was still screaming at me like a gossiping best friend: Girl, you just make out in the public place with the Tyrant Alpha! Do you want a death wish?
But there was no time to replay the scene on repeat like some tragic Netflix special, because Lucian had swept out of the library with his cloak snapping behind him, all fury and command, and naturally, like the disaster-prone idiot I am, I followed.
Dravenmoor was buzzing like a hornet’s nest as we stalked into the war council hall. Guards scrambled, scouts poured in mud-stained from the borders, and a dozen advisors bickered so loudly I wanted to start throwing dictionaries at them.
“Silvermoon spies,” one barked.
“Traitors inside the walls,” another hissed.
“Assassins—”
That one got cut off by Lucian’s snarl. Just one sound, and the whole room froze like the pause button had been hit. His silver eyes scanned the council, and in that moment he was no man—he was a storm. A force. The kind of presence that made even stone want to bow.
The council chamber of Dravenmoor was designed for intimidation, and boy did it overachieve.
Vaulted ceilings arched like ribs overhead, banners of black and silver snapped from hooks, and the long obsidian table gleamed like it had been polished with the tears of Lucian’s enemies. Twelve councilors sat in their appointed seats, all staring at me like I was the human equivalent of a cockroach someone had accidentally invited to dinner.
Correction: thirteen stares. Lucian’s silver gaze was fixed firmly on me, the weight of it heavier than the wolf-headed throne he lounged in.
I tugged at the hem of my borrowed tunic. “So, remind me again why I’m here? Because unless this council needs a crash course in sarcasm, I feel wildly underqualified.”
Nobody laughed. Not even a snort. Tough crowd.
The councilors shifted like nervous hens. One of them, an older wolf with a beard that could double as a nesting site, sneered. “She has no place in these halls, Alpha. She is a weakness. Humans always are.”
Lucian’s voice sliced the air: “Careful.”
That single word carried so much quiet violence the beard-wolf actually paled.
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
The doors to the chamber slammed open, wood splintering, and a wave of shadows spilled in. Not ordinary shadows—these moved with intent. Figures cloaked in grey, masks hiding their faces, blades catching the torchlight.
Assassins.
“Down!” Lucian barked. His command vibrated through the chamber, wolf magic lacing every syllable. The councilors ducked. I did one better: I dove under the obsidian table like it was base camp in a particularly violent game of tag.
The clash of steel and claws erupted above me. Wolves shifted mid-strike, tearing into assassins. Snarls shook the walls. Someone screamed. A body hit the table, rattling it hard enough to clonk my skull.
“Fantastic decision,” I whispered to myself, crouched between Lucian’s boots. “Dragging myself into a murder party instead of staying in a safe space, very good Keira.”
F-ck! I hate myself.
A hand yanked me out before I could think. Lucian’s hand. His claws glinted, his body already half-shifted. His eyes weren’t silver now—they burned like molten mercury.
“Stay behind me.”
“Y-Yeah,” I muttered, stumbling as he shoved me back.
The assassins moved fast, faster than wolves had any right to, darting like smoke. Two lunged at Lucian simultaneously. His claws ripped one throat open in a spray of crimson. The other—he didn’t even strike. He just turned, snarled, and the air itself crushed the man’s chest with an audible crack.
The chamber descended into chaos. Blood spattered banners, claws raked across stone, torches guttered.
And then—something changed.
Lucian stopped fighting like a man. He fought like something else.
He tore through them with feral precision, too fast, too brutal. His snarls deepened into roars that shook my bones. One assassin begged for mercy, dropping his blade. Lucian didn’t hesitate. He ripped the man’s arm clean off, teeth snapping through bone.
“Holy—” I slapped a hand over my mouth before the rest spilled out.
The assassins tried to retreat, but Lucian pursued like a storm unchained. He grabbed one by the skull and slammed it against the wall until there was nothing left to slam. Another he gutted, entrails spilling across the polished floor.
I wanted to look away. I couldn’t.
This wasn’t the careful, controlled Alpha I sparred with verbally every morning. This was the Tyrant. The curse. The madness he’d warned me about.
And it was terrifying.
When the last assassin fell twitching at his feet, silence swallowed the chamber. My ears rang with it. Smoke from fallen torches curled in the air. The councilors cowered behind their chairs, eyes wide with horror.
Lucian stood at the center of it all, drenched in blood. His claws dripped red, his chest heaved, and his face—God, his face—wasn’t even his anymore. His teeth were bared, elongated, his gaze wild and feral.
Then his eyes landed on me.
Every instinct in my body screamed run. My knees locked instead.
For a split second, I was certain he didn’t recognize me. That he’d tear into me the way he had everyone else. That I’d end up another smear on Dravenmoor stone.
“Lucian,” I croaked, voice shaking. “It’s me. K-Keira.”
Lucian stood at the center of it all, chest heaving, claws dripping. His tunic was shredded, his hair wild, his scar glowing faintly in the dim light.
And the look on his face—
It wasn’t victory.
It was horror.
He stared at his hands like they weren’t his. Like they belonged to some monster he couldn’t chain. Slowly, he sank to one knee, shoulders trembling.
I crept out from under the table, my shoes sticking to the blood-slick floor. Every sane part of me screamed: Back away, you idiot! This is the Tyrant. He kills without blinking.
But some suicidal part of me—the part that cracked jokes in the face of death—moved closer.
“You, uh…” I swallowed. “You missed a spot.”
His head jerked up, silver eyes blazing. For a heartbeat I thought he’d snap—tear me apart just to silence my stupid mouth. But then something strange happened. His lips twitched. Not into a smile, exactly. More like a grimace that forgot where it was going.
“You should not be here,” he rasped.
“Yeah, well, assassins don’t exactly knock politely. I didn’t get the memo.”
Silence stretched. Then he whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear:
“I hate this.”
I blinked. “The décor? Yeah, it’s very ‘murder chic.’ Really could use some flowers.”
His claws curled against the stone. “I hate what I am.”
That shut me up. Because his voice—his voice wasn’t the tyrant’s. He wasn't a villain. It wasn’t the Alpha’s. It was a man breaking in half.
He dragged his bloodied hands through his hair, leaving streaks of red like war paint. “Every time they strike, I answer with death. Every time I try to hold back, the mark burns. And when it takes me…” His shoulders shook. “I do not know where Lucian ends, and the Tyrant begins.”
I should’ve been terrified. And I was. But underneath the terror was this ache, sharp and undeniable.
“Hey.” My voice was softer than I meant. “For what it’s worth, I still know who you are.”
His eyes snapped to me, wild, desperate. “And who is that?”
I swallowed, heart hammering. “A pain in my ass who claimed me. But also… the man who pulled me out from under a table instead of letting me die.”
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. The shadows curled tighter around him, but his gaze… his gaze stayed locked on mine, like I was the only thing keeping him tethered.
He stepped closer. I should’ve backed away. I didn’t. His hand rose, hovering near my cheek again, shaking faintly.
“You do not understand,” he said hoarsely. “When I lose control—when the Tyrant takes me—I could end you as easily as them.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “But you didn’t.”
The silence between us was electric. His chest rose and fell raggedly, his breath brushing my face. My heart tried to punch its way out of my ribs.
“Keira,” he breathed, like my name was a prayer.
And then—so close, so impossibly close—his lips brushed mine. Not brutal, not commanding. Barely there. A question, not an answer.
And just as I leaned in—
The doors slammed open again.
“Alpha!” a soldier shouted, blood running down his own face. “The Silvermoon pack—they’ve breached the border!”
Lucian’s hand dropped. His jaw clenched. The Tyrant slid back into place like a mask snapping on.
“Seal the gates,” he barked. “Burn their trails. No one leaves Dravenmoor alive.”
And then he was gone, stalking into the blood-stained night, leaving me in the wreckage of the council hall, lips tingling from a kiss that wasn’t quite real.
And I had the sinking feeling that whatever this was between us—it was about to ruin us both.