Claimed By The Beast

3

The first thing I became aware of was the cold, the pervasive cold that seemed to come from the very stones, which didn’t seem to have felt the warming touch of the sun in centuries. It wormed its way through my bones, along with the stench of iron and blood. Worse still, the acrid fragrance of dead flowers clung to the air like perfume from a grave.

The wolf man tossed me to the floor roughly, and I landed on my knees, pain blooming from my wrists and up my shoulders. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out, not giving these savages the satisfaction of knowing I was hurt.

Slowly and carefully, I pushed myself up until I was looking into the cavernous hall. My heart pounded frantically in my ears.

The hall was huge, the ceiling lost in the smog of the torches, which made the air look like liquid gold. Odd, jagged bones littered the floor, their canines glinting, their skulls pierced by arrows and ancient steel. Rows of human skeletons, grotesquely posed in death, stood along the far wall of this chamber of horrors, their bones meticulously arranged in patterns of hate. Skulls peered down from their niches, eye sockets empty yet menacing, while the torches burned in sinister shadows that took the shapes of monsters.

At the far end of the chamber, perched on a dais of black glass, was a throne, also of black glass, which loomed like a great beast waiting to ensnare.

But it was the man sitting on the throne that made my heart stop.

My pulse stuttered wildly in my throat before I forced myself to stillness. The man was massive, a walled fortress of muscle. His tunic was tight across his shoulders as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. His hands were huge, his fingers thick as my fist, it looked like he could snap a man's neck with those powerful hands. His hair was black as night, falling in heavy waves down his back, streaked with silver at the temples, which glowed like liquid mercury in the torchlight. His face was a brutal mask of masculine beauty, his mouth a sensuous s***h of shadow and a strong jaw, which deepened into a shadowy cleft. His eyes held the smoldering gold of molten coins, burning into the hall, holding the very room in thrall.

When he met my gaze, he pinned me with those burning golden eyes, something odd pooled deep in my belly.

"You touched the relic," The man's voice rolled over me, a deep growl that vibrated in my bones. "You are a Null, a being that negates supernatural power." He tilted his head, regarding me thoughtfully. "Tell me, mortal. Do you know what you are?"

I forced pride into my voice, even as my throat tightened around the words, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. "I am a scholar, not a null or whatever."

I spat on the ground at his feet, staining the black glass there. The man's mouth twisted in distaste.

"Good." "His golden eyes tracked me as he took a slow step closer until he stopped just a few inches away. He was so close that I could see the pinesap clinging to his lashes, and so close that I could feel the heat rolling off him in spicy waves. He studied me, his lips parting as if he would say something more, then he lowered his head until his breath fanned over my cheek.

"You are also my mate." he murmured against my temple. "And that is the cruelest joke fate has ever played."

I shivered, equal parts thrilled and angered by his words, though I'm not sure which was which. "I am no one's mate," I snapped, lifting my chin so that our eyes met. "Especially not yours."

His mouth twisted into a feral grin, revealing white fangs the color of bone. "The council would have your heart dissected, your Null blood drawn for research."

Something inside me wanted to protest, to tell him he was being absurd. But his closeness sent foreign warmth blooming over my skin, sparking my nerves to life, licking fire into my veins. I wanted to be angry at what he said, angry at what I felt, but I couldn't seem to move, to protest at all. He held my gaze, molten gold eyes narrowing suspiciously as they slid down my body, lingering over my lips, then lower where his hands rested on my shoulders. The foreign warmth bloomed in my belly, curling around my womb in a brand of desire.

From the hungry look in his eyes, I was not the only one surprised by this strange connection.

"Like I said, the council wants you dead, little scholar." He continued as if he hadn't noticed my sudden reaction at all. "I am your only hope. Do not test my patience." His growl rumbled low in his chest as his thumb skimmed over my jaw. "I do not take kindly to those who refuse me." It was strange, the way the words seemed to brand me, to dig into the very core of my being. Something inside me wanted to fight him, to tell him where to stick his "hope."

I found myself unable to voice a single argument as his hand skimmed over my hip, his fingers splayed against the small of my back. My pulse quickened, hammering wildly in my ears as his gaze dropped to my lips. I wanted to bite his mocking mouth, tell him to stop touching me, to stop staring at me as if I was something he'd found after a long hunt.

Instead, I found myself held in place as his scent curled around me, intoxicating and foreign. His words, the promise of danger, had my mind whirling, but something deep inside me had awakened, something in the shadows. The wolves began to chant in foreign words in low tones.

The Wolf King looked at me like I was a war he already decided to wage and his golden eyes promised nothing but pleasure and ruin.