Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 29

Isolde's POV

 

 

*Two days,* I thought, shifting position on the narrow cot to ease the ache in my back. *Two days since they'd dragged me down here for refusing to degrade myself for their entertainment.*

 

*We're going to die in here,* Lyra whimpered in my mind, her usual defiance replaced by exhaustion and despair.

 

*No, we're not,* I replied, though I wasn't sure I believed it anymore. *Someone will notice we're missing eventually.*

 

I'd spent hours replaying the events that led me here, wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. But every time I considered what Evanthe had demanded of me, what they'd wanted me to do while they watched, my answer remained the same.

 

*I'd rather die in this cell than become their entertainment.*

 

The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside made me sit up, hope and terror warring in my chest. But then, cutting through the stale air of the dungeon, came a scent that made Lyra suddenly surge to alertness in my mind.

 

*That smell,* she whispered, her exhaustion instantly replaced by electric excitement. *Do you smell that?*

 

I inhaled carefully, and beneath the musty odor of stone and dampness, there was something else. Something rich and masculine that made my pulse quicken involuntarily.

 

*What is it?* I asked, confused by her sudden animation.

 

*Alpha,* she breathed, practically vibrating with anticipation. *And something else... something that makes my skin want to crawl right off my bones.*

 

Before I could process what she meant, keys rattled in the lock. I pulled myself to my feet despite the weakness in my legs. Whatever was coming, I'd face it standing.

 

The door swung open, and Greta stepped inside, her expression as cold and professional as always. But behind her, filling the doorway with his presence, was the last person I'd expected to see.

 

Ezra Silverwood. The Lycan King himself, in his perfectly tailored suit, looking completely out of place in the stone-walled dungeon.

 

*Oh fuck,* Lyra gasped in my mind. *It's him. It's really him.*

 

My heart stopped, then began racing so fast I could hear it pounding in my ears. The air in the cell suddenly felt thick and electric.

 

*Why is he here?*

 

"Miss Blackwood," Greta said with obvious disapproval, "you have a visitor."

 

I stared at Ezra, trying to process his presence while fighting the strange reactions his proximity always triggered in my body. Even in my weakened state, even after two days of punishment, just looking at him made heat coil low in my stomach.

 

"Release her," Ezra commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority.

 

Greta blinked, clearly taken aback. "Alpha, with respect, Miss Blackwood is serving a disciplinary sentence for insubordination and refusal to comply with Alliance requirements. Standard protocol requires a minimum of three days—"

 

"She's been punished enough," Ezra cut her off, his eyes never leaving mine. "Release her. Now."

 

"But sir, if we don't maintain discipline—"

 

"Are you questioning my judgment?" The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as Ezra's voice took on a dangerous edge.

 

Greta's face went pale. "Of course not, Alpha. I'll..."

 

"You'll leave," Ezra said flatly. "Now."

 

Greta hesitated for a moment, then nodded quickly and retreated, leaving Ezra and me alone in the confines of my cell.

 

The moment the door closed behind her, the strange reaction I always had to his presence intensified dramatically. My breathing became shallow and rapid, heat spreading through my body like wildfire. My face flushed, and I felt that familiar, embarrassing wetness between my thighs that seemed to appear whenever he was near.

 

*What the hell is wrong with me?*

 

I pressed my back against the stone wall, trying to put as much distance between us as possible while fighting the inexplicable arousal that was making it difficult to think clearly.

 

"You look like hell," Ezra observed. The way he was looking at me—intense, predatory, completely focused—was making the heat in my body worse.

 

"How long have you been down here?"

 

"Two days," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to hide my body's reaction to him. "Not that anyone seems to care."

 

Something dangerous flickered in his golden eyes. "Who authorized this?"

 

"Greta, I assume. After I refused to..." I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The memory of what they'd demanded of me was too humiliating to voice.

 

"Refused to what?" His voice had gone very quiet, which somehow made it more menacing than if he'd shouted.

 

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze while my body continued its inexplicable rebellion. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

 

*This is insane,* I thought desperately. *Why does this happen every time I see him?*

 

I wanted to ask him directly, to demand an explanation for the way my body responded to his presence like I was some kind of animal in heat. But the words stuck in my throat, embarrassment and confusion silencing me.

 

"Can you walk?" he asked, his tone becoming more businesslike.

 

"Of course I can walk," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure it was true. My legs felt shaky, whether from hunger or from whatever effect he was having on me.

 

"Good. Get cleaned up. Report to Nyssa tomorrow morning for regular training."

 

*Regular training?* "That's it?" I asked, confusion overriding my embarrassment. "You're just... letting me go?"

 

"Would you prefer to stay here?"

 

"No. " I struggled to understand what was happening.

 

*But... why are you here? Why do you care what happens to me?*

 

*Just ask him,* Lyra urged excitedly. *Ask him about the way we react to each other.*

 

*I can't just ask a Lycan King like that!*

 

*Has it occurred to you,* Lyra interrupted, her voice taking on a tone of barely contained excitement, *that there might be a very specific reason why the Alpha King himself came down to this dungeon to rescue us personally?*

 

*What do you mean?*

 

*Think about it. The way our body reacts to him. The way he seems to know when we're in trouble. The way he looks at us like he wants to devour us whole.* Lyra's voice was getting more animated with each word. *What if... what if Ezra is our mate?*

 

The suggestion hit me like a physical blow. *That's impossible.*

 

He left without another word, leaving me alone in the cell with the lingering scent of his cologne and a hundred unanswered questions.

 

As I gathered what little strength I had to leave this place, one thought kept circling through my mind:

 

*What if Lyra was right about the mate bond?*