Leonard.
The world narrowed to the bottom of those stairs. The scent was a physical thing, a storm of vanilla and rain that crashed into him, breaking down every wall he had ever built around his heart. His wolf, a creature of iron control and ancient power, rose up and howled in his soul. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph.
He started down the stone steps, his movements slow and deliberate. He did not want to frighten her more than she already was.
The girl on the floor stirred. She lifted her head, and even in the near total darkness, he could see her eyes. They were wide, full of a terror so profound it made his blood boil.
Then those eyes met his.
A jolt, white hot and electric, shot through him. It was the mate bond, slamming into place with the force of a tidal wave. It was not a choice. It was not a thought. It was a fact as solid as the stone beneath his feet. She was the other half of his soul.
His gaze dropped to the fresh bruise darkening her cheek, to the split in her lip. He saw the way her thin tunic, little more than rags, was torn at the shoulder, revealing older scars. He saw the iron manacles digging into her slender wrists, pinning her to the wall like a broken butterfly.
And something inside him snapped.
Reason fled. The King vanished. All that remained was the beast, a feral Alpha seeing his mate in chains, hurt, and terrified. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a promise of death to whoever was responsible.
She flinched at the sound, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. She tried to press herself further into the stone wall, to disappear.
The sight of her fear, directed at him, was a blade twisting in his gut. He reached her in two long strides.
“What are you doing?” Danvers’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs, laced with panic. “Stay away from her.”
Leonard ignored him. He crouched down, trying to make himself seem smaller. “I am not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice a raw rasp he barely recognized as his own.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling violently.
His rage turned its full focus on the chains. He wrapped his hands around the cold iron links attached to her right wrist. He pulled.
The metal groaned. The stone around the bolt cracked and splintered.
“Stop!” Danvers shouted, scrambling down the stairs. “That is pack property! You have no right!”
With a final, guttural roar, Leonard ripped the manacle and a chunk of the wall clean off. The sound of tearing stone and screaming metal was deafening in the small space.
He moved to the other chain.
“I command you to stop!” Danvers grabbed his shoulder. “She is a slave. She is being punished for her incompetence.”
Leonard rose to his full height, turning so quickly that Danvers stumbled back. Leonard let his power flood the room, the raw, untamed aura of an Alpha King. The air grew thick, heavy with menace. Danvers paled, choking on the sudden pressure.
“You will never touch her again,” Leonard snarled, each word dripping with venom.
“She is nothing,” Danvers spat, trying to regain some footing. “A worthless Omega runt. She burned the feast I prepared for you.”
“You chained her in the dark for burning a meal?” Leonard asked, his voice deceptively soft now.
The softness was more terrifying than the rage.
“She required discipline,” Danvers insisted.
Leonard turned back to the girl, grabbing the second chain. He tore it from the wall as easily as he had the first.
She slumped forward, free but exhausted. She would have collapsed onto the floor if he had not caught her.
“Let go of her,” Danvers demanded. “She is my property.”
“She is not property,” Leonard said, his voice a low growl. He gently cradled the girl against his chest. She was impossibly light, like a bird with broken wings.
He looked directly at Danvers, at the other Bloodmoon wolves who had gathered at the top of the stairs, their faces a mixture of confusion and fear.
“She is my mate,” Leonard announced.
A collective gasp echoed in the cellar.
Thorne, who had been standing silent and watchful at the top of the stairs, took a single step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His loyalty was clear.
Danvers stared, his mouth agape. “Your mate? That is impossible. The Goddess would not pair you with… with that.”
“The Goddess does not make mistakes,” Leonard said coldly. “But you have.”
“You cannot do this,” Danvers said, his voice rising in desperation. “You cannot just walk into my house and claim my slave. There are laws. Pack laws.”
“There are,” Leonard agreed. “But my law is older. My law is absolute.”
He held Danvers’s terrified gaze.
“I, King Leonard of the Obsidian Crown, invoke the King’s Right of Claim. This wolf is my fated mate, and I claim her now before you all as my own.”
Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.
The King’s Right was an ancient, unbreakable law. It superseded any pack law, any Alpha’s command. It was a power no King had used in centuries, a right reserved for the most sacred of bonds.
Danvers’s face crumpled. His authority had been stripped from him in his own dungeon. His entire pack had just witnessed his complete and utter humiliation.
Leonard felt no satisfaction in the man’s defeat. All he felt was an overwhelming, primal need to get his mate out of this cold, dark place. To get her somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.
He adjusted her in his arms. She whimpered softly, a sound of pure fear that broke his heart.
He looked down at the top of her head, her dark hair smelling of dirt and vanilla.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, the words meant only for her. “I have you.”
He turned his back on Danvers, his focus solely on the fragile woman in his arms. He looked at the assembled wolves of Bloodmoon, his expression hard as granite, daring any of them to challenge him.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Leonard held his mate close and started for the stairs, his every instinct screaming a single, possessive, undeniable word.
Mine.
