The Werewolf King's Mate

Chapter 2 : Blood-Bound

~VANNIE~

"It's your birth date by midnight," the King said. "If you play your cards well, I'll have you in your cell before then."

"I don't want to be in my cell. I want you to not touch my blood," Vannie snapped with a mouth full of lead. And how did he even know what her blood could do? It was supposed to be her Mam's secret.

Her fully-fae Mam had put the Flora spell on Vannie as a test run. It was a blessing from the moon goddess herself that couldn't be replicated by just anybody. The secret to the Flora had been kept by Vannie's matriarchal bloodline. As protection, if she didn't break skin willingly, the blood's powers would become impotent.

It had worked all too well. Now, Vannie's blood could heal any and every wound. She saw where this was going. The King may have done everything to demoralize her, but Vannie would die first before she let the King exploit her blood, too.

So she raised her head to face him.

"You dare to look your King in his eyes," he drawled, soft tones carrying power clear through the room. If she was a wolf that valued her life, she would be brought to heel by the warning.

But right now, she didn't. So she let a smile curve her lips with enough force to reopen the wounds on them, her gaze not straying from his.

"I see no King of mine. I don't see why I can't look at any other person whichever way I like."

A Keeper gave her a backhand that left her swaying on her feet with watery eyes. "You will speak to your King with respect."

After finding her footing, she slowly turned to regard the Keeper that dealt her the blow, not bothering to wipe the blood that was beginning to drip on the rug. The precious blood he wanted, dripping down in all its glory, but useless since she didn't give it willingly.

Her eyes widened in faux innocence, determined not to let the searing pain in her tongue stop her. "But I just said I can't see my King. Who am I to respect?"

His hand moved to probably give her the killing blow she wouldn't mind to receive, when the King raised his hand. "Don't make the young woman go unconscious. We, after all, have need of her."

She didn't freeze or let her features show the tenseness of her heart. Her fear perfumed the air, even she could smell it, but she wouldn't let it show in her outward appearance. She smiled again. "I must warn you, my services are very expensive."

He tsked. "Every beast has a price." He grinned, putting a flash of dimples on display. "Or a breaking point."

Her smile became full-blown laughter, the chill in the sound surprising even her. "If you think to threaten me, King," she spat the last word out with as much disdain and mockery as possible, "then you are about to realize that this beast reached and surpassed her breaking point ages ago."

"But that's where you're wrong, my little flower. If I were to put my mind to it, I'm sure I could think of a thing or two that'll show you your breaking point is still miles away." This time, the power in his voice was a more tangible force that left pinpricks of pain on her open wounds. She didn't dare flinch, neither did she dare let her gaze waver. She just couldn't.

He lowered the linen that had been covering him and lifted his dress shirt to show a body honed to perfection from moons of battles and triumphs. He kept lifting till he revealed a deep gash right in the middle of his chest, red and angry.

The sight gave her a little satisfaction, despite the quality of the festering skin around it. She looked away, and before she could say anything else, the mechanical doors slid open to allow the entry of an old man. He was dressed in a white robe, and had a flowing white beard. As his scent floated to her in calm, light-blue waves, she knew that he was a Rapha. The Raphas were healers in the pack, and they always seemed to have a gentle, nurturing aura.

Vannie refused to be calmed, though. If this Rapha was from the Inlands, then he was still a threat.

He walked to the side of the King and performed a bow, before moving to inspect the wound. By the look on his face, Vannie could see the King's injury was a terrible one.

"Alaric, this is the girl who shall perform the rituals."

The old man gave her a thorough look from head to toe. "Very well."

She would be a fool if she said she didn't know what was happening. The wound on the King's chest was obviously not natural, and was definitely not healing if the festering flesh was any indication.

How ironic. They were going to use her to heal the man who'd wrecked her life. Impotent anger pooled in her guts and chilled her blood. The King grinned, because he could smell the emotions and her very thoughts. He could do that. That's what being King meant.

In the beginning when she first became his prisoner, she'd forgotten many times that he could sense her thoughts, and had paid dearly for it each time.

But she had an edge in this situation. If she didn't break her own skin to willingly give blood, it wouldn't be useful. That was why they bothered to bring her here in the first place. That was why they hadn't just cut her up and used her for the King.

"I'm not going to break my skin for you."

He tsked. How he managed to remain sarcastic and aloof despite the large wound on his flesh, she didn't know. She'd be impressed by it if she wasn't this angry.

"I'm the King. I'll find a way to use your blood, whether you offer it willingly or not." His eyes tingled with dark amusement then. "After this disobedience, you have to be punished. I can't return you to the dungeons. But if you give your blood to me without any stress now, I might pity you enough to kill you before other Inlanders realize we don't need your consent."

She shivered violently. That wasn't an idle threat, because the King would never bluster. He was serious. And he was promising to make her worst nightmare a reality.

"What is your price?" His grin widened, the craze in his eyes contorting his beauty to the opposite. She knew he had smelt the air, and had known what she wanted from the moment she stepped into the room. He threw her a dagger. "Your blood, and you have my word that your death shall be as painless as I can make it."

The clause was a trap. 'As painless as I can make it' didn't mean 'as painless as it can get.' She eyed the offered dagger that she was meant to cut herself with.

Before she could give herself the opportunity to think it, or even give her brain the time to fully form the thought, she was lodging the dagger deep in the first Keeper's heart. She welcomed the metallic taste of blood that spewed on her face and onto her tongue.

She didn't wait to watch him fall, mouth open in stunned pain. With a speed and strength born of utter hatred, she unsheathed the sword of the dead Keeper and was stabbing through the second one. Her heart thrummed. Even though she knew the Keepers wouldn't die, the fact that she'd incapacitated them was enough to make pride soar in her chest.

I'm not weak. I won't let you break me.

In one swift move, she pulled out the first dagger. "You can use my blood when I'm dead," she screamed with the last of her strength, and before anyone could stop her, stabbed herself in the throat.

As she fell to the ground, she heard the sudden roar that shook the ground.

'Happy birthday to me,' she thought, before the darkness welcomed her.