The sound of Alpha Damon's voice deep, demanding, and utterly possessive was a physical force, shaking the leaves around Elara. It wasn't the roar of a wolf; it was the decree of a king.
"Show yourself. I smell you. Running will only make this more painful for both of us, Mate."
Elara knew she had seconds. Her human form was exhausted, and her Lycan side, Lysandra, was weak from the unexpected shift. She couldn't fight him, and she couldn't submit. She scrambled, moving away from the stream, her heart a frantic drummer against her ribs.
"The roots! To the left, Elara! Now!" Lysandra's voice was the only thing holding the panic at bay.
She dove headfirst into a tangle of thick, gnarled roots forming a small, barely visible cave beneath the mossy earth. She pressed her naked body flat against the cold, damp soil, pulling dead leaves over her legs. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, yet Damon's scent was still overwhelming, so close it felt like a heavy cloak settling over her.
Then, the world changed.
A loud, thunderous crack echoed through the woods. Damon had shifted.
Elara risked a glance from her hiding place. Damon's charcoal wolf was monumental. It wasn't just his height he was muscle carved into lethal form, his every movement radiating a deadly authority that made the air thick and hard to breathe. He stood where Elara had been moments ago, his golden eyes scanning the dense woods with an intensity that promised death.
He didn't have time to track.
Before Damon could take a single step, the woods erupted. From the dense shadows, six enormous, black-furred wolves Shadow Pack warriors, bigger and more organized than the rogues Elara had killed in Chapter 2 burst forward, moving with practiced coordination.
They were ready for a fight. They were aiming for the kill.
"The audacity!" Lysandra hissed in Elara's mind, a mix of fury and respect. "They tracked their dead brethren, and now they try to take the Alpha of the most dangerous pack in the region. Watch, Elara. This is how wolves truly fight."
The battle was not a skirmish; it was a brutal, orchestrated assassination attempt.
Two Shadow wolves attacked Damon's flanks simultaneously, aiming to tear his tendons. Damon moved with blinding speed, a whirlwind of muscle and charcoal fur. He didn't just bite; he destroyed. With a deafening snarl that seemed to tear the very fabric of the forest, he intercepted one attacker, snapping its spine with a single, sharp twist of his massive jaws. The wolf fell, twitching, then went still.
The remaining four regrouped, circling him. They were seasoned fighters, using their numbers to their advantage. One lunged for Damon's throat; Damon met it head-on, tearing out a chunk of the attacker's shoulder. The air filled with the coppery smell of blood Damon's and theirs a scent that made the Lycan inside Elara twitch with predatory hunger.
The sheer, raw power Damon possessed was mesmerizing. He fought with a terrible, controlled ferocity. He was efficient, calculating, and absolutely merciless. Every strike was precise, aimed to incapacitate or kill. He wasn't just protecting himself; he was punishing them for daring to challenge his territory and his authority.
Elara watched, transfixed. The Mate Bond, which had been a tender, hopeful ache with Kael, was now a violent, demanding scream in her soul, urging her to shift, to join him, to cover his flank.
"Do not be a fool, Elara!" Lysandra roared internally. "Look! He is a magnificent beast, yes, but he is reckless. He fights for dominance. We fight for survival. And look at his throat! He is exposed!"
Indeed. While Damon was dominant, he was now facing two fresh attackers. One managed to rake its claws across Damon's left flank. The powerful charcoal fur parted, revealing a deep gash that immediately began to stream blood. Damon roared, not in pain, but in sheer, cold rage. He turned on the offender and dispatched it instantly, tearing its skull from its spine.
The fight was over in minutes. The ground was littered with four dead bodies. Two Shadow wolves, smart enough to fear the scent of Lycan now, turned tail and vanished into the darkness, whimpering their defeat.
Damon stood alone, steam rising from his massive, heaving body. He was victorious, but he was far from unscathed. The deep wound on his flank was serious, dripping blood onto the dead leaves.
Elara watched him, her heart thumping a chaotic rhythm of fear, admiration, and a crushing sense of need. The Alpha who rejected her was weak and contemptible. The Alpha, who was her true mate, was a lethal king a dangerous, wounded king.
Help him, her human heart screamed. You have healing power. You are stronger than any wolf. You can save him.
"Do not be sentimental, Elara," Lysandra's voice was like ice. "He is a threat. If you emerge, he will demand you. He is strong, yes, but he is a wolf. We are a Lycan. The moment he sees your weakness (your human form), he will claim you by force or kill you for your power. Your revenge is more important than his life."
Damon suddenly dropped his head to the ground, sniffing the area intensely. He was tracking her human scent the faint, lingering smell of the female who had been standing here moments ago. He found the bloodstained area where the Shadow Wolves had fallen, and then he sniffed the stream.
He shifted back to his human form, his transformation smooth and powerful. He was nude, covered in dirt and blood, his dark hair matted. He tore a piece of fabric from one of the dead wolves' discarded clothes and roughly tied it around his bleeding side. The pain didn't even make him flinch.
His gold eyes were cold, calculating, and terrifyingly determined.
He spoke, his voice low and ragged, addressed not to the woods, but to the air itself. "I don't know who you are. I don't know why you are here. But you left the scent of Mate on my land. And you left the scent of Lycan on my enemies. I will find you, female. And when I do, you will tell me everything."
He turned and strode away through the darkest part of the Dead Woods, favoring his injured side only slightly. He didn't wait. He didn't stop. He was relentless.
Elara lay hidden beneath the roots, shivering violently. Her fear was no longer about Kael. It was about the king she had just seen a broken Alpha who was far more dangerous than any whole one. He was injured, hunting, and now, he knew she was special.
She had seen his strength, and she had seen his weakness. The next time they met, one of them would have to kneel.