NOBODY'S MATE

Episode 5: The lycan Rut

The wire-bristled brush tore into the pads of my palms, shredding the skin with every harsh stroke.

I was on my hands and knees in the center of the fighting pit, scrubbing the black, dried gore of dead shifters off the freezing cobblestones.

My stomach cramped violently, a hollow, twisting agony from being denied food for two days. Every time I inhaled, the coppery stench of blood coated the back of my throat, making me gag.

But I swallowed it down. I kept my head down, my jaw clenched, and I scrubbed. Above me, on the wrought-iron balcony, the Mistress stood with her hands gripping the railing. Her knuckles were white. She hadn’t left. She was watching my every move, waiting for me to collapse, to cry and to beg. I gave her nothing. I just dragged the bloody brush across the stone, my fresh blood mixing with the soapy water and the dead fighters' gore.

"You missed a spot," her voice drifted down, sharp and venomous. I paused, my chest heaving. I looked at the stone. It was spotless. I looked up at her, my eyes dead and cold. "It’s clean. Just like your heart, I said sarcastically.

"The guards stationed at the pit’s entrance flinched, their hands dropping to the hilts of their swords. The Mistress’s face contorted.

The humiliation of the forest, the near-scratch to her eye, the defiant glare of a worthless Omega it was too much. Her sanity, already frayed by the Lycan King’s constant rejection, finally snapped.

"Enough,"

she whispered. Then, louder, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "Enough! I am done playing with my food."She descended the stone stairs, her silk dress swirling around her ankles. She stopped at the edge of the pit, looking down at me with pure, unadulterated malice.

"You have a sharp tongue, little stray,"

she hissed. "Let’s see how it tastes when it’s choking on your own blood. Guards! Drag her to the King’s sanctum."The two massive guards hesitated. "My Lady," the brute with the broken nose rumbled nervously. "The King is in the throes of the blood-rust.

He hasn't taken a woman in months. The last three... they didn't survive the night. If we throw an Omega in there ""I said, drag her to the King!" she shrieked, her composure entirely shattering.

If the beast tears her apart, it will save me the trouble of executing her myself! Throw her to the rut!"The guards didn't argue again. They lunged into the pit, grabbing me by the arms. I didn't go quietly. I am a warrior. I might not have a wolf, but I have eighteen years of fighting for my life.

As they hauled me up, I drove my knee hard into the brute’s groin. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist free. I drove my elbow into the second guard’s jaw, but he was too big.

He caught my fist, twisting my arm behind my back with a sickening pop. Pain flared, but I didn't scream. They kicked my legs out from under me, binding my wrists tightly with thick leather straps. "Take her to the lower sanctum," the Mistress ordered, her chest heaving, a cruel, triumphant smile finally returning to her lips.

Lock the doors behind her.

Let the King feast."They dragged me out of the pits, up the winding stone staircases, and deep into the heart of the inner keep. The deeper we went, the heavier the air became. The damp chill of the dungeon was replaced by a suffocating, dry heat. Then, the scent hit me.

It hit me like a physical blow, so thick and potent it made my knees weak. It was the smell of crushed pine, dark magic, burning embers, and pure, unfiltered, feral masculinity.

It was the Lycan King. And he was at the absolute peak of his blood-rust. My body, traitorous and cursed, instantly reacted. A molten, heavy heat pooled between my thighs.

My core clenched with a sickeningly sweet, wet throb, a deep, aching pull in my belly that had absolutely nothing to do with logic and everything to do with biology. My n*****s strained against my torn shirt, my skin flushing hot as his scent invaded my lungs. No, I screamed internally, fighting the primal urge to bare my neck. He is a monster. He will kill me.

They reached a set of massive, blackened iron doors. The metal was actually warm to the touch. The guards unlocked them with trembling hands, pushed them open just wide enough, and literally threw me inside. I hit the thick, plush fur rug hard, rolling to absorb the impact.

The heavy iron doors slammed shut behind me. The lock engaged with a final, echoing boom. I was in the King’s sanctum. The room was vast, lit only by the dying orange embers of a massive stone hearth.

The air was so hot it was hard to breathe. Shadows clung to the corners, but my eyes quickly adjusted, locking onto the figure sitting in the center of the room.

The Lycan King. He was stripped to the waist, his pale skin flushed with a dark, feverish heat.

Thick, black veins pulsed along his neck and chest, a visual manifestation of the blood-rust tearing through his system. His head was bowed, his hands gripping the arms of a heavy wooden chair so tightly the wood was splintering under his fingers.

He was suffering. The rust was a curse, a biological fire that demanded a mate to calm it, and without one, it drove him to the brink of madness. I stayed perfectly still on the rug, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Maybe he won't notice me, I prayed.

Maybe he's too far gone.A low, vibrating growl rumbled through the room. It wasn't a sound; it was a physical frequency that rattled my teeth in my skull. Slowly, the Lycan King lifted his head. His eyes were entirely black. The feral void had consumed the sclera, the iris, everything. There was no humanity left in them. Only the ancient, savage instinct of an apex predator locked onto its prey.

He stood up. The movement was fluid, terrifyingly fast, and completely silent. The heat radiating off his massive body hit me in a wave, making my skin prickle. The biological pull in my core flared into an agonizing, desperate ache.

My breath hitched, my thighs pressing together involuntarily as my body begged for the monster approaching me. He closed the distance in three massive strides, stopping just inches from where I knelt.

He towered over me, blocking out the light of the embers. He reached down, his large, calloused hand wrapping around my throat.

His grip wasn't tight enough to choke me, but it was firm, absolute, and scorching hot. His thumb brushed over my racing pulse.

"An Omega,"

he rasped, his voice a dark, gravelly ruin of its usual cold monotone. It was thick with lust and the madness of the rust. "Sent to die."He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips. I could smell the dark, intoxicating magic rolling off his skin.

My body arched toward him, a pathetic, involuntary betrayal, my lips parting as a soft, needy whimper escaped my throat.

His pitch-black eyes flared, dropping to my lips, then down to the rapid rise and fall of my chest. The feral growl in his chest deepened into a dark, possessive purr.

"You don't smell like fear, little stray," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, sending a violent shiver of pure arousal straight down to my core.

"You smell like mine."

Mine