NICKOLAS

I walk to my room, my footsteps leaving a trail of blood as it drips from my clothes. One of the witches in my army just teleported us back to my territory. My room is dimly lit, with moonlight slipping through the dark curtains, casting shadows across the walls. A king-sized bed, draped in luxurious grey linens and white pillows, sits in the center of the room. To the left of the bed, a large fireplace stands tall, with a comfortable armchair and ottoman sitting nearby. A large desk sits in one corner, covered in papers, where I spend many long hours working to bring the lycan kingdom back to its glory. I take off my shirt, sighing, annoyed with how everything played out tonight.

“Fuck!” I roar, throwing my shirt to the floor. I can’t believe that bastard Nathaniel got away after everything I fucking did to make sure I could kill him tonight and finally avenge my father. And to make matters worse, he was able to get away because of his daughter, who turned out to be my mate. My insides churn as I call her my mate.

After thousands of years of believing I was cursed to walk this earth alone, the universe decided to prove me wrong and fucking gave me the werewolf princess as a mate. What the fuck?

“We will get him next time,” someone says as they enter my room.

“Who the fuck dares enter without knocking?” I retort, swiftly spinning around and thanking heavens I haven’t taken off my vest. It’s one of the reasons I even wear it underneath my shirts for situations like this. I can’t fucking have people seeing what they aren’t supposed to.

“That’s no way to speak to your uncle, boy,” Uncle Leo says, walking up to me.

“Hello, Uncle,” I greet, discarding my pants and tossing them onto the same pile as my shirt.

"Today, your father would be standing here, proud," Uncle Leo asserts, his hand finding a place on my shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

"But that bastard still breathes," I retort, the frustration evident in my voice.

“As I said, we will get him next time. You have his daughter. Once he recovers, he will definitely come for her. And then we will get him.”

“Let’s not forget his daughter is my ma...” I suck in a breath, my fists clenching as my tongue feels heavy, refusing to acknowledge her as my mate. She might be, but I will never accept her.

I’m not surprised he knows everything, even though we just returned. Ava, his mate and Queen of Witches, must’ve made it possible for him to watch what was happening while we were there. He would have been there if he had his way, but I couldn’t risk it. I had already lost my father. I couldn’t bear something happening to him, so I asked him to stay and guard the kingdom while I was away.

Uncle Leo remains silent, his gaze filled with pity as he looks at me.

"Not you too, stop," I growl, the memory of Eric's sad eyes upon hearing Amelia say 'mate' echoing in my mind.

"I can’t help it," he responds, his voice softening. "You’ve been mateless for centuries, and then your mate ends up being a descendant of Jane. Her being Nathaniel’s daughter isn’t even as fucked up as that."

I sigh, running a hand stained with dried blood through my dark hair. "I need to shower," I say, tired of having this conversation.

“I will be home if you need me,” he says, exiting my room.

As I prepare to remove my vest, the door creaks open, causing me to pause. I expect to see Uncle Leo walking back in, but I see someone else.

"How many times have I told you to fucking knock," I growl, relieved I hadn't removed my vest yet.

Ember, using lycan speed, appears before me in a blink of an eye. "Thank heavens you’re fine," she says, disregarding my complaint and staring at my face as she rests her hand on my arms stained with blood.

“You can see I’m fine, so you can leave” I swap her hand off my arm.

“I missed you, baby.” Ember touches my face with her long nails and runs her hands through my hair. “Are you about to shower, my love? Why don't I join you?” she asks, stepping back and moving her hand to the strap of her dress.

"Ember…" My words get choked in my throat as her dress drops to the ground, revealing her naked body underneath. My dick pulses. I fucking hate the bitch, but I couldn't deny she had the body that could bring men to their knees.

"You were saying, baby," Ember teases, closing the distance between us, sliding her hand to my waist, and lowering my boxers. She grabs my dick, and I groan.

"Ember," I moan as she begins to stroke my slowly hardening dick.

"Yes, baby," she responds, gradually descending to the ground, positioning her mouth at my throbbing dick. I halt her midway, seizing her arm and lifting her off the ground. I wasn't in the mood for foreplay right now. I needed to fuck after how messed up today went. Spinning her around, I bend her forward. I see her pussy pooling with her wetness already. I haven’t even touched the bitch, but only the thought of me fucking her has her wet. I begin to position my dick at her entrance when suddenly a pair of baby blue eyes filled with tears flash in my mind.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I mutter, closing my eyes in an attempt to drive away the image of them, but they only intensify. I see her whole body that has all the curves in the right places. Her tiny tits but perfect for her size, and her big round ass. Fuck! I pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing the heavens for that stupid thing called the mate bond. Why the hell am I thinking about her now?

"Is everything alright?" Ember inquires. I open my eyes to find her facing me.

"Get out," I bark.

"Did I do something wrong?" she questions, confusion etched on her face.

"No, just leave."

"Baby, please tell me what I've done wrong. I don't like it when you're angry with me," she pleads, placing her hands on my arms and searching my eyes for an explanation.

I release her hands from my arms. "Nothing, just leave." Stepping away, I head towards my bathroom door.

"Should I come by later?" she queries, trailing behind me.

"No!" I retort, entering the bathroom and slamming the door in her face, ignoring her questioning pleas.

AMELIA

I open my eyes to find myself in a pitch-black room. Sitting on the cold concrete floor, I wince as my muscles ache. My hand instinctively moves to my neck and then my ribs, where I feel the most pain. The bruises haven't healed. Switching my eyes to my werewolf vision to survey the room, I find that I can't. My brows furrow in confusion. I try contacting Marie and get a whimper in response; a sinking realization hits me – they must have injected silver into my bloodstream.

I don't need someone to tell me where I am. I remember everything like it just happened a minute ago. Tears well up in my eyes, remembering the state I last saw my family. I hope they are okay. Wiping the tear that escapes my eyes, I try to focus my mind on getting out of here.

I quickly unmask my scent and wait for my body to regain strength. The ability to mask my scent is one of the many gifts inherited from Mom, a skill that took my entire childhood to master. I vividly recall how I couldn't even attend school until I could successfully conceal my true scent. Tears well up as childhood memories flood my mind, but I forcefully push them aside – now isn't the time to delve into the past.

Sniffling, I attempt to stand up, but my body betrays me, and I drop back to the cold floor, the impact reverberating through my drained muscles. Eyes closed, I grimace as the ache intensifies. Something feels off, and confusion sets in as I look around the dark room, my vision becoming hazy. Panic surges within me – what have they done to me?

“Mask your scent if you don't want to die in the next few seconds,” a voice commands as the lights flicker on in the room, prompting me to tightly shut my eyes. The thick British accent sounds eerily familiar, but in my weakened state, I can't spare the energy to contemplate where I know it from.

My heart pounds violently in my chest, each beat sending pulses of pain through my body. Breathing becomes a struggle, my breaths coming out in short, labored pants. The sudden pain in my heart only intensifies the growing sense of dread.

"I can't breathe," I rasp out, my words barely above a whisper, feeling my heart tighten.

"Do as I fucking asked, and you will!" the person commands, and I comply. Gasping, I fill my lungs with air, panting hard. I didn't do it initially because I didn't think it would help.

Slowly I open my eyes and sit up to see the person who saved me. My eyes widen in terror, seeing that it's my mate and he definitely didn't save me. Instead, he kept me alive for whatever he plans to do to me. I back away from him as he stands a foot away. I hit the wall and jump in fright. My heart pounds as he stares down at me. He has proven to me that he can hurt me. I just pray I go away without too much pain.

Silent, he stares at me with eyes brimming with hatred, scrutinizing every inch of my dirt-covered body from being on the floor. I observe that he has freshened up, shedding the bloodstained clothes. I remember earlier how his white button-up was drenched in the blood of my family and people. My heart aches, tears welling up in my eyes. It's disheartening that this will forever be my initial image of him.

Pushing back the tears in my eyes, I lock gazes with him, maintaining eye contact as I question, "What did you do to me?"

“I know what you are, so don't fucking try to unmask your scent again,” he says, his British accent evident as he speaks. He completely ignores my question. I’ve always loved the British accent, but now it sends a shiver down my spine whenever I hear it, and not in a good way.

“Do you wish to kill me?” I ask.

“Why the fuck do you have that face?” He snaps, clenching his jaw. Confused, I touch my face, wondering if something is wrong with it. I won’t say I'm the finest person in the world, but I don’t think my face is unappealing.

“You could’ve fucking looked like anyone. Why the fuck did you have to look like her?” He roars with an anger that makes me flinch. I recall he said something similar in the ballroom. Was there something I was missing?

“I don’t know,” I reply, unsure.

“You don’t know, you don’t fucking know,” he barks, crouching to my eye level. I instinctively retreat, the cold wall scraping against my skin as I press back into it. My eyes shut, shielding me from the intensity of his anger. The palpable fury makes me clench my dress tightly, the fabric almost tearing beneath my fingers. Amidst the turmoil, a sense of sorrow seeps into my heart, realizing I'm the unwitting source of such rage in my mate. I wonder what I did to be cursed to be mated to someone like him.

His scent envelops me, filling my nose, and like magic, my fists loosen around my dress. My body relaxes. I'm not surprised. Terrified as I may be of him, he is still my mate, and his scent will always do that to me.

I begin to slowly pull my eyes open when suddenly he curses, punching the wall closest to my head. The impact shatters the barrier, and a storm of debris settles around me. I freeze, my body stiffening as my heart begins to hammer violently against my chest. Did he mean to hit me but missed? The chilling thought sends a shiver down my spine, and in that moment, I scream. His callous hand forces its way into my hair, clenching it in a vice-like grip.

"Open your fucking eyes, dog," his growl echoes in my face, and I comply. My tear-filled eyes met his. The hurt of being labeled the ultimate insult to a werewolf by my own mate pierces deeper than mere insult. I should be offended, but instead, I feel a profound sense of hurt.

"I'm going to give you one chance, one fucking chance to tell me where your family is,” he declares, his mesmerizing green eyes locked onto mine.

Swallowing hard, I muster a response. "I don't know where they are." Despite knowing, I won't divulge their location.

"Amelia!" he growls, intensifying his grip on my hair.

"I don't know," I repeat, still refusing to give them up.

Releasing my hair, he stands tall. "You asked for this," he declares, his towering figure casting an intimidating shadow.

Pausing at the cell door, he delivers a final warning. "You will wish you told me the truth by the time she's done with you." With that, he exits, leaving me haunted by questions about the mysterious 'she.'

I walk around the room, searching for anything to help me pick the lock on my cell door. It's made of silver, so trying to break it down is out of the option. My actions suddenly halt, hearing the cell door squeak open. I whip my head toward the door, praying in my heart my mate isn't back to make good on his threat. I exhale when I get a different scent than his as the lights come on in the room. Eric and a woman with a herby scent tread into the room. The woman must be a water witch. Most of them are healers and deal with a lot of herbs. Witches are grouped by elements of nature, fire, water, earth, and air. They cast spells based on which element they are gifted with.

"Hi, Amelia," Eric greets. I remain silent, my gaze fixed on him and the water witch at his side, trying to decipher why they are here. My mate mentioned a woman would make me regret not disclosing where my family might be hiding. Is this water witch the woman he was talking about? As I said, most of them are healers, but they are also one of the deadliest witches out there.

Eric's voice carries a touch of concern as he approaches me, navigating the edges of the room. I instinctively step back, maintaining a wary distance. My attention might have been mainly on my mate in the ballroom earlier, but I saw him too, streaked with blood on his body from head to toe and Alphas' decapitated heads around him. We might have had an intense moment earlier that night, but it doesn't change the fact that he is the enemy.

"How are you feeling?" he inquires, his concern seemingly genuine. I raise an eyebrow, skeptical of his sudden care. He didn't hesitate to take lives earlier, so why express concern for mine?

"I understand why you would be wary of me, but I don’t wish to harm you, Amelia," he asserts, attempting to reassure me. I meet his gaze, skeptical about his gentle behavior toward me. He didn’t have a problem killing my people, so why should he care about me?

"Why are you here then?" I question, my tone holding a hint of suspicion.

He sighs before responding, "I am here to ensure you are prepared for what’s coming."

“What’s coming?” I press, shifting my gaze between Eric and the water witch by his side.

"You will find out very soon. Have a look at her, Hillary," Eric instructs the water witch. She approaches me, but I instinctively move away, keeping a safe distance on the other side of the wall.

“Don’t come close to me,” I warn, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want any witch around me right now. She could be trying to kill me for all I know.

“Amelia, she’s only trying to check on you. She doesn’t wish to harm you,” Eric reassures, closing the distance between us. Despite his assurances, I continue retreating from them.

“Why?” I question, baffled by their sudden interest in my well-being. It seems counterintuitive for those responsible for my injuries to now express concern about my health.

“We don’t want you to die when she comes,” Eric states, mentioning a ‘she’ as Nicholas did.

“When who comes?” I demand, my steps grinding to a halt.

"You will find out soon,” Eric says, abruptly seizing my hand. I tug my hand out of his, attempting to pull away, but his grip is unyielding.

I can't fathom why, but his words are challenging to believe. My mate isn't one to treat my wounds out of kindness, and he certainly won't use this approach to get information from me. Something feels off, and I'm left puzzled about what might be happening.

"I could sedate her with magic," the water witch suggests, positioned a few feet away.

"No! Stay the hell away from me!" I scream, desperation mounting. I struggle against Eric's grasp, determined to resist whatever they have planned. However, my efforts prove futile as he shoves me against the wall, securing me in place. The water witch conjures liquid from a bottle, muttering incantations for a spell. In moments, she douses my face with the enchanted water, and darkness envelops me once more.

***

Opening my eyes with a jolt, I take in the dimly lit room, grappling to understand my surroundings. A pang of disappointment settles in as I realize I’m still in the same cold and dimly lit space. For a second, I wished everything was a very elaborate bad dream that I could finally wake up from. As I gather my bearings, I sense something on my ribs and back. Lifting my dress, I discover bandages there. It strikes me - they genuinely treated my wounds. The question lingers: Why?

"Welcome back," Eric's voice reaches me from a few feet away. Hastily getting to my feet, I regret the decision as my body wobbles, nearly causing me to fall. Eric, with his lycan speed, swiftly catches me, preventing a mishap.

"You still have some of the silver in your system. You shouldn't try to move around too much."

I shove at his chest to create some distance as a headache starts to form. Closing my eyes, I massage my temples to alleviate the pain. The thought crosses my mind: Did they treat my wounds only to gift me a nasty headache in return?

"Sorry about that; it’s to make sure everything goes well," he apologizes, remaining uncomfortably close.

"I don’t know what games you are playing, but it won’t work. I will never tell you where my family is," I assert, brushing off the throbbing in my head.

"Games? We haven’t even done anything yet," confusion evident in his voice.

I open my eyes, locking gazes with him. "Then how do you explain what’s going on now?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asks, chuckling. My brows knit together.

"You know what I'm talking about," I grit out, my head pounding with every passing second. I search the room for the witch who treated me. I need to have a word with her. Who the hell treats someone's wounds and gives them a bad headache in return?

"No, I don't."

"You do,"

"He doesn't, and if you would just fucking calm down, the headache will stop," someone says from outside the cell. A whiff of rainforest hits my nose, and my blood runs cold. He's here.

With every step he takes, my heart pounds. I retreat from Eric further into the room as his footsteps draw closer and closer until he's in front of me. I gasp, finding myself face to face with the most exquisite emerald eyes I had ever seen but also the most terrifying. He used his lycan speed to close the distance between us in a matter of milliseconds.

"Be calm," he commands, in that thick British accent that makes any word that rolls out of his mouth the sexiest thing a man could ever say. I breathe in his scent, and a wave of warmth surges through my bones, and my headache starts to subside instantly. I hate that his scent can do that to me.

"Why is my head hurting after getting treated?" I ask, tilting my head back as I speak to him. He’s so tall.

"Side effects of the drug," he replies, moving away from me and approaching the door.

“What drug?”

“None of your concern.”

"What do you plan to do with me?" I inquire.

"You are about to find out," he replies and walks out, leaving me more confused than I was minutes ago.

I turn to Eric, about to ask him to explain when the clicking of someone’s heels outside my cell halts me. A beautiful redhead in her late forties or early fifties with brown eyes steps into the room. She sets her sights on me, and they light up, staring at me. I look at her, wondering why she’s so happy to see me even though I have no clue who she is.

“Your Highness,” Eric says, bowing his head. All the color drains from my face as my eyes widen in terror—a redhead Queen. There is only one person she could be.

“Hello, princess,” Ava, the Queen of Witches, says, her voice dripping with a sinister sweetness. Her lips, painted in a bold red hue, stretch into a big grin, revealing pearl-white teeth. Clad in a red pantsuit that matches her lipstick, with black heels adding a touch of elegance, she exudes an air of confidence and power. One look at her and it’s evident that red is her favorite color.

She moves toward me, an evil smile playing on her lips. Ava places her long, black-painted fingers on my chin, forcing my head to move from side to side.

"You might have your mother’s hair and face, but your eyes," she remarks with a disdainful click of her tongue. "Those are Becky’s," she adds, digging her nail into my chin, threatening to draw blood, before abruptly flipping my face to the side.

I pant, my heart pounding, fearing my death was near. There is no one on Earth that Ava hates more than Becky, my late fraternal grandmother. Becky was the one who killed Ava’s mate.

Ava turns away from me, directing her attention to Eric.

“Do you mind giving us some privacy before we start?” Ava requests, her voice carrying a chilling tone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Eric replies. Thank heavens, he is not leaving me alone with this monstrous witch. Despite my mother resurrecting Ava’s mate, Leo, I know Ava still holds a deep-seated grudge against Grandma Becky for massacring half her kind while searching for her.

“I promise I only wish to speak to the child and nothing more,” Ava insists.

“Nick gave strict instructions not to leave the two of you alone,” Eric pushes back.

“I know, dear.” She moves closer to Eric, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as she locks eyes with him. “I promise I won’t do anything.”

Eric's Adam's apple bobs as he attempts to maintain eye contact with Ava.

“I will be outside,” Eric says, stepping back, causing her hand to drop from his shoulder. He turns to leave the cell, but not before stealing a fleeting glance at me, his eyes filled with an unmistakable pity.

“Good,” She says, turning away from him and fixing her malicious gaze back on me.