TESTED BY A KING

Chapter 4: Cold Water, Burning Blood

The stairs beneath my feet felt like a gallows climb. Every step I took away from Caleb carried the heavy, dragging weight of his dictatorial command, but inside my chest, my heart was a wild, erratic drum.

I reached the master bathroom at the end of the hall. It was a spacious, drafty room with slate floors and a massive clawfoot copper tub that Caleb had hauled from the southern markets for me three summers ago. Back then, it had been a gift of love, a promise of warm, indulgent nights together. Tonight, it felt like an altar of sacrifice.

I turned the brass taps, letting the scalding water rush into the copper basin. The pipes groaned, sending up billows of thick, damp steam that quickly coated the leaded glass windows and the cold slate floors.

Mechanically, I began to strip off my clothes. My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned the ruined collar of my dress, the fabric hanging open where Caleb’s desperate fingers had torn it. The wool shawl, saturated with the wild, untamed scent of the Grey Mountain King, fell to the floor in a heavy heap. As my naked skin hit the damp air, I shivered—not from the cold, but from the sudden, violent rush of heat that seemed to bloom from my very pores.

I climbed into the tub. The water was near-boiling, a searing shock that made me gasp and grip the rolled edges of the copper. I welcomed the pain. I wanted the physical sting to drown out the chaotic roar of my thoughts.

Grabbing the harsh lye soap and the stiff bristle brush Caleb had demanded I use, I began to scrub.

I dragged the bristles over my collarbone, scraping at the sensitive skin of my shoulders, my breasts, my thighs. I scrubbed until my flesh turned a raw, angry crimson. But as the hot water washed over my skin, something terrifying—and utterly intoxicating—began to happen.

The heat didn't wash Lycaon's scent away. It unlocked it.

The steam rising from the bath didn't smell of lye or clean copper. It smelled of dark, bitter cocoa. It smelled of wild honey, crushed pine needles, and the sharp, metallic electricity of an approaching thunderstorm. The signature pheromones of the Mountain King rose from my wet skin in a thick, suffocating cloud, filling the small bathroom, wrapping around me like a physical, heavy embrace.

I dropped the brush. It clattered against the bottom of the tub, forgotten.

A low, trembling sigh escaped my swollen lips. I leaned my head back against the warm copper, closing my eyes. The phantom sensation of Lycaon’s massive, leather-gloved hand rushed back to me, wrapping around my waist, pulling me so hard against his granite chest that my ribs ached. My breasts swelled, the n*****s hardening into tight, sensitive peaks as the memory of his hot breath against my neck played over my skin.

My hand slipped beneath the surface of the scalding water, tracing the curve of my belly, sliding lower.

My inner wolf, awakened from her year-long slumber, began to pace restlessly behind my ribs, whimpering with a desperate, feral need. She didn't want Caleb's domestic, duty-bound touch. She wanted the conqueror. She wanted the beast who had looked at her and seen a queen.

I let my fingers slide between my thighs, parting the sensitive petals of my core. I was pouring wet, slick and aching, completely undone by the lingering trace of a man who had only kissed me once. As my fingers found the tight, throbbing center of my desire, a soft, helpless moan escaped my throat, echoing off the damp tiles.

I closed my eyes, picturing those abyssal obsidian eyes staring down at me in the dark. “Elena is a ghost, and Caleb is a fool,” his gravelly voice whispered in my mind, sending a violent shudder of pleasure straight down my spine. “If you were mine, I would paint your scent across my borders in blood.”

I stroked myself, my movements growing faster, more desperate, driven by a raw, unadulterated hunger I had never experienced in all my years with Caleb. Caleb had always been gentle, careful, treating me like a fragile fixture of his domestic peace. Lycaon wanted to consume me. He wanted to destroy and rebuild me in his own image.

I arched my back, my hips lifting slightly in the water as a sharp, electric wave of release began to gather in my stomach. The scent of ozone and dark chocolate grew so thick in my throat I could taste it, a rich, intoxicating sweetness that made my head spin. I was right on the edge of a devastating, shattering climax—

The bathroom door slammed open.

The sudden crash shattered the fantasy like glass. I bolted upright, water splashing violently over the edges of the copper tub as I crossed my arms over my chest, my heart leaping into my throat.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his golden eyes bloodshot and wild. He had stripped off his heavy coat, wearing only a thin white linen shirt that clung to his broad chest, damp with sweat. But as he stepped into the room, the anger in his face instantly collided with the scent filling the air.

He froze. His nostrils flared, taking in the thick, steamy aroma of Lycaon that was radiating off my wet skin and filling the entire bathroom like a physical presence.

"You didn't scrub," Caleb whispered, his voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of jealousy, arousal, and pure, primitive rage. "You didn't wash him off. It smells like him... it smells like he's standing right here in my house."

"The water only makes it stronger, Caleb," I said, my voice trembling but holding an edge of defiance that surprised us both. "He is in my skin. He is in my blood. No amount of water is going to wash him away."

With a low, feral growl, Caleb strode across the slate floor. He reached down, his large, scarred hands gripping my wet shoulders, dragging me upward out of the water.

"Get out," he commanded, his voice shaking. "Get out of the water, Ariah."

I stood up, dripping wet, my skin raw and flushed from the heat. I didn't try to cover myself. I stood proud, looking directly into the amber depths of his eyes.

Caleb’s gaze swept down my naked body, his pupils dilating with a sudden, desperate lust. He had neglected me for a year, but now, seeing me marked by another alpha, his possessive, territorial beast was completely out of control. He reached for a towel, wrapping it roughly around my waist before grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the adjoining bedroom.

"Caleb, stop!" I cried, trying to pull back, but his grip was iron.

"No!" he bellowed, throwing open the bedroom door and shoving me toward the large, heavy bed we had shared for years. "You are my mate fated by the Goddess! I am your Alpha! I am going to put my scent back on you, Ariah. I am going to fill you with my seed until you forget what that mountain beast even smells like!"

He lunged forward, pinning me down onto the mattress. The weight of his massive body was suffocating, but it didn't ignite the spark. The golden cord between our chests remained completely dead, a cold, heavy chain.

Caleb buried his face in my neck, his teeth scraping violently against my scent gland, trying to bite down, trying to forcefully lay his claim.

But the moment his teeth touched my skin, a wave of intense, physical repulsion washed over me. My inner wolf roared in absolute disgust. It wasn't just a rejection of his touch—it was a rejection of his very soul.

With a scream of pure rage and strength I didn't know I possessed, I slammed my palms against his chest, channeling the residual, wild energy of Lycaon's mark.

The physical rejection hit Caleb's alpha pride like a physical blow. He stumbled back off the bed, his eyes wide with shock and agony as he stared at me, his own mate, who had just fought him off to protect the scent of his rival.

"You... you pushed me away," Caleb whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at his hands. "For him? For a monster who would tear this pack apart?"

"You tore this pack apart the day you brought another woman into our bed and let our bond rot, Caleb!" I screamed, my voice thick with the unshed tears of a year of neglect. "You want a mate? Go to Clara! Go play husband to her! But you will never touch me again."

I scrambled off the bed, grabbing my simple, thick winter dress from the chair and throwing it over my head. My fingers were flying, buttoning the front with frantic speed.

"Where are you going?" Caleb growled, stepping forward, his alpha aura flaring in a desperate attempt to command me, to make me drop to my knees and submit. "Ariah, I command you as your Alpha. Stop."

The crushing weight of his command hit me, a suffocating pressure that tried to force my knees to bend. But my inner wolf stood tall. She didn't recognize his voice anymore. She only recognized the deep, gravelly promise of the King.

"You are not my Alpha," I whispered.

Before he could react, I turned and bolted out of the bedroom, running down the hallway. I didn't grab a coat. I didn't grab boots. I pushed open the heavy front door, throwing myself out into the freezing, howling blizzard.

The cold hit me like a wall of glass, but I didn't care. I ran into the dark forest, my bare feet sinking into the deep snow, heading straight toward the western ridge. Straight toward the Grey Mountains.

Behind me, a long, agonizing, blood-curdling howl cut through the storm.

It was Caleb, howling in a jealous, belated rage as he realized his mate had finally, truly left him. But I didn't look back. I was already running to the King.