Amapola’s Lycan

Chapter 4

Once everyone had left the garden, he attempted to speak, but the moment I moved, his hand shot out, gripping mine with a firm, unyielding hold.

“Remain seated,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority. “You are not above me to act as you please.”

His grip tightened, sending a sharp sting up my wrist. I winced, but he refused to let go, no matter how I struggled—scratching at his skin, pulling against his strength. My resistance only seemed to amuse him.

“Let go of me, you brute!” I spat, my voice trembling with anger.

Instead of releasing me, he yanked me forward with little effort, pulling me out of my chair and settling me onto his lap. Panic surged through me, but the thick layers of my dress prevented me from feeling anything beneath me. Still, my heart pounded in fear. Before I could push away, he seized a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back, forcing me to arch toward him.

A gasp left my lips as his face descended, his nose pressing firmly between my breasts.

I stiffened, horrified. His inhale was deep and slow, as if savoring my scent, his chest rising against mine. Shame burned through me, my breath hitching as I fought to keep myself composed. This was humiliation in plain daylight—powerless and trapped.

“Virgins are always a delicacy to the royal family,” he murmured against my skin, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Oh, the things I will do to you, my mate.”

A shudder ran through me. I swallowed hard, my throat constricting, the weight of his words settling heavily on my chest. Then, as if dismissing me like a plaything, he let me go.

The moment his grip loosened, I shoved myself off his lap, nearly stumbling in my haste to get away. My arms wrapped tightly around myself, seeking any semblance of protection from the vile encounter.

I lifted my gaze and saw it—the amusement in his eyes, the cruel delight in the smirk tugging at his lips.

He was enjoying my suffering.

And that terrified me more than anything.

His voice came with a twisted edge of humor, smooth and taunting.

“Oh? Is my fire bashful?”

I stepped back, my fists clenched and heart pounding. My body trembled—not from desire, but from fury. Disgust. Rage.

This guy was sick.

I didn’t even know him, and he had the audacity to touch me like I was his personal plaything. Like I belonged to him. Like I wasn’t real.

“I reject your stupid idea of being mates!” I shouted, my voice cracking under the strain of everything boiling inside me. “I don’t want to be with some creep who thinks he can bully and grope his way into my life! Get bent, you absolute jerk! You’re disgusting!”

The words burned my throat, but I didn’t regret a single one.

Not even when he moved.

Not even when he shot up at an inhuman speed, so fast the air around him shuddered, and his entire posture changed. He was no longer amused. He looked feral.

I stepped back instinctively, fear slicing through my spine like ice.

That’s when a massive paw slammed down in front of me—huge, dark gray, and heavy enough to shake the ground.

I gasped, stumbling to a stop.

A wolf. Towering, powerful… and glaring straight at the Prince.

Zack didn’t flinch, but his eyes burned with something between irritation and restrained rage. Whatever magic he’d used to enchant me earlier was gone. Now, it was just him—bare, exposed, and facing off with a beast.

The wolf stepped forward again, shielding me completely. His presence radiated something ancient, something wild. Protective. Furious.

I didn’t know who—or what—he was, but every instinct in me screamed that I needed to get the hell away from both of them.

Terror overtook me.

Without thinking, I ran.

I sprinted back into the gardens, my boots slipping over wet cobblestones, the suffocating dress tangling around my legs. Branches scraped my arms. Thorns snagged the skirts.

Suddenly, the garden swallowed me.

A maze.

I darted left. Then right. Then crashed into a hedge, my breath ragged and tears burning behind my eyes. Why is this happening? What the hell kind of fairytale is this?

Somewhere behind me, I heard his voice again. Zack.

Still trying to defend himself.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her!” he snapped. “You always come running to rescue them—every time! I did nothing! You simpleton fool!”

His voice echoed off the hedges, too close. I wasn’t safe. I wasn’t far enough.

Frustrated and cornered in another dead-end, I tore at the skirts of the damn dress, yanking until the heavy bottoms tore free. Layers of silk and tulle fell around my feet like broken petals.

I didn’t care.

I was done looking like a doll.

I was done letting anyone dress me, speak for me, touch me, trap me.

Still panting, I spotted an exit on the eastern edge of the maze—past a thicket of vines and broken marble statues.

Almost there.

I shoved forward, barefoot now, gripping the ruined hem of what was left of my dress and running like my life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

The second my fingers wrapped around the doorknob, I yanked it open and stumbled through—

Only to fall forward, face-first into—

Snow.

My hands caught cold ground. I blinked hard and lifted my gaze.

The hallway was gone.

Around me, everything was gray and silent. Frost coated the floor like ash. My breath curled into the air in ghostly spirals.

This can’t be real.

I looked up again—this was the hallway from my building back home. Faded concrete. Peeling paint. Snow drifting in from a broken window at the end. My chest heaved with disbelief.

Then—

Red and blue lights.

A cop car skidded to a stop just outside. Doors flung open. Two officers ran toward me, their voices muffled by sirens and snow.

I made it. I’m out. I’m free.

I pushed myself up, heart pounding in relief. I was about to run to them—finally safe, finally gone—

When a hand yanked my hair from behind.

I screamed.

The wall behind me rippled like water—and I was dragged backward through it.

No.

No, no, no.

I fell hard, slamming onto my back. But it wasn’t ice beneath me this time.

It was grass.

Warm, green grass. The soft scent of roses hit my nose. The dreamlike echo of wind chimes carried across the air.

I was back.

Back in the cursed garden I thought I’d escaped.

Laying there, stunned, I looked around.

The old woman—Cruella—stood a few feet away, her massive skirt trembling as she clutched it in her fists. Behind her, her maids looked terrified, all of them staring at something to my left.

I turned.

The massive gray wolf loomed like a nightmare given flesh. And he wasn’t alone.

A line of other wolves now stood at his side, each one draped in armor—their glowing eyes fixed on the Prince.

I scrambled, heart pounding, only for something to pin my hand.

A boot.

Pressed against my right hand.

I followed the leg up, and there he was—Prince Zack. Standing over me like he hadn’t just tried to break me a few minutes ago. His eyes were narrowed, lips curled into that cruel smirk that haunted my stomach.

“You really are stubborn,” he said quietly.

I pulled my hand back and scrambled to my feet.

To his left stood a man clad in full armor—his face obscured by an iron helmet, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. Like judgment. Or worse… like expectation.