Mr Markov
891 Words
Adam
There are bad ways to end a day.
Back-to-back meetings? Horrible.
Killing a business rival? Messy, but satisfying.
Putting down traitors in the pack? Therapeutic, honestly.
But the worst of them all?
Wasting oxygen in a shrink’s office.
“Mr. Markov?” my therapist calls out, right on cue — as if her timing is set to ruin the last shred of peace in my head.
“What?” I snap, sharp enough to slice air. If I had a worse temper—or no damn moral code—I’d have snapped her neck in two. Not that it would’ve been hard. She’s human, fragile and elderly. A combo that screams killable, but unfortunately, I have standards. I don’t hurt humans.
Unless they do something that begs for it.
Wolves though?
Wolves can f**k right off. One wrong breath and I’ll rearrange their spine.
“We’re not making any progress,” she says with that infuriating calm. “You haven’t opened up about anything. Not your current responsibilities. Not your losses. I need to know how you’re holding up.”
Holding up? I’m holding s**t. Absolute, burning, maggot-infested s**t.
Let’s start with the unwanted royal baggage — a Wolf King title shoved onto me because everyone’s precious candidates were conveniently killed off. And by “everyone,” I mean the Council. And by “killed,” I mean executed in ways that make war crimes look like pillow fights.
My uncle? Gone. No tears shed. He deserved worse — he killed my father. His death was a clock ticking from the day he drew first blood. The only thing that pisses me off about it? I didn’t get to be the one to pull the trigger.
“Mr. Markov?” Dr. Choi prods again, voice firm.
She’s persistent. For someone half my size, ancient, and completely human, she’s got a spine thicker than some alphas I’ve snapped in two. Maybe that’s why we picked her. I needed a human, one that didn’t flinch when I dumped emotional roadkill on their floor.
Not that I ever do.
My trust issues? Taller than Berlin’s great wall—whatever the hell history calls that thing now.
“Mrs. Choi,” I say sweetly, forcing a grin that shows just the right amount of wolf. “Quick question. Is this area known for violence?”
Distraction tactic? Maybe. But not without reason.
She blinks. “I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”
Because something’s not right. Her office window gives a perfect view of the edge of the woods. The place where shadows should stay shadows—but today, they don’t.
Today, I see a body being dragged. Correction — dumped. And worse, there’s a pup. A tiny limp body tossed like garbage.
No. No, no, no—
A snarl simmers under my skin. But wait—
That’s… a human doing the dumping?
Oh, he’s dead for sure.
“Mr. Markov?”
“Not now, Shelly,” I mutter, already rising. “Something of the life-or-death variety just came up. I won’t be sitting here for cupcakes and fake empathy today. Lock your doors on the way out.”
She doesn’t reply, and I don’t blame her. She knows me. When I say life and death, I mean death will be served—hot and possibly dismembered.
I tracked the bastard through the city, from downtown sidewalks to the back alleys near Newark Hospital. The trail was strong, sharp with guilt, blood, and something else. Rage? Fear?
Then — nothing.
His scent disappeared.
I bared my teeth and snarled. Even in human form, it was a sound that made two teens nearby cross the street. Smart.
I ducked behind a row of overflowing dumpsters, tore my clothes off, and shifted.
Screw the dry cleaning. He’d pay for that too—before I ripped his throat out.
Nose to the ground, I tried to make sense of his trail. How did he just vanish?
That’s when I heard the yelling.
Then the stench of blood hit me like banana bread baked with expired meat.
I flared my nostrils, stepped out of the shadows, and found them:
Him — the bastard I was hunting.
Her — in a doctor’s coat. A woman. Petite, furious. Blocking his path.
I paused. My claws twitched.
Was she in on it?
No—
Wait. She is yelling at him. So… not an accomplice. A witness?
Or a damn fool trying to be a hero.
Either way, I had plans for him. The same place he sent that pup? I’d send his soul, only slower.
I padded forward, slow and casual, letting the fear thicken the air. I could smell it rolling off them both.
But then something strange—pheromones?
No, not human.
Not fully.
I narrowed my eyes, inhaled deeper. Her scent was wrong. Wolf? Barely. Human? Mostly.
A hybrid.
Rare. Dangerous. Illegal in most packs.
Not my business.
Except for one thing.
Her arousal.
Yeah. That definitely was my business.
She was aroused by me.
By my wolf.
Either she is insane, horny, or both.
Seriously, is she normal?
she wants me.
Me. A monster in his most primal form.
Does she not realize I’m a king? That I could snap her neck into two?
Maybe i should.
To prove a point.
I stalk forward.
- Writer
