Bound to the Lycan Throne

Chapter 3 (Kael)

Another day, another territorial dispute that could’ve been solved with a single phone call instead of three dead wolves and a formal hearing.

I signed the last report and pushed it across my desk.

Being the heir to the Lycan throne meant endless paperwork and even more politics. My father used to say the real battles weren’t fought with claws, they were fought in boardrooms and treaty negotiations.

He wasn’t wrong. I just hated that he was right.

Something was wrong.

I’d felt it all morning, a pull, an ache, something calling to me that I couldn’t name. It sat beneath my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch, a restlessness that made my wolf pace inside me. Perhaps it was this cold city. We were just passing through after reports of rogue Lycan sightings came in.

“You’re distracted.” Mason’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I glanced at him across my table. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He scoffed and threw a nearby knife at me. I barely blocked in time. “What’s going on?”

“Kael.” My junior sister Sage appeared in my doorway, and something in her voice made me look up. “We need to talk.”

“There’s a girl,” she said, slowly. “On the MoonRiver territory. Kael, her scent—”

I looked up from the reports scattered across my desk. “What about it?”

“She’s Lycan. Unturned. And she has no idea what she is.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I saw her with my own eyes. Purple eyes, pale skin, stronger than any human should be. And yesterday, Darius and his pack threw her to the ground like she was nothing.” Sage’s hands clenched into fists. “I wanted to rip them apart.”

So did I. And I hadn’t even met her yet.

Mason straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Purple eyes? You think she’s—”

“Vermillion,” I finished. “Has to be. But the entire family was slaughtered.”

“Maybe not the entire family,” Sage said quietly.

The implications settled over us like a weight. If she was Vermillion, if she’d somehow survived the Oceania m******e, then she wasn’t just any Lycan. She was royalty. And Malachai, the bastard who’d seized the throne, would want her dead if he knew she existed.

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“Works at a coffee shop downtown. Scones and Bella.” Sage pulled out her phone, showing me the address. “Kael, if she’s your mate—”

“I’m going.” I was already grabbing my jacket.

Mason pushed off the wall. “Want company?”

“No.” The word came out harsher than I intended. My wolf didn’t want anyone else near her, not until I’d seen her for myself, confirmed what my instincts were screaming. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Sage’s knowing smile followed me out the door.

The coffee shop was small, tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner. The sign above the door read “Scones and Bella” in cheerful yellow letters. Human. Ordinary. The kind of place I’d normally walk past without a second glance.

But everything in me was screaming to go inside.

The pull I’d felt all morning had intensified the moment I’d gotten within a block of this place. My wolf was pacing, restless, demanding. I pushed open the door, and a bell chimed above my head.

The scent hit me first.

Not coffee or pastries, though those were there too. No—something else. Something that made my wolf still for the first time all day. Wildflowers and winter rain and something ancient, something that called to every Lycan instinct I had.

Mate.

And then I saw her.

She stood behind the counter, head bent over a notebook, platinum blonde hair falling across her face. Pale skin, almost luminous in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. She was muttering to herself, fingers tracing lines of text I couldn’t see from here.

Beautiful. The word didn’t do her justice.

She looked up.

Purple eyes. Vivid, striking, impossible to look away from. Sage had mentioned them, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality. They were the color of twilight, of royalty, of the Vermillion bloodline.

And they were looking directly at me.

The mate bond snapped into place like a physical blow. My wolf surged forward, demanding I go to her, claim her, make her understand she was MINE.

I forced myself to stay still. Breathe. Think.

She was watching me with a curious expression, probably wondering why I was standing in the doorway like an i***t.

I made myself walk forward. Every step felt like fighting a current.

“Welcome to Scones and Bella,” she said, and her voice—Christ, her voice was soft and warm and I wanted to hear her say my name. “How can I help you?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

What was wrong with me? I’d negotiated treaties with hostile packs, stood before councils of Lycan elders, faced down rogues twice my size. And I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in front of a girl who didn’t even know what she was.

My mate.

“Coffee,” I managed. “Just… coffee.”

Smooth, Kael. Real smooth.

She smiled, and something in my chest tightened. “What kind?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

She tilted her head, studying me. I wondered what she saw. Could she feel it too, this pull between us? Or was it just me, drowning in her scent, in the need to touch her?

“Long day?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

She turned to the coffee machine, and that’s when I saw them. Bandages on her hands. A bruise peeking out from under her sleeve. The faint scent of blood, still fresh and dizzying.

Rage, white-hot and immediate, flooded through me.

Darius. Sage had said Darius did this. The Alpha’s son from MoonRiver pack had put his hands on her, thrown her to the ground, humiliated her.

My wolf snarled, clawing at my control. I wanted to shift, to hunt him down, to make him pay for every mark on her skin.

“Are you alright?”

I blinked. She was looking at me with concern, a steaming cup in her hand.

“Fine,” I lied. “Sorry, I was just—”

I reached for the coffee. So did she. Our fingers brushed.

The contact was electric. She gasped, jerking back, and the cup slipped.

It fell in slow motion. I lunged, tried to catch it, only managed to knock it further. Hot coffee exploded across the counter, across her notebook, across everything.

“s**t,” I breathed. “s**t, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, but I could see her hands shaking as she grabbed napkins. “It’s fine, really—”

“It’s not fine.” I came around the counter before I’d thought about it, helping her mop up the mess. This close, her scent was overwhelming. Mate, my wolf kept saying. Ours. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Join the club.” She laughed, but it sounded tired. “I’ve been a disaster all day.”

I looked at her notebook. The pages were soaked, ink bleeding everywhere. Research notes, citations, something about pack hierarchies.

“Your work,” I said. “Did I ruin—”

“It’s already ruined.” She pulled the notebook away, and I saw the resignation in her eyes. “My laptop broke yesterday, and I’ve been trying to rewrite everything from memory. Clearly that’s going well.”

Yesterday. When Darius threw her on the bus floor.

“What happened to your laptop?” I kept my voice carefully neutral.

“Accident.” The word came too fast. She was lying, protecting whoever had done this to her. Why?

“Let me replace it.”

She looked up sharply. “What? No. You don’t have to—”

“I just destroyed your notes. The least I can do is replace your laptop.” I held her gaze, willing her to say yes. I needed an excuse to see her again, needed a reason to stay in her orbit. “Please.”

She hesitated. I could see the war in her eyes; pride versus practicality, the instinct to refuse help versus the reality that she needed it.

“I don’t even know you,” she said finally.

“Kael.” I offered my hand. “Kael Rhettason.”

She stared at my hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, she took it.

Her hand was small in mine, her skin soft despite the calluses. The mate bond hummed between us, and I saw her eyes widen. She felt it. Maybe she didn’t know what it was, but she felt something.

“Annette,” she said quietly. “Annette Rutherford.”

Rutherford. Not Vermillion. So she really didn’t know.

I didn’t want to let go of her hand. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to pull her closer, to keep touching her, to never let her out of my sight.

I forced myself to release her.

“So?” I said. “The laptop?”

She bit her lip. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

The words came out more intense than I’d intended. She blinked, and I saw color rise in her cheeks.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, but… I’m paying you back.”

“We’ll see.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll need your number. To coordinate.”

She recited her number. I saved it, her name appearing on my screen: Annette.

My mate’s name.

“I should go,” I said, though everything in me rebelled at the idea. “But I’ll text you. About the laptop.”

“Right. The laptop.” Was it my imagination, or did she sound disappointed?

I made myself walk toward the door. I made myself not look back.

At the threshold, I failed.

I glanced over my shoulder. She was watching me, purple eyes wide, one hand pressed to her chest like she could feel her heart racing.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just us. The pull between us was almost visible, a golden thread connecting her heart to mine.

Then someone else walked in, breaking the moment, and I forced myself out the door.

I made it half a block before I had to stop, leaning against a brick wall and breathing hard.

My wolf was howling, furious that I’d left her. Go back, it demanded. She’s ours. Protect her. Claim her.

“Not yet,” I muttered. “She doesn’t even know what she is.”

But God, I wanted to. I wanted to march back in there, tell her everything, that she was Lycan, that she was mine, that I would burn down anyone who ever hurt her again.

I looked back at the coffee shop, at the cheerful yellow sign, at the girl inside who had no idea her entire world was about to change.

I was halfway back to the makeshift pack house when Sage called.

“You met her.” Not a question.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I’m trying very hard not to drive to the MoonRiver pack house and rip Darius’s throat out.”

A pause. “But you’re not going to.”

“Not yet.” I forced my hands to unclench from the steering wheel. “Father always said the real battles aren’t fought with claws. Darius will answer for what he did. But I need to be smart about it.”

“Since when are you the patient one?” Sage’s voice held a hint of amusement.

“Since my mate is living in the middle of a pack that already hates her. If I go in there and start a war, she’s the one who’ll pay the price.” I pulled into the pack house driveway. “I’m not risking her safety for my pride.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I looked down at my phone, at Annette’s name in my contacts.

“I’m going to get close to her. Earn her trust. And when the time is right…” My wolf snarled, pushing close to the surface. “Darius will wish I’d killed him quickly.”