Taking the Alpha King

Chapter 4: Mark Of The King

Maverick moves even closer to me, which shouldn't be possible, because he is already standing at my side. His mother has made her way offstage and the lights are heavy under his gaze.

“The Mark of the King," Maverick says easily, “surely you know about that?"

Of course, I do. It's akin to a mate bond, except it links me to Maverick without all the romance. Every king marks their right hand, in usually a private ceremony. But, for whatever sadistic reason, Maverick is choosing to mark me in front of our entire pack. Only, I know what the Mark of the King is, but I don't know how it's applied.

Is it a burn? A tattoo? What does Maverick do that no one else can?

He's close enough now that I can breathe him in. I catch the tickle of amber in his brown eyes and something else. Something that feels like it's meant for me and me alone. His left hand comes to rest on my shoulder, while his right pulls back the neckline of my hoodie. His hair tickles my cheek.

I register what he's doing only after he does it. His teeth sink into my flesh, where my neck ends and my shoulder begins. I'm suddenly aware of why this is done in private.

Maverick bites down hard enough to draw blood, but what escapes my mouth isn't a cry of pain.

It's a moan.

A very sensual moan that I had no idea I could even make.

If the auditorium was quiet before, this is like the silence of nothingness.

It's hard to be conscious of what is going on around me when Maverick is holding me in his arms and being as intimate with me as he would a mate. What he's doing feels profound; celestial even. I can feel the pack bond in my mind strengthen. As if it were connecting to everyone in this room.

My wolf prunes in pride and desire. The connection between me and my Alpha grows thicker. In the darkness of my mind, I can see Maverick's wolf, tall and proud. He howls and my wolf joins him in the call.

Maverick's lips brush against the broken skin of my collar and when I open my eyes, I realize that he's holding all of my body weight. At some point, my knees must have gave out.

Our eyes meet again, and we share breath. His lips are stained with my blood and his eyes are glowing. For all the hate we harbor toward the vampires, we sure know how to take a page out of their book.

Maverick helps straighten me out, but I'm mesmerized by the way the glow dissipates, and his eyes return to their earthy color.

It's only me and Maverick.

Maverick and me.

Someone clears their throat next to us and Maverick steps away to accept a tissue from his mother. I try to look down at where Maverick marked me, but all I can see is the drip of blood steadily flowing into my hoodie.

“Ganymede, your new Beta, Cayden Hawks."

Once again, it takes the coaxing of Maverick to encourage the applause of the crowd, but I'm still enjoying the high of his lips on my skin to really care that they have no more a clue as to what's going on than I do.

---

Now that the surprise attractions are over, I'm dragged backstage with Maverick. Someone hands me a glass of water that I can't help but gulp down as fast as my throat will allow. As I wipe the dribble from my mouth, I find Maverick staring at my neck with an intensity I hardly see from him.

“Don't worry, I'm already healing," I tell him.

Maverick snaps out of his gaze. And now I'm not so sure he was looking at his mark. Which, I still can't see, but maybe it's because of the angle. I pull my neckline over the mark anyway, wanting to keep others from seeing it. Maverick gave it to me, and it's mine. And although the entire pack saw him give it to me and heard my can't-mistake-it-for-anything-else moan, I want to keep it between us.

Horace walks up to us, patting his overdramatic son on the back as if this happens every day. I can't say I blame him. Maverick is an attention w***e.

“I came over to offer congratulations, Cayden. I'm sure you were as surprised as all of us when Maverick named you as his Beta."

Horace's eyes settle on the Beta badge still pinned to my hoodie, but they easily move up to my neck, where Maverick's mark lies hidden by my collar. Yet, his appraisal feels like a test I've failed. Damn it all to hell, Chronos.

Being around Maverick's father was not something that came easily to me. How do you be normal—be yourself—when the king scolded you once at a sleepover when you were chasing his son through the hallway?

It was a traumatic experience I never fully lived down. When Alpha Horace looks at me, does he see a grown, fairly responsible adult? Or a six-year-old in his whitey-tighties screaming through the halls?

“Thank you, Alpha. Though I don't think anyone was as surprised as me."

“Surely, Maverick mentioned something to you?"

“Not a word."

“Dad, come on, don't grill my Beta. He's recovering from stage fright."

Horace just looks between the two of us, probably wondering what the hell he was thinking when he announced it was time to crown Maverick. I have no doubt that Maverick will live up to the great history of the Richards family, but his approach might be unorthodox.

“I am just curious," Horace says to Maverick as if he were an exasperated parent talking to their overdramatic child…which, honestly. “The marking was—"

“—exactly what had to be done," Maverick interrupts, “you know as well as anyone that all Alpha's mark their Beta."

Something unspoken passes between the two that I'm not privy to. And after seeing the hard look in Maverick's eyes, I'm not sure I want to know.

Horace simply nods, moving behind us to the buffet set out. My stomach also takes this moment to grumble in protest the lack of food I've ingested so far today—which was none.

There is an assortment of dishes on the table and I reach for a mini-slider, but Maverick slaps my hand away.

“Dude, what the hell?"

“Don't talk to your king like that," he chastises with no real heat. “They're covered in ketchup. Eat the sandwiches instead."

Oh.

Is it weird to feel warm because your king just saved your life? God forbid I ate ketchup. Tomatoes are the bane of my existence—and my allergy.

Under Maverick's careful eye, I avoided death today. The urge to worship him senseless to thank him surges through me, but that might be a one-sided show of gratitude.

Maverick snorts next to me, his cheeks red from spitting out a cookie. He always had a sweet tooth.

“You okay?" I ask, trying to catch his eye, but he half-heartedly pushes me away.

“—'m fine."

He grabs a glass from a passing waiter, chugging down the champagne in one gulp.

It's weird to see him in his regalia while choking on a chunky chocolate chip. I still just see my friend that I grew up with, not a king.

Alpha Horace pats his overdramatic son on the back as if this happens every day.

“Allow me to offer congratulations."

Everyone's head turns to Kline, who is walking up with confidence in his step. His face is smooth and emotionless despite having just been…basically passed up for a promotion. He bows to Alpha Horace, then to Maverick, who I notice stands taller despite just seconds ago losing to a cookie.

When Kline's eyes slide to mine, I feel a chill rush down my spine.

“Thanks…" I reply

Kline's eyes seem to size me up, and I can't help but shift under his gaze.

“You know," Maverick says, “you've trained your whole life to be Beta, Kline. Perhaps you could help Cayden."

I try to disguise my scoff as a cough, and it's Maverick's turn to pat someone's back.

What the actual f**k?

I can't believe that Maverick just suggested this. But when Alpha Horace nods his head in approval, even Kline has the audacity to look offended.

“That is a wonderful idea, Maverick. Kline, I'm sure Cayden would find your help priceless."

Kline's smile is tight across his face, “Of course, Alpha. I'm honored to be of service."

His tone suggests anything but.