Chapter 17 The Scar
DAHLIA
Libby had said he wanted to see the garden, and Liam had insisted he wanted to see the king’s chamber. ” I hadn’t been able to say no to their eager faces, not when they were finally smiling again.
So I brought them out.
The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of roses and old stone.
The castle gardens stretched endlessly, flowers blooming in colors too rich; it felt like I was finally at peace, sunlight scattering across fountains gave it a beautiful appearance. I watched as they darted ahead. Liam, always fearless, his little legs pumping as he ran toward the marble statues, and Lily close behind, laughing as she tried to keep up.
“Daddy is so huge,” Liam said suddenly, his voice carrying across the path.
I froze.
“And I like it,” Lily chimed in, twirling in her pale blue dress.
My heart ached. They were so full of life, so unguarded.
“Mommy,” Liam called, running back to me. “Does this mean Daddy owns all these gardens and this big beautiful house?”
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Yes, sweetheart,” I said softly. “He does.”
Their faces lit up with wonder, and I felt the lie settle in my chest like a stone. I didn’t know if I should feel happy or sick. I’d lied to them again. Lied that he was their father Lied that this place, this dangerous kingdom, was a home.
One year from now, we’d be gone. That was the plan. But I couldn’t stop wondering what new lie I would have to tell when we left. What would I say when they asked why their “father” never came for them again?
The thought twisted something deep inside me.
I sat on the stone bench near the fountain, watching them chase each other between the rose bushes. Libby had stopped to pick a white blossom, cradling it in her small hand like it was made of starlight.
“Mommy, look!” she said proudly.
“It’s beautiful, baby,” I murmured.
And then a voice behind me.
“Lady Dahlia.”
I turned to see the Gamma, standing rigid in his uniform. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes softened a little when they landed on my children. “The King requests your presence.”
The air around me shifted. My heart began to thud painfully against my ribs.
“Now?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, my lady.”
I glanced at the pups, my stomach tightening. “Please make sure they’re safe,” I said, my voice barely steady. “They’re all I have.”
He nodded once, more solemnly this time. “You have my word.”
That should have comforted me, but as I walked through the long corridors of the palace, my steps echoing against marble and silence, dread settled in my chest like lead.
I could feel him before I saw him. His presence was heavy, magnetic. The kind that drew you closer even when every instinct screamed to run.
When I entered his chambers, he was already there.
Dagnoth Draculis, the Lycan King.
He stood by the tall window, shirtless, the moonlight washing over the carved lines of his back. The air around him seemed to pulse, the temperature shifting with the weight of his aura.
He didn’t turn immediately.
For a moment, I just stood there, unsure if I should speak first or wait.
Then his voice came, It was low, sharp, and edged with irritation. “You’re late.”
“You had left your quarters without informing anyone,” he added.
“I…” My throat felt dry. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize... ”
“Didn’t realize?” He turned then, and the full force of his gaze hit me. His eyes, goddess, his eyes were cold, molten gold, like the sun before it burns everything to ash. “You make me wait, Dahlia?”
His tone wasn’t loud, but it struck harder than a shout.
I dropped my gaze immediately. “Forgive me, my King,” I said quickly. “It won’t happen again.”
He moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate. I could feel the heat radiating off him. “You were told to come when summoned. Not when you please.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Yes, my King.”
“Then show respect,” he growled softly. “Remove your clothes.”
My heart lurched. The air seemed to vanish from the room.
“What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
He stepped closer still, until his breath brushed against my skin. “You heard me.”
For a moment, I thought he wanted to humiliate me—to remind me of my place, to prove the gulf between king and subject. But there was something else in his eyes. It wasn’t lust; it wasn’t cruelty. Something sharper. Something that looked almost like… curiosity.
My hands trembled as I undid the ties of my gown. I didn’t know why I obeyed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the strange pull between us that made my wolf restless beneath my skin.
The silk slipped from my shoulders, falling soundlessly to the floor.
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t even move closer. His eyes scanned me like he was searching for something, something he couldn’t quite name.
And then he saw it.
His eyes settled on my stomach; his eyes were on the scar.
It was faint now, silver and thin, running across my lower abdomen, a mark I’d tried to forget. But under the moonlight, it gleamed like a hidden secret.
His entire expression changed. The anger vanished in an instant, replaced by something I’d never seen on his face before; it looked like shock or recognition, I wasn’t sure.
He froze. His eyes flickered gold for a heartbeat, his wolf rising close to the surface.
“What… is that?” he asked quietly.
I pulled the gown tighter around me, my pulse racing. “A scar,” I said quickly. “Nothing more.”
But he didn’t move, he didn’t blink, and he stood at the same point. His breathing deepened, his gaze locked on the mark as if it was the answer to every question he’d been asking.
The silence stretched; it was long and unbearable. My wolf, Sylvia, stirred inside me, her voice trembling. He knows, Dahlia.
Knows what? I whispered back.
That mark… It’s not just a scar. It’s a mark, one of the things that didn’t change. It’s proof of who you are. Of what happened that night five years ago.
My chest tightened. No. He can’t know that. He can’t.
But when his eyes lifted to mine, I saw it. That flicker of realization. That faint crack in his iron mask.
I wanted to talk, but it was better for him to go first.
He took a slow step toward me, and his voice came out rough and lower than before. “Where did you get that mark?”
My mouth went dry. Every instinct screamed to lie, but my voice betrayed me. “I don’t remember,” I whispered.
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the hard line of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils. His wolf stirred again, golden light pulsing faintly beneath his pupil.
For a moment, I thought he’d reach for me, that he’d demand the truth. But instead, he turned away sharply, his shoulders rigid, his fists clenched.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice tight. “We’re done for tonight.”
And then he was gone, striding out of the chamber before I could even breathe again.
I stood there trembling, clutching my gown to my chest, my heart pounding like thunder.
The scar burned faintly under my palm, like it remembered his touch even though he hadn’t laid a hand on me.
Something was changing.
He knew something.
And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what came next.