CALYRA VEYNE

Calyra was pushed forward to walk faster out of the nine courts' throne room by the delta guards, wearing a very flimsy piece of clothing whilst she was being led harshly towards the opening arena where thousands of wolves cheered so loudly and savagely.

The death battle pit was situated deep in the middle of the arena, and where she stood in front of the Nine Alpha Courts, Therion stood up and raised his hands at the crowd, and their leering and cheering grew louder and deeper.

Calyra's eyes were red with pain, trauma and tear stains; she stood looking down the pit, anticipating something not less scary than what the Alphas did to her in the throne room.

Therion smirked with satisfaction seeing Calyra so broken before him, the cursed wench that dared to speak about Varos? A Varos loyalist and a cursed flame?

Calyra was everything Therion detested, and he detested even more that a cursed flame who had only lived for a measly eighteen years was now threatening him with an Alpha King he'd spent over a century taming.

Why was it so hard for them to forget Varos and accept him as their Alpha King already? He had ruled for so long while Varos remained weak-a broken beast beneath him-yet he never got the satisfaction he deserved.

There were still wretched loyalists out there, clinging to that fallen wolf. And this wench, Calyra Veyne, was one of them. He would teach her several lessons.

"High King."

Therion turned to his lower right, where Alpha Padain called, watching him with a sharp gaze.

"Every battle over the years, and still no beast or rogue has been able to kill Varos," Padain said.

"I know, Alpha Padain. But with every death match he's fought, he's come out weaker... gentled, even if he always survives," Therion replied.

"And you really think today will be any different? He'll win again. And all it'll do is remind the people that he's still the unrepelled Alpha King Beast of the century-just like he's always been."

"What are you getting at, Padain?" Therion snapped and continued. "The people already know he's a beast. He'll prove it again in this game, like he always does."

Padain countered almost immediately, his tone sharper now.

"But you sure have heard what the Null Binders said? Lately, they haven't been able to track his mind or his strength."

He took a step closer, his voice low but deeply concerned.

"You know damn well those Null Binders are your greatest weapon in subduing Varos. If the elite faction bound by blood pacts, tasked with subduing Alphas, controlling minds and poisoning sanity, could not keep track of Varos anymore, what hope do we have then?"

Padain paused, letting the weight of his words settle down on Therion, and Padain sat on his seat and focused on the arena.

Therion's hand clenched tightly on his throne arm. His gaze fell on Calyra, who was right in front of him, broken and battered. He growled, "Let the game begin!"

Calyra watched down the pit as two giant rogue contestants were called out; they were ripped and muscled, too roguish and cruel-looking,

Calyra shuddered in fear as the redhead rogue looked at her lustfully and thrust his long tongue between his index and middle fingers. Calyra stepped backwards with a repulsed expression, and this perverse behaviour made her wonder why she was standing here in the first place.

She had thought these two huge contestants were going to fight against each other, but her jaw dropped when the other giant gate creaked open and the entire arena went silent, totally silenced.

From the dark tunnel gate came out a beast. Calyra gasped at the stature of this godly-looking male; his long black hair with streaks of silver ash stuck to his sweaty skin, and his gold-ringed black eyes glowed red with a flaring rage.

He was a beast, yes! A 6'7" built like a warforged gladiator is a beast, with claws, gashes, untreated deep wounds, and multiple fatal scars from multiple fights on his skin, but he was undoubtedly the most handsome, ruthless male Calyra had ever seen.

His neck collared in rune-branded chains and his lower face masked with an iron muzzle further showed how dangerous he was; his aura alone made the crowds shudder from his slow prowling gait.

Calyra turned to look at Therion; she could swear she saw hatred, jealousy and threat, which he immediately masked with a casual wicked smirk. Calyra saw that even Therion was affected by this man.

Calyra's heart thudded fast with a tinge of a foreign weird sweetness when the beast's gaze fell upon her; it was cold, too inscrutable and expressionless. Calyra immediately carried away her gaze; she wouldn't want anything to do with this beast, and why was she made to stand here anyway?

Calyra turned back to look at Therion and yelled at his face.

"I won't stay here and watch this barbarity where males fight each other to death for the entertainment of you weak Alphas' twisted and sick gratification!"

Therion smirked with mockery and rather faced the rogue wolves who are fighting against Varos.

"If any one of you defeats the Beast Varos, you will have Calyra Veyne of the Tidecliffs as your mount for the night and your personal sex slave." Therion announced, and the thousands in the crowd yelled, going crazy as they chanted the rogue's name.

Calyra's heart dropped. She had been bound with two dangerous fates; she'd either be thrown in the beast Varos' dungeon or be taken to be mounted by any of these two perverted rogues. Now, whoever wins this battle doesn't matter to her; she was their prize.

Therion felt confident today. Varos seemed too weak; he had fought ten wolves in his cell before this battle, and he had sustained too many injuries, enough to kill him, but he didn't die. It is certain these two rogue beasts, who had never been defeated in a fight, will claw him in and out, and the existence of Varos will forever be forgotten.

The battle began, and the two rogues shifted into huge, formidable beasts as they pounced on Varos, who still remained in his human form.

The first rogue, black-furred with a jagged scar across his snout, launched at Varos from the right. The second, lean and silver-eyed, circled behind him with his teeth bared.

The first impact came hard. The black wolf slammed into Varos' side, knocking him off his feet. Dust burst up as they tumbled, and the crowd roared louder; Varos still didn't fight back. Calyra felt her knees go weak.

"Fucking shift!! They will kill you." Calyra didn't know why she yelled for him; she was shocked that she had involuntarily rooted for Varos, who was going to feast on her if he won. Why would she do that?

The silver rogue sank his teeth into Varos' leg, tearing flesh with a wet rip. Varos let out a low growl but didn't move. Didn't even try.

He didn't shift. He didn't scream. He just endured.

Therion laughed from his throne. "Rip the bastard apart!" Until a low rumble vibrated through the arena floor. It was Varos.

He clamped his massive hand around the Black rogue's head and crunched, and his bone gave way. A shriek of pain echoed, cut off mid-howl as the rogue's skull shattered like glass.

And blood sprayed. The silver rogue tried to leap away, but it was too late.

Varos lunged with a sudden blur of muscle and madness and slammed the other wolf to the ground with a snarl so guttural it silenced the whole arena for a heartbeat.

Then he tore into him. His ribs split like branches, flesh stripped from bone. The silver wolf screamed and kicked, eyes wide with terror as Varos disembowelled him, guts spilling into the dirt like steaming ropes.

The crowd didn't cheer anymore.

They watched in stunned silence as Varos, drenched in blood, staggered to his feet and looked up at Therion-eyes still burning red like a beast.

Calyra was too stunned, too frozen to the spot, at this male's strength and monstrosity.

Therion looked angry. "Then I guess Calyra Veyne belongs to you to feast on, then! Once again, The Beast Varos is too unsafe for our people, the madness too twisted, too dangerous; he will remain a prisoner forever until a suitable champion will be able to put him at rest."

Therion announced and Calyra's face was etched with shock. What does Therion mean by madness? A man faced with death, being ripped apart by morbid wolves, fought and defended himself, and Therion is calling it madness?

A madness they curated and construed? A madness they made happen?

"You dirty liar! That man right there is not mad! Let the man go!" Calyra yelled at Therion, but the Delta guards dragged her away, preventing her from attacking Therion.

CALYRA VEYNE

"You are the monsters! The beasts! Let me go, you wretched cowards!"

Calyra kept screaming and thrashing as they dragged her down the stone stairs into the dark lower chamber of the tower.

At the top, Alpha Therion, Alpha Padain, and Alpha Gomer stood watching her descent down the spiral steps.

"So what now? She just dies? And I lose a cunt I didn't even get to fuck? A virgin cunt, no less," Gomer grumbled, voice thick with lechery.

"Do you ever see the world beyond cunt, Alpha Gomer?" Padain snapped in response.

Gomer only grunted, unbothered.

"I know how this plays out," Therion said, his gaze fixed below. "She's untouched. Still a virgin. And with the thoughts in her head-knowing she'll likely die down there-if Varos is truly regaining strength, if his instincts are returning... then she'll survive. The Varos I knew wouldn't kill her if he can read her thoughts and sees she's no threat, especially not one sent by me."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "It's been a century since the null binders started suppressing him. This will prove whether he's slipping from control."

"And if she comes out alive?" Padain asked.

"Then a bond will already have begun," Therion answered coldly. "We'll force a beast's rut. He won't be able to resist. He'll ravage her-break her body and her trust. I want her shattered for thinking Varos is worthy of my throne."

Padain's tone turned sharp. "This is starting to sound like your ego talking. This isn't just about you. The Nine Courts are at risk. If Varos reaches full strength, we're all dead. And your silly 'beastly rut' won't weaken him."

"I agree with Alpha Padain, High King," Gomer said, for once serious.

Therion turned on Padain, fury flashing in his eyes. "You will learn to trust me. I've kept Varos weak, kept him beneath me for a century. He is my prisoner-and he will stay that way."

With that, Therion turned and strode away, his steps echoing into the dark.

....

As Calyra was being led down the darkest part of the cell, she saw ten tall figures heavily draped in black overall robes, their faces caged with iron-sculpted beast masks. Their appearance was chilling and horrifying to look at. Calyra's skin formed goosebumps; she was frozen with fear.

Four of these figures held heavy silver chains, and the other six were inside the deeper cell, where Varos' rune collar was properly connected and chained to the massive iron pillar in the middle of the big cell.

Varos didn't hurt them. He couldn't even move. He sat with his face against the wall, and only his massive, clawed, bleeding back was barely visible to her. She realised these heavily draped figures were the Null-Binders-and they were hurting him. They were taming and weakening him with that silver chain and runed iron collar tightened around his neck.

The moment the Null-Binders were done, the delta guards pushed Calyra inside the cell, and the heavy iron gate slammed shut. Calyra didn't even try to hit the gate for them to let her out. She knew there was no way out of the iron cage-her cries would only make Varos aware of her presence.

Calyra huddled far away from Varos, scared to death. She wondered if Varos knew his prize for the battle was at the corner of his cell, trying to disappear into the wall.

Calyra sat there for over an hour, watching Varos closely. Then came a low growl, and his blood gushed out from his flesh, streaming down onto the marble bench seat.

Seeing this much blood and the untreated wound, she immediately tore her flimsy clothing and rushed to him-forgetting how dangerous this man was. He was a beast who had been imprisoned for a century, and yet, because of a clawed flesh wound, she forgot about her safety and attended to his wounds first.

Cleaning the open flesh injury-the gashes were too deep and serious, some even infected-she trailed her fingers around his skin. And before she knew it, he clamped his hand around her throat so suddenly, Calyra thrashed as he raised her mid-air like she was a newborn cat.

"Please let me go..." Calyra yelped in pain. As she thrashed, he looked at her so closely, scrutinising her body with his glowing red eyes-then he dropped her mid-air. Calyra's body was wrecked in pain.

He was silent. All he did was grunt. Calyra's heart was beating too fast. This male didn't care about her. He didn't pounce and ravage her like she expected.

"I won't hurt you... I just want to help stop your bleeding," Calyra said, hoping she could gain his trust, even when her entire being was shivering like a leaf-scared shitless. Calyra got closer again, and he pushed her so violently that her frail body hit the wall. Her vision blackened, and she passed out.

Hours passed. She woke up again-and this time, he was seated facing her, studying her like she was something strange and otherworldly. Silent still. She groaned in pain.

"Can you not talk? I only wanted to help you. I'm not going to hurt you!" Calyra said, facing him – like she could even hurt the toe of his nail. He was a big beast-too feral and wild.

"Who are you, little wolf?" A deep, male, reverberating voice came into her head, and Calyra flinched back, the voice hurting her ears as she shut her ears with her hands so tightly.

She looked around to see who spoke; it certainly wasn't Varos; he didn't move his lips. She knew he was silent; perhaps cruel Therion had cut off his tongue.

"Why are you not afraid for your life? You should be clawing at the iron gate, screaming for an easier death, rather than being locked up here with me." Calyra heard this reverberating voice again.

"Did you hear that too?" She asked Varos, but he was inscrutable and remained silent, only watching her closely like a predator monitoring its prey.

She panicked, hugging her knees like it would shield her from this horror or perhaps madness haunting her. When Varos didn't move his lips and utter any word, who else was locked up in here with them?

Calyra began to panic, closing her eyes shut, but even darkness was not peaceful; the screams of her mother and the gruesome memory of how the very womb that bore her was carved out by her father punished her.

"No-no-no-"

She screamed, rocking back and forth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and bitter. She was truly a curse. She had to be. If she weren't, her mother wouldn't have died like that. She would've passed the ceremony and become queen.

She would've protected her.

Her fingers dug into her chest, scratching, like she could rip the pain out of her skin. Across from her, Varos didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't flinch.

She was nothing but noise to him. Her grief didn't even lift a hair on his skin; she was just a new soul who had only lived eighteen years; she hadn't experienced true pain.

"Brace yourself and save your strength, little wolf, if you have any hope for survival."

She froze. Her eyes darted to Varos; he was still silent. But she felt it now-his presence in her mind. He wasn't mute. He was inside her head. She realised Varos was communicating with her through a mind link.

And what he said next made her blood run cold.

"Therion will force a rut soon. And when it comes, my beast will take control. He's not merciful. He doesn't know the difference between prey and threat-he only sees movement."

Varos's eyes darkened, like storm clouds rolling in behind his pupils.

"Don't run. He'll chase you; my beast enjoys the chase; he will see you as prey and devour you. Don't scream, or it'll see you as a threat and rip you apart. My beast will treat you the way you present yourself, Present yourself as a sex, give him something to mount-and you will be ravaged; only then can you survive."

CALYRA VEYNE

Calyra watched in silence as the century-bound king retreated into the depths of his shadow-drenched cell. The silver chain was tethered to the runes-carved iron collar around his neck, and it clinked with every slow, predatory step he took.

How ironic, the clinks echoed like a power that is caged and also madness that is restrained. His figure blended into the darkness until even his silhouette was swallowed whole.

Calyra wondered, not for the first time, if life was truly worth enduring for a king like him. Wouldn't death be kinder than this?

Than more than a century of solitude, of chains and cruel games? He could end it all and slip into silence, let oblivion take him. But instead, he lived...

Living as a breathing weapon. A beast paraded for the nine Alphas' court pleasure; why would he do that to himself? Or could he not just do himself the favor of death?

And somehow, that choice made the darkness and terror of his words feel even heavier.

Calyra couldn't stop wondering, especially why he would tell her all that. All that warning-why would he care about an eighteen-year-old like her compared to a century-long unfortunate situation?

Calyra was finally able to rest her head against the wall for a little bit of comfort. Since the bound king wasn't closer to her, she wondered how deep his cell gets, where he had just retired into after terrifying her with his unspoken words.

Why did he use the mind-link technique for her too? He could just speak with his tongue. The more Calyra thought about this mysterious king, the more perplexed she got.

A few hours passed, and she fell asleep.

...

THERION VEX

At the pavilion of pleasure, which was once a place of courtly reverence and relaxation under the previous High King Varos,

It had become a temple of unholy indulgence; the atmosphere was filled with quivering moans, wet skin hitting skin, and brutal fucking of throngs of female slaves.

The sharp crack of leather whips hitting flesh and round buttocks that resisted taking thick and huge phalluses of some of the Nine-Courts Alpha, Crimson Lantern bathed everywhere and everything in a blood-red glow.

Wet grinding sounds of toothless slaves thrusting and sucking lengthy penises, others still in chains and their lips parting and forced to swallow the massive cocks,

The air was heavy with incense and soft groans of both pleasure and pain, excruciating ones and also indistinguishable in their intensity.

At the center of it all, on a dais wrapped in velvet, with two slave girls massaging his shoulder, another collared noble daughter-just turned slave-lying curled at his feet, sucking his toes and applying oil to soothe his feet,

Therion watched with dissatisfaction in his eyes; perhaps the gorgeous woman dancing before him-whose body was painted in shimmering oil-provoked him.

No matter how Nyzara moved her waist, swirled her hips, bent her neck, and curled her fingers, Therion didn't see the passion she had whenever she danced for Varos a century ago.

And that does not entice him; it infuriates him greatly, and jealousy courses through his veins like a lethal poison, and he hates that he's even feeling jealous.

He growled and smashed the glass goblet half-filled with expensive wine at the marble floor close to Nyzara, which made her pause. Seeing the anger in Therion's face and the shattering glasses that splattered and even slashed her flesh, she fell to her knees.

"Do I bore you this much, High King?" Nyzara Vorell asked with her head bowed so low that her lips kissed the cold marble floor. Therion grunted, as if there were a shift in his anger.

Why would everything he desired be all that Varos ever had so effortlessly? Even Nyzara wouldn't dance for him with the same passion, with the same zeal she does whenever she tries to impress Varos all those years.

"Forgive me, High King. The weather's too harsh. It's messing with how I move in these pieces-barely even clothing," Nyzara Vorell said, her face blank, her voice stripped of care.

She didn't bother pretending anymore.

What did Therion still expect from her? What kind of pleasure could he possibly squeeze out of the "Forbidden Lover's Requiem" dance now? She'd danced it for him more times than she could count. Over and over. The same steps. The same look in his eyes, like he was chasing something that wasn't even there anymore.

She used to love this dance.

Back when it was for someone else. For Varos.

Varos, the bound king. Her first love. The one who never even saw her-not really. Not her feelings, not her devotion. Nothing. Just a girl in the background, dancing her heart out for a man who never reached for it.

And when he fell, she didn't fall with him.

Therion took her. Or maybe she let him. Maybe that was the only way to survive in a world where women were nothing, owned nothing-not even their own life or body-and talked about their life -they had to trade for it. Sell it. Bleed for it.

Now the dance felt like a joke. A dead thing she was forced to drag out night after night.

And she was tired.

Amidst the fuss, Alpha Sammael-the next most powerful Alpha of the Nine Courts after Padain and Gomer, in that order-sat alone, observing the rising tension. Tilting his head slightly, he finally spoke.

"Over a century now, Nyzara still gets on High King's nerve... It must be exhausting to be hunted not by your enemy, but by a woman's divided desire, one for the very king you bound".

He paused, letting the silence breathe, then his lips curled.

"Why do you think Nyzara is the reason behind my anger, Sammael?" Therion asked with a smirk,

"to rule the entire realm-absolute power. Yet you couldn't rule a woman's heart. Even if you possessed her, you never tasted what a chained king was given freely. Of course that enrages you, High King.

But truth be told, you've never struck me as the angry, wailing ninth cub -the one left starving while his eight brothers nursed from their mother's full teats."

Sammael said, and the court laughed hysterically at his subtle shade. As he continued, seeing how it got on Therion's nerve, he continued,

"The high king simmers like a heartbroken pup over a cunt that wouldn't stay."

A collective laughter once again filled the pavilion, knowing Therion could stab him to death that moment if it were another Alpha, but it was already a constant silent war at this point between Sammael and Therion.

Therion has only ever thrown slurs at him for liking males, slave boys, and twinks, and for rarely indulging in female slaves, he was always Therion's target at court, even now with no slave sucking his cock like the others, which makes him barely appear at court, but he has to, at least once in a while, to check on Therion.

"Such poetry from a man who gets fucked by twinks... taking phalluses like a proper little bitch, Sammael, did you know you are the only Alpha I know who howls louder on his back than in battle?"

Therion immediately responded, even while Sammael's shade got under his skin.

"I don't lay on my back; I do the fucking! At least I dominate men; perhaps you don't have the balls to do the same, High King?" Sammael became agitated, and Padain cut into the tension.

"You all should stop the squealing; I had hoped we'd prioritize a more pressing issue! than a boy fucking Alpha!"

"You...!" Sammael grinned at Padain, but Therion cut in.

"What matter do you speak of, Padain? I hope it isn't about the one you spoke to me about the last time. I thought I said it was under control. How dare you bring it up again!"

Therion smashed his fist on his armrest, clearly angry.

"I guess the High King should listen to what the Null Binders have to say." Padain said as he signalled as they allowed two Null Binders to enter the pavilion.

"High King..."

A guttural low growl came from a null binder heavily draped in black leather robes and their silver wolf skull mask.

"We've concluded the test. Indeed, Varos had regained some of his clear thinking instincts; he didn't harm the cursed flame girl. Command us to commence the Beastly Rut."

"The Beastly Rut should start immediately." Therion Growled.