Alpha's STOLEN Mate Chapter 137

Kaius

I stepped into Morgath's chamber, letting the door close softly behind me. The crystal chime echoed through the room—a sound I'd learned to associate with captivity, with magic that coiled around my mind like chains.

Except those chains were loosening. Had been loosening for days now.

I bowed low, keeping my voice subservient, empty of thought. "My lady. I've returned."

Morgath stood with her back to me, her mask removed. Her fingers traced over her own face in slow, methodical circles—some kind of ritual, perhaps, or simply vanity. The moment she sensed my presence, her spine stiffened.

"Kaius!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Stop right there!"

I froze mid-step, playing the obedient beast. Every muscle in my Lycan form went still.

She grabbed her mask, practically fumbling it back onto her face before whirling around. Even through the silver surface, I could feel her glare burning into me.

"Fool!" she hissed. "I merely loosened some of your restraints—let your Lycan nature breathe a little, so that precious white wolf of mine could see the real you. Ha! But I didn't expect your true nature to be quite so... *problematic*. You nearly killed my white wolf, you idiot!"

I dropped my gaze immediately, letting my shoulders hunch. "Forgive me, my lady. I wouldn't dare. It's just... you understand, don't you? The Lycan instinct is to kill. To dominate. I cannot—will not—allow any other wolf to stand above me."

The words came easily. They were even partially true, which made the lie more convincing.

She turned slowly, her masked face tilting with interest. "Oh? Is that so?"

I nodded, then let something raw slip into my voice—something hungry and desperate that I didn't have to fake. "I merely wanted to seize what little time I have with my own thoughts still intact... to do something that brings me genuine pleasure."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "How delicious."

She glided toward me with predatory grace, each step deliberate. When she reached me, her hands rose to explore—trailing over the hard planes of my chest, tracing the ridges of muscle across my shoulders, sliding down the length of my arms. Her touch was possessive, claiming, as if I were a sculpture she'd created.

"Time?" she purred, her fingers dancing lower, grazing over my abdomen. "Oh, don't worry, my beautiful beast. I'll give you more time. I adore this dangerous edge you've developed. Aside from the white wolf, you're the most thrilling creature I've encountered in decades."

Her hand pressed against the center of my chest, feeling my heartbeat.

"A Lycan," she breathed. "How magnificent. A beast that can speak, that can walk upright like a man. Not just a pet—you can be my companion, my entertainment. You're far more interesting than your father ever was."

My father.

Something inside me went cold and sharp. I felt the flicker of emotion try to cross my face—rage, grief, a thousand questions—but I crushed it down instantly. I forced my features into the blank, bestial expression I'd been maintaining.

Just a beast. Just her weapon. Nothing more.

But she'd noticed something. I saw the slight pause in her movements.

She continued her exploration, her hands roaming with increasing boldness, touching places that made my skin crawl. All the while, she kept talking, her voice taking on a bitter edge.

"I've always heard that black Lycans were the truly fearsome ones," she mused, her fingers tracing patterns across my ribs. "Your father's golden coloring... it was beautiful, yes, but ultimately useless. Just like him. A pretty, worthless fool. He's been that way since decades ago—arrogant, self-righteous, completely idiotic."

Each word about my father was a knife, but I kept my face empty. Blank. Beast-like.

The truth was, the magic she'd used to enslave me had been weakening for days. My Alpha King bloodline carried resistance to magic in the blood itself—ancient protection built into my very DNA. It had taken time, but I'd slowly clawed back pieces of my mind, fragments of my will.

I was aware now. Conscious. In control.

But I couldn't let her know. Not yet.

Not until I found the crystal. Not until I understood her weaknesses. Not until I could protect Elowen from whatever retaliation would come.

Even if it meant hurting her first. Even if it meant making her hate me.

Morgath was still ranting about my father, her emotions clearly spiraling. Whatever history existed between them, it was raw and unhealed. A wound she couldn't stop picking at.

This was an opportunity. A crack in her armor.

I needed to dig deeper, make her lose control, find information I could use. My mind raced, calculating the risk.

"Indeed," I said, injecting a note of contempt into my voice. "He wasn't just a fool. He was a preening king who loved the sound of his own voice. Every time he got drunk, every time he held court with his bottles of wine... he'd bring up things from decades past. Bragging. Laughing."

It was a complete lie. My father had been many things, but he never spoke of the distant past when he drank. He'd been too busy drowning in recent failures, recent losses.

But Morgath didn't know that.

She went rigid. "What?"

I pressed forward, keeping my tone casual, even slightly sympathetic. "Every time he drank himself stupid, my lady. Those old stories were his favorite entertainment."

Her hands stopped moving. "Fuck. He made jokes about it? Turned it into... laughing material?"

Hook, line, and sinker.

I arranged my features into something like righteous indignation on her behalf. "My lady, for decades—every drunken night—he was exactly that kind of fool. Why should you care about his mockery now? I only regret that I didn't have the chance to kill him myself when I could."

Her whole body went taut. "Fuck! You're saying... for decades? Every time he drank? Every goddamn time?"

I had no idea what nerve I'd struck, but it was clearly the right one. She was unraveling.

"Fuck!" she spat again.

I moved closer, letting my clawed hands settle on her waist, pulling her against my Lycan form. My voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble.

"He'll be your pet eventually, my lady. Why waste your fury on him now? I'll capture him myself. I'll drag him here and lay him at your feet, so he can pay for every decade of his mistakes."

She leaned into me, trembling with emotion—anger, hurt, something uglier underneath. She was so focused on her rage, so consumed by whatever memory I'd accidentally triggered, that she didn't notice the danger.

I could kill her right now. One twist of my hands, and her neck would snap like a dry branch. Morgath would be dead, and this nightmare would end.

But then what?

My cover would be blown. The gemstone would remain hidden. I didn't know how many followers she had, how many creatures sworn to her service. I'd seen glimpses of her power—the way she manipulated reality itself, bent space and time to her will.

If I acted too soon, if I revealed myself before I was ready...

Elowen would pay the price.

So I held Morgath gently, when every instinct screamed to rip her apart.

She pulled back slightly, and even through the mask, I could sense something twisting in her expression. Her voice went cold and sharp.

"What did he say? Tell me exactly what that fool said. Word for word."

My mind went blank.

Fuck.