The rain is merciless tonight. It lashes against my skin as though it wants to peel me open and see what I'm made of. My bare feet slip in the mud, roots catching my ankles, stones cutting into my soles. Still, the rogues drag me forward, their claws hooked into my arms, refusing to let me falter even for a second.
I turned eighteen today. I should be celebrating with cake, maybe with the awkward congratulations of a betrothed fiancé who doesn't want me, but duty forces him into it anyway. Instead, I am a captive. The rogues crashed into my home hours ago, tearing it apart like it was nothing but kindling. My mother's scream still echoes in my ears, cut off too quickly. I don't know if she's alive. I don't know if anyone is.
One of the guards growls in my ear, his voice thick with cruelty. "You'll learn not to cross the wrong king." His grip tightens, bruising my arm.
"When Lycan Grey is done with you, you'll regret ever standing against us," the other adds, his spit warm against my cheek as he shoves me forward.
Lycan Grey. The name sends a chill through me that even the storm can't match. I've heard of him in whispers. A rogue king, ruthless, untouchable. The kind of name used to frighten children into obedience. But the way they say his name—like it's already decided what he'll do to me—makes my stomach twist in terror.
I force myself to glance back once, just once, through the shattered remains of my home. And I see him. My stepfather. Standing in the wreckage. Not fighting. Not begging. Watching. And smiling.
A smirk.
My knees nearly buckle. He wanted this. He let them take me.
By the time we reach the clearing, I am numb. Torches burn in a circle, their flames hissing in the rain. Shadows of wolves and men stretch across the mud, twisted and sharp.
And there he is.
Lycan Grey.
He stands taller than any man I've ever seen, his body built like he was carved for war. His dark hair clings wet against his forehead, his jaw sharp, his mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smile. But it's his eyes that catch me. Silver. Bright as molten metal, unblinking and heavy. They lock on me, and I feel pinned, as if my body is already his to command.
The guards shove me to my knees before him. Mud soaks through my torn dress, cold against my skin. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, refusing to bow my head.
"This is the girl," one of them snarls. "The stepdaughter of the traitor king."
Grey circles me slowly. His presence fills the clearing, pressing against my lungs until I can barely breathe. He crouches before me, and when his hand lifts my chin, I flinch but don't pull away. His touch is warm, steady, almost gentle, but the strength behind it is impossible to ignore.
"So this is the one promised to Xander," he says. His voice is deep, steady, carrying easily over the storm. "The bride-to-be of the Alpha's son. A girl bound by duty."
My mouth is dry, but I force the words out. "I'm not just some pawn to be traded."
Grey's smile deepens, sharp and unsettling. He leans closer, so close I feel his breath against my cheek. His face is almost too beautiful to be real, a perfection that feels dangerous. "Not a pawn? Then tell me, little wolf, what are you? A daughter of a man who sold you off? A bride to an Alpha who doesn't want you? Or something else entirely?"
My pulse hammers in my throat. "What do you mean?"
His thumb brushes my jaw, slow, deliberate. "You don't know. Interesting."
The way he says it makes my stomach clench. Like he's toying with me. Like there's something he knows about me that I don't.
"You think you were taken for revenge? That this is about kingdoms and alliances?" Grey's voice lowers to a whisper, so close I almost imagine it's meant for my soul alone. "No. You were taken because of your blood. Because you carry what others would kill for. And because I…" He pauses, his eyes glowing brighter, hotter. "…will not let another man claim what was fated for me."
The word fated punches through me. My chest burns, my skin prickles, and something stirs deep in my bones. I don't understand it, but I feel it. A pull. A bond.
I jerk back, shaking my head. "No. You're lying. My life—my marriage—it was arranged. I'm meant for Xander."
At the mention of his name, Grey's smile twists, cruel and amused. "Xander is thirty years old, little wolf. Cold. Calculating. He accepted you because his father demanded it, not because his heart wanted you. Do you even know him? Do you know what he hides?"
My throat tightens. I do know him, at least a little. Enough to see he never wanted this. Enough to feel the emptiness every time we stood together at ceremonies, silent and strained, like strangers forced to play lovers. And yet hearing Grey say it aloud stings like fresh salt on an open wound.
Grey's eyes soften, just for a heartbeat. Almost too quick to catch. "I will not let him have you. Not when you were always meant for me."
The words leave me reeling. My mind races, trying to make sense of it. My stepfather's smirk. My mother's secrets. Grey's conviction. None of it fits, and yet deep inside, beneath the fear, there's a part of me that responds to him, a part of me that burns with a terrifying hunger.
The storm crashes louder, lightning splitting the sky. Around us, the rogues shift uneasily, their growls rumbling like thunder. Grey stands, his gaze never leaving mine.
"You will come with me," he says, not as a question, but as a promise carved in stone.
My heart pounds, every instinct screaming at me to run, yet my body betrays me, rooted to the spot. The bond pulses between us, undeniable, terrifying.
I don't want this. I shouldn't want this. But as Lycan Grey turns, his hand closing around my arm to pull me to my feet, all I can think is that the Moon Goddess made a mistake.
Or maybe she didn't.