Lycan King's Forbidden Obsession

The training yard

Serena's pov

The window was high in the wall, hidden behind a tapestry I had pulled aside, and from this vantage point I could see the courtyard of the ice Castle below without being seen.

The stone was cold against my palms, and the glass was frosted at the edges, but none of that mattered. Not when Alejandro was down there, moving like a storm made flesh, like something ancient and deadly that had no business being so beautiful.

He was training with his guards. Ten of them, maybe twelve, all in leather armor with swords strapped to their backs and the kind of grim determination that came from knowing they were about to be humiliated. They circled him like wolves circling a stag, but the stag had claws and teeth and three hundred years of practice. The stag had killed more men than they had ever met.

One guard lunged, his wooden sword swinging toward Alejandro's ribs. Alejandro sidestepped like he had all the time in the world, caught the man's arm, and twisted. The c***k echoed off the stone walls, sharp and wet, and the guard fell to his knees with a scream that died in his throat when Alejandro released him and turned to face the next attacker. There was no hesitation and no regret, just the cold efficiency of a man who had been fighting since before I was born, since before my father was born, and since before anyone I had ever known drew their first breath.

Another guard swung low, aiming for Alejandro's legs. Alejandro jumped, spun in the air, and landed behind the man. His hand closed around the back of the guard's neck, and he shoved him face-first into the stone floor. The impact echoed through the courtyard, and the guard lay still, groaning, with blood dripping from his split lip onto the frost-covered stones.

The remaining guards exchanged glances. I could see the fear in their eyes, the way their hands trembled on their weapons, and the way their feet shifted like they were trying to decide whether to run or fight. They had trained with the king before, so they knew what was coming. But knowing did not make it easier.

A third guard charged, swinging his sword in a wild arc that left his entire side exposed. Alejandro caught the blade with his bare hand, and the wood splintered. The guard stared at his broken weapon, then at the king, then at the pieces of wood scattered across the ground like fallen leaves. Alejandro did not give him time to recover. He swept the man's legs out from under him and sent him crashing onto his back, with air rushing out of his lungs in a desperate gasp.

The remaining guards hesitated. I could see it in the way they shifted their weight, in the way their eyes darted toward the doors, and in the way their grips tightened on their weapons like they were trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away. They knew they could not win. They knew the king was toying with them, testing them, and reminding them of their place. But they could not run, because running was not allowed.

Alejandro did not hesitate. He moved through them like a blade through silk, fast and precise and utterly without mercy. His fists connected with jaws, his feet swept legs out from under bodies, and his hands grabbed arms and twisted until bones cracked and men screamed. Within minutes, all twelve guards were on the ground, groaning and bleeding and staring up at their king with something that looked like fear and respect and awe all tangled together.

One of them had a broken arm, bent at an angle that made my stomach turn. Another was clutching his ribs, his face pale with pain. A third was spitting blood onto the stones, his lip split open and his teeth stained red. The rest were scattered across the courtyard like broken dolls, too injured to stand and too afraid to move.

And Alejandro stood in the center of it all, his chest heaving, his golden eyes burning, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. He was not breathing hard, nor was he sweating. He looked like he had just woken from a nap, not like he had just taken down a dozen armed men. There was no blood on his hands and no satisfaction on his face. There was nothing but emptiness, the same emptiness I had seen in his eyes the first time we met.

This was a monster, and the very same thing that held my heart.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping against the cold stone of the window frame.

I had been so focused on surviving, on hiding, and on making myself small enough to avoid notice, that I had not stopped to consider what it meant that Alejandro was my mate. What it meant that the bond had tied me to someone who could break bones without flinching, who could throw men across courtyards without effort, and who had spent three centuries learning how to be the deadliest thing in any room he entered.

I should have been terrified. Every sensible part of my brain was screaming at me to run, to hide, and to put as much distance between myself and this creature as possible. But there was another part of me, a quieter part, a part that had been waking up slowly ever since I arrived at this frozen castle, that felt something else entirely. Something warm and dangerous and entirely unwelcome.

I had felt it when he kissed me, when he touched me, and when he carried me back to the castle and placed me on the bed like I was something fragile. I had felt it when he left honey by my door and boots outside my room and a note that said "Stay." I had felt it when he looked at me with those golden eyes, burning and afraid and full of something I could not name.

I realized that I wanted him.

Not because he was kind or gentle or good. Truthfully, he was none of those things. He was brutal and cold and broken in ways I could not even begin to understand. But he was trying. He was fighting against three hundred years of hatred and cruelty and isolation, and somehow, against all odds, he was winning.

The guards below were picking themselves up off the ground, helping each other toward the doors that led back into the castle. The one with the broken arm was cradling it against his chest, his face gray with pain. The one with the split lip was wiping blood on his sleeve, his eyes fixed on the ground. They moved slowly and carefully, like men who had learned that the best way to survive was to be as invisible as possible.

One of them glanced up at the window where I was hiding, and I pressed myself against the wall, with my heart pounding and praying he had not seen me. My back was cold against the stone, and my hands were shaking, and I could feel the tapestry brushing against my shoulder like a living thing.

When I looked again, Alejandro was still standing in the center of the courtyard.

His golden eyes were fixed on the window.

Or rather, on me.

He knew I was there. He had probably known the whole time, from the moment I pulled aside the tapestry and pressed my face against the glass. Lycan senses were sharper than human senses, so he could probably smell me from down there, could hear my heartbeat, and could feel the weight of my gaze on his skin.

He did not move, and he did not speak. He just stood there, staring up at me, and I stood there, staring down at him, and the snow fell between us like a curtain of white. The flakes landed on his shoulders and in his hair, and he did not brush them away, nor did he blink.

The guards were gone now. The courtyard was empty except for the king and the blood on the stones and the ghost of violence still hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.

Alejandro's chest was still heaving, but not from exertion. His hands were shaking, just a little, the way they always shook when he was near me. His golden eyes were bright, almost feverish, and I could see something in them that I had never seen before.

I could see hunger.

Not for food, and not for blood. But for me.

My heart skipped a beat, and then another, and I turned away from the window and let the tapestry fall back into place, hiding me from his view. I pressed my back against the cold stone wall and tried to breathe, to think, to make sense of what had just happened.

He had not looked away, but I had.