Fake Bond of the Lycan Lords

Chapter 9

Adriel POV

"Look at her," I mutter, the words slipping past my teeth before I can stop them.

My chest burns as I lean over the stone railing of the arena balcony. Down on the blood-stained grass, Betty stands tall. She is surrounded by hundreds of hostile wolves, alphas, and high-ranking lycans from half a dozen territories, yet she does not flinch.

"She is going to get herself killed," Robert grunts from behind my shoulder.

"Shut your mouth," I snap, my eyes locked entirely on my mate. "She is finally speaking."

Betty’s voice echoes through the amphitheatre, sharp and cold, cutting through the mocking laughter of the crowd. She does not just speak. She commands. A heavy, suffocating pressure suddenly drops over the entire stadium, making the air thick and hard to breathe. It is her aura. It expands outwards in violent waves, forcing every loud-mouthed alpha in the stands to choke on their own breath.

"A true queen," I whisper, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

I have not known her for long, but the possessive roar of my beast leaves no room for doubt. I love her. I love the quiet fury hidden beneath her skin. I love the scars she carries. When Ian told me earlier that Betty could mind-link any wolf she had ever glanced at, the truth settled deep into my bones.

She is a lycan.

Every pure lycan can bridge the minds of others, but only the ancient royal bloodline possesses the terrifying trait I suspect Betty has. They do not just talk to the human mind. They speak directly to our primal beasts. To a regular werewolf, the beast has no name, no human voice. It is a shadow of instincts, a dark force we feel but can never truly converse with. If Betty can command that shadow, she is the key to everything. She can break the curse that has crippled our species for a century.

Adriel.

Her voice snaps directly into my skull, cold and clear. The sudden contact makes my vision flash white.

The brat's wolf knows what I am, Betty communicates, her mental tone laced with a dark, mocking edge. It is bowing to my lycan. It shut off its own human's mind-link to force her to fight.

Then end her, princess, I reply mentally, tightening my grip on the stone ledge until the granite cracks under my fingernails. Do not let her breathe.

I watch her closely as the link severs. Betty is built broader, stronger than the fragile, pathetic female werewolves of this pack. Every line of her frame radiates power. In our world, a weak mate is a death sentence. I have spent years freezing with the fear that the universe would give me a fragile woman I would have to bury. But Betty? Betty can kill.

A sickening crack echoes across the tarmac.

The sound tears through the stadium, followed instantly by Betty’s raw, agonised shriek. Down in the pit, Madeline’s wolf clamps its jaws down, snapping Betty’s leg like a dry twig. The metallic stench of fresh blood hits my nose a second later, mixed with the salt of her tears.

"No!" I roar, my voice joining the thunderous shouts of my royal guards.

Madeline does not give her a second to breathe. The grey wolf lunges again, teeth tearing into Betty’s shoulder, twisting her body across the dirt. Betty’s tank top tears to shreds under the onslaught, revealing the massive, jagged scar scoring her spine.

"Look at her back," Leonardo breathes, stepping forward. "Where did she get a mark like that?"

"I will find out," I growl, the darkness in my chest clawing to get out. "And then I will kill whoever gave it to her."

Then, the air in the arena freezes.

A massive, ancient pressure wakes up inside Betty’s chest. The atmosphere grows so heavy that the grass beneath her feet turns black and turns to ash. Her broken leg and shattered shoulder snap back into place with a series of wet, brutal pops. Thick, pitch-black fur explodes across her skin. Her eyes snap open, glowing a lethal, brilliant purple.

She releases a roar that shakes the very foundations of the stadium.

Deep inside my chest, my own lycan slams against my ribs, howling back in total, crazed submission. He wants blood. He wants to see her rip Madeline into pieces.

Betty rises on two legs, towering over the grey wolf. Her hands shift into massive paws tipped with silver claws that could shred steel. Before Madeline can even turn to run, Betty snaps her hand forward, grabbing the grey wolf by the scruff of her neck. Madeline lets out a pathetic whelp.

With a single, casual jerk of her arm, Betty hurls the wolf across the arena.

Madeline’s body flies a hundred metres through the air, crashing hard into the stone wall. Another loud crack echoes as the wolf’s hind leg shatters against the masonry. Madeline screams, a human sound coming from a beast's throat.

Beside me, Ian lets out a low, vibrating growl. His skin is flushing red, his fingernails lengthening into claws as he prepares to shift and jump into the pit.

"Stop," I command, my voice dropping into an alpha frequency that forces him to freeze.

Ian twists his head toward me, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with conflict. He recognizes my authority, but his instincts are screaming. I cannot risk him interfering, so I snap a mind-link to Luka, who is standing near the arena entrance.

Luka. Ian is on the verge of shifting. Keep your eyes on Betty in case I cannot hold him back.

Always, Luka replies instantly.

I cut the link, ignoring the irritation that always bubbles up when I think about the strange bond Luka shares with my mate. I turn back to the shivering boy beside me.

"Why are you vibrating like a kicked pup, Ian?" I ask coldly. "Do you want to run to Betty, or your former mate?"

"Betty," Ian pants, looking completely dazed by his own reactions. "My wolf wants to help Betty. He wants to pledge his life to her."

"And what about your human side?" I press, watching the sweat drip down his jaw. "Which one do you want?"

"I rejected Madeline," Ian says, his voice shaking. "The bond is dragging at me, but I do not want to hurt Betty. I swear it."

"Then sit down and watch," I say.

Down below, Madeline attempts to scramble to her feet to launch another attack, but her own body betrays her. The grey wolf suddenly bites its own leg, thrashing on the ground. Madeline's human consciousness is fighting her own beast for control.

Betty merely tilts her head, watching the pathetic display with cold purple eyes. Then, she lets her aura explode.

The pressure is so violent that several weak-blooded werewolves in the front rows instantly faint, their heads hitting the stone steps with dull thuds.

Prince Adriel, Micah’s voice stabs into my mind, trembling with terror. What is this power? My wolf wants to tuck its tail and run into the woods.

I do not answer him. Robert, Ian, and Leonardo are all dripping with sweat beside me, their bodies shaking as they force themselves not to drop to their knees. Betty stands in the centre of the storm, completely untouched by her own chaos.

I stand up from my seat, ignoring the trembling wolves around me, and walk over to the alpha of this pathetic local pack. He is white as a sheet, clutching the armrests of his chair.

"How are you enjoying the match, Alpha?" I ask, a cruel smirk cutting across my face. "She does not look very weak now, does she? Her aura is quite magnificent."

"Please, Prince Adriel," Luna Imelda begs from behind him, her hands clasping together in desperation. "Go down there. Stop your mate before she kills my daughter."

"Oh, I would love to step in," I drawl, casting a lazy glance over her terrified face. "But rules are rules. I am not allowed to interrupt a sacred challenge, am I?"

"I give you permission," the Alpha stutters, his lips blue. "Just code it out. End it."

I nod once. I walk straight to the edge of the balcony and vault over the railing, dropping five stories down. I land on the grass with a soft, silent thud.

The moment my boots hit the dirt, Betty’s head snaps toward me. The purple fire in her eyes burns hotter. She lets out a low, warning growl, her predatory instincts framing me as an enemy trying to steal her prey.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luka stepping forward from the shadows of the tunnel. I lift a sharp hand, signalling him to stay back.

Betty rages at the gesture, a loud roar ripping from her throat, but she stays rooted to the spot. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white. She is fighting her own beast with everything she has.

Stop, Adriel, her voice breaks into my mind, frantic and desperate. Just stop right there.

Why? I smirk, taking another deliberate step forward. Are you having trouble controlling your giant dog, princess?

I cannot hold her, she gasps mentally. I do not know. Help me. No, wait. Stay away from me.

Make up your mind, Betty, I say, keeping my tone steady, projecting absolute calm into the link. Tell me exactly what you are feeling right now.

I am angry, she fires back. No, she is angry. She is furious. She wants to kill Madeline, and then she wants to rip your throat out.

"Why me?" I murmur aloud, keeping my hands visible.

Because you are being mean to Luka, she snaps back in my head. And she thinks you are going to take her toy away before she can break it. And there is hunger. So much hunger. It is burning inside me.

Luka is perfectly fine, I reply, my beast bristling at the mention of the other man. I do not understand the connection you have with him, and it irritates my wolf, but he is safe. I will not touch the brat; she belongs to you. And you are not hungry, Betty. Neither is your lycan.

What do you mean, no? she rages. We are starving. I can feel the empty ache in my stomach right now.

That is not hunger for food, Betty, I say, a slow, wicked grin spreading across my face. It is called lust.

What? The mental link practically screeches with her shock. Lust? Oh my god, she is an absolute horn-dog.

I burst out laughing, the sound ringing across the silent, terrified arena. She just called the most ancient, lethal killing machine in existence a horn-dog.

I hold up my open palms, taking a step back to give her space. Betty’s lycan glares at me for three long seconds before slowly lowering its head. The suffocating purple aura vanishes into thin air. Across the stadium, hundreds of wolves let out a massive, simultaneous breath, slouching in their seats.

A few metres away, Beta Kennedy and Delta Shimon are sprawled on the grass, panting heavily from the pressure. I walk past Betty, giving her a wide berth, and offer my hand to the two pack officials. They take it, nodding their thanks as they scramble to their feet.

"Stay close, Prince," Beta Kennedy whispers, her eyes darting to Betty. "If this goes south again, we will need your strength."

"She is under control," I say quietly.

We watch as Betty turns back to Madeline’s broken form. The black fur recedes into her skin, her eyes fading back to their natural color. She collapses onto her back, her chest heaving violently as she stares at the sky. Reining in a fully shifted lycan is nearly impossible for a human consciousness. The fact that she just did it through sheer willpower leaves me completely stunned.

Betty rolls over, casting a sharp glare at me, before pushing herself to her feet. She walks over to Madeline, who is shivering in the dirt.

"Stand down," Betty commands, her voice dropping into a lethal register. "Submit."

Without a single second of hesitation, Madeline rolls onto her side and exposes her throat in total submission.

Delta Shimon steps forward, his voice booming across the microphone. "The challenge is concluded! Betty wins by total submission! Can the mates come down to the field!"

I walk toward Betty, but the moment I get close, she glares at me with enough heat to melt iron. I stop, arching an eyebrow with a smirk. Ian jumps down from the balcony next, his boots thudding against the grass as he rushes over to us. He looks at me, silently asking for permission.

I give him a brief nod.

Ian steps in and pulls Betty into a tight, protective hug. She relaxes slightly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a purely platonic, comforting gesture.

A sudden, wet snap breaks the silence.

Madeline shrieks in agony as her shattered leg shifts out of place, the bone grinding against the wrong joint.

"Miss Madeline," Beta Kennedy says coldly, looking down at the crying girl. "You have submitted. You will now accept the formal rejection, and then you will accept whatever fate Betty decides for you."

"I, Madeline, daughter of Alpha Yuna," Madeline’s voice shakes so hard she can barely form the words, "hereby accept your rejection, Ian."

Ian sucks in a sharp breath as the magic of the bond snaps, but he does not look back. Betty pulls away from him and walks over to the kneeling girl, crouching down until they are eye-to-eye.

"Listen to me very carefully, Madeline," Betty whispers, her voice carrying across the quiet field. "I am going to spare your life today. But you are going to live the exact same way I lived for years."

I tilt my head, my brow furrowing. What does she mean by that? Madeline looks just as confused, her tear-filled eyes wide with fear.

Then, Betty’s purple eyes flash back to life for a split second. A micro-burst of lycan power hits Madeline square in the chest.

"You were the first wolf I could hear in this hellhole," Betty says, her voice echoing with a double tone that belongs to her beast. "Because of your endless cruelty, I am releasing your wolf from your human mind. From this moment on, your beast has total control whenever it wants it. You will never be strong enough to force it down again. I, Betty, promise you this. She is a free wolf, and as long as I draw breath, you will be a prisoner in your own skull."

I stare at my mate, my mouth slightly open. How in the hell did she just do that? Separating a wolf's consciousness from its human host is a myth. It is impossible. I am going to have to drag the pack elders out of their caves to explain this.

"Wow," Delta Shimon stammers, completely thrown off his script. "Since Betty has chosen to let the loser live, this challenge is officially over! We will now begin the main tournament!"

The crowd bursts into cheers, the tension finally breaking.

Betty reaches out and grabs my hand. I squeeze her fingers tightly, looking down at her. She meets my gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching into a tiny, tired smile. I turn and lead her out of the arena, Ian following a step behind us. Neither of them casts a single glance at the girl crying in the dirt.

"We need to speak with your parents immediately, princess," I say as we hit the stone tunnel.

Betty raises an eyebrow at me. "Why the rush?"

"I have a thousand questions for them," I say, my eyes dropping down her body. "And more importantly, you need a new shirt."

Betty stops dead in her tracks, looking down at herself. "s**t. I am practically naked."

"Did you seriously just notice that now?" Ian asks, a small laugh escaping his throat.

Betty’s cheeks turn a bright, beautiful crimson. "I was a little busy keeping us all from dying, Ian," she pouts, looking like a stubborn child.

I chuckle, already peeling my leather jacket and shirt off my shoulders. I toss the shirt over her head. It hangs down past her thighs like a loose dress, completely swallowing her frame. The moment her scent mixes with my dark timber and spice aroma, a wave of intense satisfaction hits my beast. She smells like me now. She belongs to me.

Betty’s parents are waiting anxiously at the edge of the car park. The moment Betty steps into view, her mother rushes forward, throwing her arms around her in a fierce hug.

"We need to talk," I say without preamble, my voice hard.

Her father looks at me, his eyes old and heavy with secrets. He nods once. "Yes. We know. Shall we speak here?"

"Away from the crowd," I command.

We walk past the gravel car park, heading toward a secluded row of wooden benches near the treeline, far away from the shouting spectators. Once we take our seats, Betty’s father turns to face me.

"I know you have many questions, Prince Adriel," the older man says quietly, his hands resting on his knees. "But we ask that you let us tell the entire story first. Save your questions for the end."

I fold my arms across my bare chest, remaining silent.

He turns to my mate, his eyes softening with tears. "My beautiful girl. You were born a lycan. But what you do not know is that you are not just the last female of our kind. You are an anomaly. You are a female lycan born from two regular werewolves."

The older man takes a deep breath, his voice dropping into a solemn whisper.

"Betty, you are a true queen. You are the last royal warrior lycan."

My heart stops. That is impossible.