A bite from an Alpha King

Chapter 2: A bond

-Octavia-

The king left his men behind as he stepped out into the open area in front of the mansion, where a large fountain shot water into the air. His behavior was strange—he walked away from his men, sniffing the air.

A cool breeze brushed past me, lifting some of the strands of hair that had escaped my braid. Again, the king acted oddly, glancing around as if sensing something. Can he smell me? I wondered for a second, but he didn’t seem on high alert, not like someone ready for a fight.

He glanced back at his men as though they were fools, as if they didn’t understand what was happening. They simply stood there, looking at him in confusion. I saw my only opportunity unfold before me. This was my chance.

I sprinted as fast as I could, digging my heels into the ground to propel myself forward. Just before reaching him, I pulled out my knife and leapt towards him, the blade poised in the air. But in an impossibly fast motion, the king turned, as if he had known I was coming, and his hand wrapped around my throat, cutting off most of my air.

His arm was long—too long for me to even get the knife close to him. I growled in frustration, but it quickly turned into a whimper as I looked into his golden eyes, which shone brighter than anything in the night.

Mate.

The moment my wolf uttered the word, leaping with excitement at the sight of her chosen one, I dropped the knife, my body going limp. I didn’t even hear the knife hit the cool bricks beneath us.

All I could hear was the strong, steady beat of his heart and the sound of his breath, but something stood out even more—his eyes. They were so golden that I could only describe them as beautiful. But as I stared into those yellow eyes, a realization hit me.

Yellow. The eye color of royals. A title he had stolen from my father—a man I had loved so dearly, my protector. It shouldn’t have been possible to have yellow eyes unless you were descended from royalty. Not even killing one could give you eyes like that. But in that moment, I didn’t dwell on the thought.

All I could focus on was the gold that should have belonged to my father. My dead father, murdered in cold blood by this king, who had turned my father’s pack—the people I had once considered family—against him.

I hated the man in front of me, my blood boiling with rage. There was no way he could be my mate. I refused to accept it. I refused him! My wolf whimpered and stirred angrily inside me at the thought. She clearly disagreed, but she had no power over me. I was in control, and her opinion mattered as little now as it always had.

I heard the leather of the king’s jacket straining as his powerful body expanded, leaving little room within the fabric. The king was suddenly so close, leaning in and taking a deep breath.

He growled in satisfaction as he inhaled my scent. When he pulled back, his eyes had a dark, dangerous glow, and I felt my body tremble for reasons I couldn’t explain. What is happening to me?

“So, little one,” he rumbled in a husky, deep voice, “care to explain why my own mate is trying to kill me?” He licked his lips as he eyed me.

Suddenly, I became hyper-aware of myself under his gaze. Something about the way he looked at me sent shivers down my spine, though I wasn’t sure if they were from fear or something else. I glanced down quickly, momentarily doubting whether I was actually wearing clothes.

I was—dressed in tight black shorts that hugged my strong frame, combat boots, and a sleeveless crop top that barely covered my breasts. No bra. Reassured that I was clothed, I looked back at the king. Yet his eyes still held that hungry, predatory look, and I couldn’t fathom why.

“Are you not going to answer me?” he demanded, his tone almost threatening as he tightened his grip around my throat.

I gasped, realizing I couldn’t breathe. He was so strong. I had fought countless rogues—powerful male rogues—and boys from my old pack. I had always come out on top. But now, faced with this man, I was utterly powerless.

“L-...” I tried to speak, but nothing came out. His grip was too tight, and I grew weaker by the second. The king leaned forward, clearly curious, as if trying to hear what I was attempting to say. In that moment, I saw my opening. With all the strength I had left, I pulled the silver knife from my back pocket and drove it into his chest.

He gasped, looking down at the knife in disbelief. His eyes then shifted to mine, filled with horror as I gave him a wicked smile.

“Long live my father,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His grip loosened, and he collapsed to his knees. I gasped for air, feeling the precious oxygen flood back into my lungs. Violent coughs racked my body, and I could focus on nothing but breathing. Voices shouted all around me, but I paid them no mind, consumed by the struggle to regain my breath.

When I finally settled, I glanced over at the king. His eyes were dimming, losing their light. His men gathered around, shouting frantically as they looked from him to each other, but he only had eyes for me.

I smiled in satisfaction just before he toppled over. His men caught him before he hit the ground, but their panic only increased as his body went limp. As I stared at the king’s lifeless form, a dark shadow loomed over me. A familiar figure towered above.

“Hello, brother,” I said, meeting his gaze. His two-colored eyes—one yellow, one green—glared down at me in fury.

Without warning, he grabbed the collar of my top and delivered a hard punch to my face, knocking me out.