Alastairion's POV

I stood over the unconscious woman as my feet sank into the wet grass, watching her chest rise and fall steadily.

Nearby, the smell of blood from the two dead wolves began to fade, washed away by the heavy rain.

The storm tonight was extremely violent and dark enough to keep me paralyzed.

Since that night many centuries ago, the rain had always felt suffocating and heavy. A feeling I couldn't run from, unless I went to another city where there was no rain at that point in time.

It blurred my senses and made me feel as feeble and docile as a human. As 'ordinary' as these beings.

But tonight was different.

The air felt electric, and I could track every single drop that hit the ground.

My predatory instincts were sharper than ever. I could even smell the stench of blood cooling in the dead wolves, and beneath that, the fast, panicked heartbeat of the strange woman at my feet.

Just when I was about to lean down to check if she was running a fever, the sound of footsteps reached me then.

Before he could even draw closer, I smelled the loyalty and concern on him.

Atticus.

He skidded to a halt a few feet away, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

I could hear his heart thudding against his ribs like a panicked drum.

For a long moment, the only sound was the roar of the rain and the distant rumble of thunders clapping.

Lightening streaked the sky, briefly illuminating the woman in the grass.

I could hear and smell it all without feeling a pinch of pain.

Atticus took a sharp intake of breath.

"My... my King..." he stuttered, his voice trembling and was almost lost to the wind.

I ignored him as my attention was entirely focused on the woman.

Her dark hair spread out like a stain of black ink in the wet grass, and I stared at the softness of her throat.

I heard the wet squish of a material before feeling its dampness on the back of my skin as he covered me with it.

It was a long coat.

"You... you killed a human?" Atticus's voice cracked, rising in pitch as shock took hold.

He stepped closer, his steps cautious until he stood just behind me. I could feel the heat of his anxiety and the disbelief radiating from him in waves.

To him, the scene must have been a horror picture: his King, naked and drenched in blood under the storm, standing over the limp body of a small, helpless female human.

My mind, however, drifted back to the moment of my madness. She had touched me when I was at my weakest, and I had instantly lost all control.

The kiss was never my intention; the very idea was ludicrous, a violation of the sacred laws that kept our kind separate from theirs.

I was a Lycan King, of the purest bloodline, and she was nothing more than a stray human I'd stumbled upon in this rain.

But then I recalled the ancient prophecies. They spoke of a rare, near-mythical phenomenon where certain humans whose very presence could call forth a primal desire in a Lycan or other, a hunger not unlike the way our raw power could hypnotize and lure humans to their doom. It was described as a glitch, an act that was meant to be detrimental to the human involved.

But as our lips met, I felt my injuries begin to heal and the darkness in my mind finally cleared.

It was as if I had sucked the energy out of her. That should not have been the case.

She is supposed to be dead.

The shame of the kiss was a bitter, foul taste in the back of my throat, but it was quickly overshadowed by a growing, nagging suspicion.

This couldn't have been a simple human encounter. Surviving that, and the way my own wounds had vanished only led to one possible conclusion.

"She's... not human," I finally spoke to Atticus as the rain poured around us.

Alastairion's POV

"What do you mean she isn't human?" Atticus questioned sounding a bit appalled, his voice straining against the roar of the wind.

I didn't answer immediately.

How could I explain that my wounds, deep and jagged enough to expose bone, had vanished the moment her lips touched mine?

The power that had surged through me when I kissed her wasn't the slow, agonizing crawl of Lycan regeneration.

If she were human, then it meant she was just one of the rare ones the prophecy described. But the prophecies didn't mention any healing powers.

Atticus moved cautiously as he stepped around me.

He crouched beside her, his head dipping low as he inhaled her scent.

"She smells like a human..." Atticus announced, his brow furrowed as he looked up at me. "There is no trace of other in her, at least not our kind."

"Aye, she does," I agreed, my voice a low rumble.

He is right. I can also smell her humanness but there are questions about the kiss and what happened after.

I cannot share this with Atticus, not until I know what the woman is.

Atticus stood up and looked over at the two dead wolves I had just killed.

They were slumped in messy piles, their pale, reddish eyes staring at nothing. These weren't regular wolves; they were much bigger and more aggressive, like Betas. They had attacked so perfectly that it seemed like they knew exactly who they were attacking.

"How did they know about your weakness?" Atticus wondered out loud, his voice tight with frustration.

He paced in circles through the wet grass, his eyes darting toward the trees as if he expected more attackers to jump out at any moment. "This feels too planned to be a random attack," he muttered.

"They did not know about my weakness. I was ambushed and hence, taken unaware." I grumbled in response.

Atticus sighed with exasperation. "You will never agree to being weak. But look at the timing, my King. They must have known somehow. I am the only one who knows."

I growled again, this time a warning. I did not want to think about the possibility of betrayal, nor did I want to dwell on the curse that had been placed on me centuries ago.

It was a stain on my history and royalty.

"Whether they were aware or not is irrelevant," I snapped, my eyes flashing.

"Yes, because they're dead and we cannot question them," Atticus responded deadpan with heavy sarcasm, gesturing to the mangled remains of the wolves.

He was the only one who dared to speak to me with such bluntness.

He bent low once more, his nose nearly touching the woman's damp cheek as he took another long sniff.

He stayed there for a moment, his eyes softening.

"She smells of tragedy," Atticus said sympathetically after getting to his feet.

"Aye," I replied, my eyes fixed on her closed eyelids.

"Whoever sent them is waging war," Atticus said, his tone shifting back to the reality of my situation as he briefly eyed the dead wolves.

"I won't let all our years of hard work and peace just crumble like that," I stated calmly. The wind picked up, as if motivated by my words. "Send for the elders and the Alphas tomorrow. I want a full council. If there is a traitor among us, I will find them and peel the skin from their bones."

"And the woman?" Atticus asked, his eyes darting to her limp form.

I leaned down, my large hands slipping under her small body. She felt much lighter than I expected, and her skin was cold from the rain.

When I lifted her, her head rested against my chest, her damp hair falling over my arm like silk. The stark contrast between my bloody, scarred body and her pale fragile body was almost ironic.

I began moving toward the castle, taking long, purposeful strides. The forest seemed to part for us, the trees looming like quiet guards as we stepped onto the hidden, dark path leading to the fortress.

"What are you going to do with her?" Atticus hurried to keep pace with me, his boots squishing loudly in the mud. "Just leave her be. We can leave her here. Someone will find her."

He was trying to be the voice of reason, the advisor who always kept my impulses in check.

But he didn't understand. He hadn't seen the way her touch had mended my flesh.

"How did she end up here?'" Atticus pressed when I remained silent. "This road is miles from any human settlement. A woman in flats and a diner uniform doesn't just wander into the heart of our territory by accident."

"I don't know," I answered, my voice tight, slowly getting annoyed by his relentless questions. "But she found me before I found her."

I thought of her face hovering over mine in the dark, her eyes wide with a terror she had pushed aside to try and help a dying stranger.

She had been at her lowest point, and yet she had reached out to a monster.

"And...?" Atticus prompted, his voice dropping suspiciously. He had been with me long enough to know when I was leaving something out. "There is something else. What happened?"

I stopped for a second, the castle's silhouette emerging through the mist like a crown.

"I kissed her," I said to him.

The words were barely a whisper, yet in the stillness between the thunderclaps, they sounded very loud.

Atticus howled, an involuntary sound of pure shock that he couldn't stop. He stumbled, catching himself against a tree trunk.

"You have shocked me, my King," he stuttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Even my wolf couldn't stand it. A Lycan King... a human... like that? Please tell me you're lying. Tell me it was a fever dream."

"I have never told a lie, Atticus," I said, turning my head to look at him.

Atticus looked from me to the woman, then back again.

He moved closer, leaning over her as we resumed our walk.

"It's a miracle she's even breathing," Atticus whispered in awe. "A human shouldn't be able to handle that kind of energy, especially not while you were in such a vulnerable state."

The ancient stone walls loomed ahead as we trudged the path. Atticus' voice came back with a warning.

"She won't be alive for long," he whispered, the warning heavy in the air. "Look at her. She is fading. Either you leave her for dead and let nature take its course, or you do the forbidden act."

I didn't stop walking to look at him as we made our way up the steep path leading to the castle.

"I know, Atticus. I am aware." I replied bluntly.

Ottomir's POV

Rain lashed relentlessly against the thick castle windows. The rain felt like the same force my heart drummed with.

I paced the west living room, my boots clicking impatiently against the cold marble floor. 

Every few steps I would pause and strain my ears for any sound over the howling wind and cracking of thunder.

Beside me, Ashu was practically vibrating with anxiety. 

He stood by the hearth, though the fire had long since dwindled to gray embers. His hands were buried in his hair, his eyes darting toward the door every time the wind rattled the steel frame.

"Do you think they got him?" Ashu's voice was barely a whisper, thin and frayed at the edges.

"They must have," I replied, my voice sounding like gravel grinding together. I forced my jaw to relax. "It's raining. He doesn't do so well in the rain."

Ashu shook his head. "Are you really sure about this, Otto? The King... he's a Lycan. He's the peak of our kind. He's always active during the storms. He just doesn't sleep. I've seen him patrol for hours when the sky breaks open."

I let out a low, mocking chuckle that didn't reach my eyes. I turned my back to him, staring out into the darkness where the forest was nothing but a dark mass of pointed edges against the lightning-streaked sky. 

Ashu and everyone else in this castle was a fool.

"Active is not the same as strong, Ashu," I snapped, a sneer curling my lip as I remembered the night the scales had finally fallen from my eyes.

It had been years ago during a storm much like this one. I had been wandering the upper corridors, unable to rest, when I saw him staggering.

Our Lycan  king was staggering.

There was no other word for it. 

He moved through the hallway like a human wuss, his shoulder catching against the wall as he lurched forward. His head was down, and he was breathing heavily, like someone struggling to stay above water.

I had watched from the shadows, expecting him to shift, to let the wolf take the pain. But he stayed in that pathetic form, trembling like a deer that was caught in headlights. 

He looked fragile. 

He looked... mortal.

The disdain that rose in me that night was unexplainable. 

We were meant to be gods among these pesky humans, and here was our leader, the Alpha of Alphas, reduced to a stumbling wreck by a little water and noise.

From that moment on, I began to study him whenever it rained. I watched and I waited, eventually moving on to my own experiments.

The first time it rained after that discovery, I took a jasmine-scented candle which the king loathed. 

I lit the candle and placed it in the corridor of the floor below his private quarters. If his senses were sharp, he would have smelled it the moment the wick caught fire.

The rain drummed and I waited in the shadows near the stairs, counting the minutes.

An hour passed. Then two.

The King passed through that very corridor on his way to the library. He walked right past the candle. 

He didn't even flinch or turn his head.  He caught not a single whiff of the scent he claimed to despise.

And then, the clouds cleared and the sun began to peek through the sky the next morning. I lit the candle again, in the exact same spot.

Within three minutes, the King's roar shook the foundation of the castle. He stormed into the hall, his eyes dangerous and nostrils fuming. 

"Who dares burn that scent in this castle?" he bellowed. 

"I did, my King," I stepped forward that morning, feigning innocence and embarrassment.

The King took a quick look at me as his anger slowly faded away. "Ottomir. I've warned everyone about this filth. Never burn this again."

"I am sorry. It won't happen again," I apologized.

Even though I had caused a scene, I had gotten my answer.

If he couldn't smell the candle during the storm then he was weak during the storm. 

When the next storm came, I didn't waste time to attempt the experiment again. This time, I didn't burn the candle on the floor below. Instead, I took it with me to the door of his study, where I knew he was at.

I set the candle on a small pedestal right next to the door. I lit it. The jasmine scent exploded in the small space, thick enough to make a human gag. 

I stood there, my hand on the hilt of my dagger, my heart racing with the thrill of the gamble.

I waited for him to smell it and burst through the doors but nothing happened for a couple of minutes. 

The King continued his restless pacing inside the room. He spoke to himself in low, guttural tones, but not once did he acknowledge the candle  sitting inches from his doorway. 

That was when I knew that the rain had neutralized him. It had stripped away the primary weapon and the most precious sense of our kind from him.

"Otto, what are you thinking?" Ashu's voice brought me back to reality.

I turned back to Ashu, who was still staring at me with that pathetic, wide-eyed worry.

The experiment had confirmed everything. 

Something was wrong with the King. I don't know what it was but it was the best opportunity for me to begin to play my hand. 

I hadn't even told Ashu the full truth. I couldn't. He was loyal in his own way, but he was soft.

"He isn't himself during the storms, Ashu," I repeated firmly. 

Ashu looked down at the floor, his shoulders slumping. He didn't argue anymore. 

I looked back at the front door, my impatience returning.

"That's exactly what I told Rex and Ren," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I told them to strike tonight. I told them they'd find him a commoner, not a King." 

I turned to Ashu, my eyes widening with glee at the thought of the King dying as my voice rose higher. "I told them that tonight, the Great Lycan King would be nothing but a blind dog lost in the dark."