The Lycan King And His Rogue Mate

The bond.

AURORA.

...

---

The fire in my room lit the whole room as my eyes roamed the room. The tray of food was still untouched, cold meat, stale bread, a jar of water I refused to touch.

My stomach gnawed at itself, but I ignored it. Eating was giving in, and I'd starve before I bent to him.

The room mocked me. Everything about this room was laughing at me and everything I knew.

I moved towards a silver mirror at the edge of the bed. The mirror reflected my tired face, dirt-smudged, eyes hollow, blonde hair that was a tangled mess.

I looked like the rogue I was, not his queen, and that was my armor. Let him see the wreckage he'd made. I'd weaponize it.

A sharp knock snapped me out of my spiral and my fists clenching on instinct. "What now?" I muttered, turning as the door creaked open. Jace slipped in, balancing a tray on his hands.

"More water," he whispered, setting it down and pouring from a jar into a glass cup. His gaze flicking to me. "They're coming for you soon."

"Who?" I stepped closer, my voice low and edged. "Ragnar?"

He nodded nervously. "Him and his pack .There's a ritual tonight. They're all edgy about it."

"Ritual?" My scar flared, a hot sting that made me grit my teeth in anger. "Spill it, Jace. What is he planning?"

He swallowed, glancing at the door in fear. "I don't know the details, servants don't get told much. But it's big. Something about blood and a moon. They're calling you the 'marked one.' The Guards say it's old magic."

"Blood?" I yanked my sleeve up and saw the crescent scar glowing faintly. "This?"

"Yeah," he breathed, eyes wide. "They're scared of it, of you. I heard Kael, his beta, arguing with him. He doesn't like a human in the mix."

"Good," I said with a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Let them fight over me—I'll use it. What about my family?"

"There are Whispers," Jace said, his voice dropping lower as he moved to drop the jar back on the tray. "Your dad is alive, but he's locked up below and he's hurt bad. The archer is with him but no word on your mom yet."

"Alive," I echoed, relief and anger crashing together. "Where below?"

"Cells, deep under the keep," he said. "I'll find out more—takes time, though. They watch me close."

"Time Is what I don't have," I snapped, leaning in. "Get me a weapon, Jace—a knife, a shard, anything sharp. I'm not sitting here waiting for his next move. I'll carve my way out, free them, and gut him before he knows what hit him."

He paled but nodded. "Tonight, during the ritual. I'll slip something in—maybe a blade in the tray. You'll have to be quick."

"Quick Is my specialty," I said, my mind racing. A blade meant a chance—not just to escape, but to strike. I would play his game, get close, then bury it in his heart. "What else? Tell me about him—weaknesses, habits."

"Ragnar?" Jace hesitated. "He's... intense. Doesn't sleep much—paces the halls at night. Trusts Kael but no one else. And he's got a temper—lose that, and he's sloppy."

"Sloppy's perfect," I murmured, filing it away. "Get me that blade, Jace. We're starting tonight."

He nodded, slipping out, and I resumed pacing, plotting. A ritual with blood—my blood, his blood, tied to this damn scar. I'd turn it against him, use his own magic to unravel him. Step one: the weapon. Step two: find Dad and Mara. Step three: Ragnar bleeds. Simple. Deadly.

The door slammed open hours later, no warning, and I whirled, heart pounding. Ragnar stood there, filling the frame of the door in all his height, his red eyes were pinning me where I stood.

His dark hair was swept back, his torn shirt traded for a black tunic that clung to his broad chest, silver stitching glinting in the firelight.

His presence hit me—heat, power, that wild scent of pine and blood—and my scar blazed, a fire under my skin.

"Time to go," he said, his voice a low growl, smooth and commanding. "You've sulked long enough."

"Sulked?" I laughed, sharp and bitter, stepping toward him. "You think I'm sulking? I'm plotting, you bastard! every second I'm here, I'm planning how to end you."

His lips twitched, a smirk curling them, and he stepped inside, closing the distance. "Bold words, little rogue. I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

"Keep smirking," I shot back, holding his gaze with my chin up. "It'll look good on your corpse."

He tilted his head, red eyes glinting with something—amusement, maybe, or hunger. "What's this ritual I hear about?" I pressed, voice hard. "More of your destiny garbage?"

He stiffened, just a flicker, but I caught it. "You've got sharp ears," he said, his tone cooling. "Yes. Tonight, we bind what's already started. The mark needs blood to seal it—ours, under the red moon."

"Bind?" I stepped closer, daring him, my voice dripping venom. "You think I'll just bleed for you? I'd rather slit my own throat."

He closed the gap, his heat brushing me, his breath warm against my face. "You will," he murmured, low and sure, "because you can't stop it. The prophecy's older than us—blood calls to blood, and yours sings to mine."

"Sings?" I shoved him, my palms slamming into his chest, but he barely budged, catching my wrists in one hand, his grip tight and hot. "It screams, you monster—screams for your head."

He pulled me closer, my wrists pinned, his eyes boring into mine. "Scream all you want," he said, voice rough, his thumb brushing my pulse, sending a shiver I hated through me. "It changes nothing. You're mine, Aurora—tonight makes it real."

"Real?" I twisted, glaring up at him, our faces inches apart. "I'll make your death real first."

He laughed, a low rumble that vibrated where we touched, and released me, stepping back. "We'll see. Move."

Kael and Selene pushed me as he turned, Kael's sneer sharp, Selene's claws tapping her armor. "Let's go, princess," Kael growled, grabbing my arm.

"Touch me again, and you'll lose that hand," I snapped, yanking free, but I followed Ragnar, my boots trembling behind, slowing me down.

The corridors darkened as the air was growing thick with incense and earth as we descended a spiraling stairwell, its walls carved with wolves and crescent moons. My scar pulsed with every step, syncing with his presence, and I clenched my fist, fighting the pull.

The stairwell opened into a vast cavern, the ceiling was a jagged maw framing a blood-red moon. A stone altar stood at the center, etched with runes, stained with old blood—human, Lycan, a history of sacrifice. Lycans in their wolves circled it, their chants a guttural hum, their red eyes glowing like embers. The air crackled, heavy with power, and my skin prickled, every instinct screaming *run*.

Ragnar stopped, turning to me, his expression hard but his eyes—damn them—softening for a heartbeat. "Here," he said, gesturing to the altar. "Kneel."

"Kneel?" I laughed, stepping forward, voice rising. "You think I'll bow to you? Make me."

Kael shoved me, forcing me down, and Selene's claws dug into my shoulders, pinning me. "Hold still, human," she hissed, her breath hot on my neck.

"Get off me," I snarled, thrashing, but Ragnar knelt before me, a silver dagger in his hand, its blade shimmering with runes.

"Stop fighting," he said, his voice low, almost pleading, his eyes locking on mine. "This isn't just us—it's the bloodline. The mark is ours—Lycan and human, fused long ago. A queen to balance the king, or break him."

"Break you?" I smirked, leaning in despite Selene's grip. "That's the plan."

He sighed, slicing his palm, blood welling dark and thick. "It's deeper than that," he said, pressing it to the altar, tracing a crescent. "The first Lycan king bound his human lover. her blood tempered his rage, birthed the mark. You're her echo, Aurora. Mine."

"Echo?" I spat, struggling. "I'm no one's shadow—least of all yours."

He grabbed my hand, his touch searing, and I kicked at him, rage boiling. "Don't," I warned, voice shaking, but he held firm, the dagger poised.

"It's done," he said, cutting a quick, shallow s***h across my palm, pain flaring hot and bright. I hissed, blood dripping onto the altar, mingling with his in a sizzling pool. The chants surged, the air thickening, and my scar erupted, fire racing through me. I gasped, vision blurring, and he gripped my hand tighter, his breath hitching.

"Feel it?" he whispered, leaning close, his voice raw. "That's us… bound, alive."

I yanked free, cradling my hand, the cut clotting, the scar blazing. "I feel hate," I rasped, glaring through the haze. "Hate and a promise—I'll kill you with this bond."

He stood, towering over me, his eyes dark with something… want, maybe, or pain. "Try," he said, soft and dangerous, offering a hand I slapped away. "You'll see what it means soon."

Kael dragged me up, but my eyes stayed on Ragnar, memorizing him—his strength, his cracks. The bond thrummed, a chain I'd snap, a weapon I'd wield. Tonight was his, but mine was coming.

As we climbed the stairs, a shadow flickered behind and I noticed Jace, tray in his hands, slipping past. His eyes met mine, he gave a nod so quick I nearly missed it, and my pulse surged. The blade. My plan was alive.

Tonight, I would strike.