Bought by Lycan Kings

Unhinged Sanctuary

The heavy, solid weight of Ragnar’s six-foot-six frame pinned me flat against the silk-sheeted mattress. The heat radiating off his chest was a physical wall, forcing the cold air from my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs like a panicked bird in a cage, the fast, uneven beats shaking my entire chest. The scent of ancient sandalwood and raw leather was so thick, so suffocatingly close, that it coated the back of my dry throat.

*Oh, perfect. I’ve gone from a damp basement where my father treated me like a broken tool to a luxury penthouse where a massive Lycan King treats me like a stolen vault. I’d laugh at my stunning upward mobility if my ribs weren't currently being pressed into the mattress.*

I *avoided eye contact*, my gaze darting to the dark timber of the headboard. My fingers *fidgeted nervously*, clawing at the soft silk sheets beneath me as I tried to pull my hips away. But Ragnar didn't budge. His massive, scarred hands remained locked on my waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft, voluptuous curve of my hip with a bruising, territorial grip. He *ground his teeth silently*, the muscle along his sharp jawline bunching until the skin over his jagged battle scar went completely pale.

"Let me up," my *voice trembled slightly*. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, dry and heavy. "You’re... you’re crushing me."

Instantly, the pressure lessened, but he didn't release me. He merely shifted his weight, propping his massive forearms on either side of my head. The heavy black runic tattoos wrapping his arms looked like dark iron bands, trapping my auburn-red waves against the pillow. His amber-gold eyes burned down into mine, glowing with a dangerous, unhinged light that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"You are not going back to the Dead Zone, Morana," Ragnar *lowered his voice to a dark rasp*. The vibration of his tone sent a sharp shiver straight down my spine. "You would not survive a night out there in your condition. Not while you carry a child. Not while our enemy’s scent is still clinging to your skin like rot."

From the foot of the bed, Thorion let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the floorboards. He *squared his massive shoulders*, his smoldering hazel eyes shifting to a bright, predatory yellow. The sharp scent of fresh-cut cedarwood and smoky pine flared as he drew in a deep, heavy breath, his chest expanding under his tight shirt.

"He touched her," Thorion rumbled, his voice thick with a raw, savage anger. He *cracked his knuckles loudly*, the sharp sound echoing off the polished black marble walls of the penthouse. "That pathetic, low-ranking coward of a Frostwood Alpha put his hands on our mate. He left his mark on her. I want to rip his throat out. I want to tear him apart piece by piece until there is nothing left for the crows."

"We will deal with Frostwood in due time," Zephyr’s quiet, freezing voice cut through the heated room. He stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, his lean, lethal frame silhouetted against the gray, rain-slicked sky. He *adjusted his leather gloves* slowly, pulling the black leather tight over his knuckles with a slow, deliberate snap. He *tilted his head slowly*, his slate-gray eyes narrowing coldly as they tracked my shallow, rapid breathing.

"Right now," Zephyr continued, his tone clinical but carrying a sharp, dangerous edge, "we have a more immediate problem. The Syndicate Board of Directors has already received the security report. They believe Morana is the mole who leaked our silver-purifying formula. And if they find out she is pregnant with a rival Alpha's blood, they will demand we eliminate the liability. They will order the termination of the pregnancy to protect our bloodline from contamination."

At the word *termination*, the room seemed to lose all its warmth. A wave of cold sweat broke out along my spine, and my stomach dropped like a stone in hot oil. My hands flew to my lower abdomen, my fingers digging into my soft, voluptuous curves through the fabric of my damp clothes.

"No," I gasped, my chest heaving as I tried to shrink back into the pillows. "No, you can't. You can't let them do that. It’s my baby. It has nothing to do with your corporate wars. It has nothing to do with the Vane Syndicate!"

"It has everything to do with us," Ragnar growled, his amber-gold eyes flashing with a sudden, violent intensity. He leaned closer, his face mere inches from mine, his hot breath brushing against my lips. "The blood-contract your father signed sold you to us. Body, soul, and debt. You belong to the Vane Syndicate. Which means whatever you carry is our responsibility. We do not allow our property to be damaged, Morana. And we certainly do not allow our mate's child to be slaughtered by a group of greedy, high-society old men."

*Property. Mate. He uses both words in the same breath as if they mean the exact same thing. To him, I’m just a highly valuable, highly complicated asset they need to lock away in a secure vault.*

"Then let me go," I whispered, my eyes burning with unshed tears as I stared at the faint silver crescent-shaped scar on my left collarbone. "If I run... if I disappear into the mountains, they won't look for me. They'll think I died in the blizzard. Eamon won't know, my family won't care, and your precious board will be satisfied."

"Let you go?" Thorion stepped closer to the bed, his towering, massive frame casting a long, dark shadow over us. He *flared his nostrils deeply*, drawing in the sweet, creamy vanilla and wild honey of my scent. "You think we tracked you through a lethal blizzard just to let you slip away again? Your scent is already burned into our brains, Morana. Our beasts are screaming to claim you. If we let you walk out that door, we would tear this entire city apart to find you again."

"She is right about one thing," Zephyr said, walking slowly toward the bed. His silent, predatory movements made no sound against the marble floor. He *narrowed his eyes coldly* at Ragnar. "If she stays hidden in this penthouse, the Board will suspect we are harboring the thief. They will send the Syndicate investigators to search this room. We cannot keep her a secret. Not anymore."

Ragnar slowly rose from my body, though his hand remained wrapped tightly around my wrist, his thumb resting directly over my racing pulse. He stood at his full height of six-foot-six, his intimidating, kingly posture radiating a thick, heavy aura of pure dominance. He *taps his heavy gold signet ring* against his thigh. *Click. Click. Click.*

"Then we don't hide her," Ragnar said, his jaw tightening. "We present her."

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. "What?"

"The Annual Blood Moon Gala is tomorrow night," Zephyr murmured, his slate-gray eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, calculating intensity. "The entire elite will be there. Your father, your twin sister Isolde, and Eamon Frostwood. Along with every member of the Syndicate Board."

"No," I gasped, my *voice trembling slightly* as the image of my sister’s mocking smile and Eamon's slick, arrogant sneer flashed in my mind. *'You're a cheap distraction, Morana. A useless, unawakened disappointment.'* The memory felt like a physical blow to my chest, making my throat tighten. "I can't go there. I won't. They'll... they'll know. They'll see what I am."

"They will see exactly what we want them to see," Ragnar commanded, his grip on my wrist tightening, pulling me slightly closer to his massive frame. The contrast between my soft, voluptuous body and his rock-hard chest was agonizingly clear as he stared down at me. "You will wear a dress that displays our claim. You will stand by our side as our shared consort. If the Board believes you are our chosen mate, they cannot touch you or the child you carry without declaring war on the three of us."

"And what about Eamon?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "He knows the baby is his. He'll tell them. He'll ruin everything."

Thorion let out a dry, dark chuckle that sounded like grinding stones. "Let him try. The moment that coward steps forward to claim what is ours, I will show him exactly what happens to wolves who touch Vane Syndicate property. We will make him watch as we claim every single inch of your beautiful, soft body in front of the entire pack."

Ragnar’s thumb stroked the delicate skin of my wrist, his golden eyes burning with a possessiveness so raw and unhinged it made my breath hitch.

"You are ours now, Morana," Ragnar whispered, his voice dropping to that dark, terrifying rasp. "And tomorrow night, the entire world will watch you wear our mark."