The Devil's Hidden Mate

The King's Warning

Alpha Kaelen’s POV

The Silver Moon Pack was finally perfect.

I sat behind the heavy mahogany desk in my office, swirling a glass of expensive amber whiskey. Across the room, Selene was lounging on a leather sofa, looking flawless in a silk robe. The pack was mine. The weak, pathetic stain on my bloodline had been exiled to the freezing North, where the rogues or the frost had surely taken care of her by now.

I took a sip of my drink, a smug smile playing on my lips. Rejecting Elara was the smartest thing I had ever done. A true Alpha needed a strong, ruthless Luna, not a wolfless maid who flinched at her own shadow.

"They should be back by now," Selene murmured, filing her perfectly manicured nails. "Thorne said the hunting party would only take a few hours to find her body."

"Patience, my Luna," I replied smoothly. "The Dead Lands are treacherous. But Thorne is my best Beta. He won't return without proof that the Omega is dead."

As if on cue, a loud, chaotic commotion erupted in the hallway outside my office.

There were screams. Frantic shouts. The heavy scent of fresh blood and raw, unadulterated terror seeped under the heavy oak doors, suffocating the air in the room.

I slammed my glass down, my Alpha aura flaring in irritation. "What in the Goddess's name is going on?"

Before I could reach the door, it burst open.

Two of my guards stumbled backward, their faces pale with horror. Between them, supported by their shoulders, was a man. Or at least, what was left of one.

"Alpha..." one of the guards choked out, trembling violently.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

It was Thorne.

My strongest Beta was completely unrecognizable. His armor was shredded into bloody ribbons. His face was a mangled mess of torn flesh, and his left eye had been violently gouged out, leaving an empty, bleeding socket. But the worst part was his left arm. It ended in a jagged, bloody stump wrapped in a dirty tourniquet. His dominant hand had been completely severed from his wrist.

Selene shrieked, dropping her nail file and pressing herself against the far wall.

"Thorne!" I roared, rushing forward and grabbing his uninjured shoulder. "Who did this? Rogues? How many were there?"

Thorne’s remaining eye was wide, dilated with a terror so deep it made my own wolf whimper in my mind. He wasn't just beaten; his spirit was completely shattered. He looked like a man who had stared directly into the eyes of death.

"Not... rogues," Thorne wheezed, coughing up a spatter of dark blood onto my expensive rug. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor, pulling away from my grip. "The Devil. The Devil of the North."

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. The Lycan King.

"Why would the Lycan King attack my hunting party?" I demanded, my voice rising in panic. We had a silent treaty. The South stayed out of the North, and the North left us alone.

With his remaining hand, Thorne reached into the shreds of his cloak. His fingers were trembling so violently he could barely hold onto the small, dark wooden box he pulled out. He pushed it across the bloody floorboards toward my boots.

"A message," Thorne gasped, tears of pure agony streaming down his scarred face. "From the King."

I stared at the box. My hands felt unnaturally cold as I crouched down and picked it up. It felt heavy.

I unlatched the bronze lock and flipped the lid open.

Inside, sitting on a bed of dark velvet, were six silver badges. The crests of the Silver Moon Pack. The crests of the six warriors I had sent to the border. Five of them were coated in dried blood.

Sitting on top of the badges was a thick piece of parchment, folded neatly.

I picked it up, my hands shaking. I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, and written in dark, crimson ink.

As I read the words, the air in my lungs completely vanished.

The North has claimed the Queen you threw away. The child she carries is now the Heir to the Lycan Throne. If any Silver Moon wolf ever looks toward my borders again, I will not send a warning. I will come for the Alpha's head myself.

— Valerius, King of the Lycans.

The parchment slipped from my numb fingers, fluttering to the bloody floor.

Queen. Child.

My mind spun out of control. Elara wasn't dead. She had crossed the border and somehow, impossibly, mated the Lycan King. The most dangerous, ruthless predator on the entire continent had claimed the Omega I threw away.

But that wasn't what made my knees hit the floor.

The child she carries.

Six weeks ago. The pantry. The night I took her innocence in secret. She was pregnant. Elara was carrying my child. And now, the Lycan King had claimed my unborn pup as the heir to his unstoppable empire.

"Kaelen?" Selene whispered, her voice trembling. She took a step toward the parchment on the floor. "What does it say?"

"Pack your things," I whispered, staring blankly at the blood pooling around Thorne's boots. The walls of my perfect pack were suddenly closing in on me.

"What?" Selene asked, confused.

"Double the patrols. Lock down the borders. Put everyone on high alert!" I roared, the sound tearing through my throat. I grabbed my desk, flipping it over in a blind, terrified panic.

We had just provoked the Devil. And he was coming for us all.

Elara’s POV

The hot water of the massive, sunken marble tub eased the remaining tension from my muscles.

I sat surrounded by fragrant oils and rose petals, staring at my reflection in the mirror across the grand bathing chamber. I was still trying to process everything that had happened. In less than forty-eight hours, I had gone from a banished, pregnant Omega to the Queen of the Obsidian Court.

The heavy wooden door clicked open, and Valerius stepped inside.

He had washed the blood from his skin and changed into a clean pair of dark trousers, leaving his massive chest bare. My breath hitched. Even relaxed, the sheer power radiating from his scarred, muscular body was intoxicating.

He didn't say a word. He just walked to the edge of the tub, knelt on the marble floor, and picked up a soft sponge.

"Valerius," I breathed, my cheeks flushing. "You are the King. You don't have to bathe me."

"I am your mate," he corrected softly, his storm-gray eyes holding mine as he gently dragged the warm sponge over my shoulders. "It is my privilege to care for you."

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. The Lycan magic in his skin hummed against mine, sending warm ripples of comfort straight into my womb.

"He is perfect," Lyra sighed happily in my mind.

I paused. For eighteen years, Lyra’s voice had been a faint, agonizing whisper, trapped behind a heavy mental wall. Now, she sounded crystal clear. Strong. Powerful.

"Valerius," I whispered, opening my eyes. "My wolf... she's awake. But I don't understand. Why was she dormant for so long? Was I truly a defect?"

Valerius stopped moving the sponge. He set it down and cupped my wet face with his large hands, his thumbs tracing the line of my jaw.

"You were never a defect, Elara," he said, his voice laced with a dark, protective edge. "The Silver Moon Pack is weak. Their magic is diluted. Your wolf didn't awaken because she couldn't survive in that toxic environment. She went dormant to protect you."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my wet forehead.

"You do not have the soul of a common Southern wolf, my Queen. The Lycan magic in the North is waking her up. When she finally steps into the light..." Valerius smiled, a proud, lethal expression. "...the world will tremble at her paws."

My heart swelled. He believed in me. He didn't just want me as a fragile thing to protect; he wanted me to be powerful.

"Kaelen will know by now," I said quietly, the thought of my former Alpha bringing a brief chill to the warm room. "He read your note."

"Good," Valerius rumbled, his eyes darkening as he leaned his forehead against mine. "Let him lose sleep. Let him look over his shoulder every single day. Because when the time is right, and our heir is born, we are going to march South."

He kissed me, a soft, devoted press of his lips that sent a wildfire through my veins.

"And you, my beautiful Queen," Valerius whispered against my mouth, "will be the one to burn his pack to the ground."