The training sessions began at dawn, the crisp morning air biting at Asis's skin as she stood in the center of the mansion's private courtyard. Harald Dyre circled her like a predator, his golden eyes assessing every flicker of hesitation in her stance. "Again," he commanded, his voice low and unyielding. Asis wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted her grip on the silver dagger he'd given her—a weapon forged to harm creatures like him. She lunged, aiming for his ribs, but he sidestepped effortlessly, his hand snapping out to catch her wrist. "Too slow," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "You're thinking too much. Instinct, Asis. Trust it." She gritted her teeth and twisted free, driving her elbow toward his throat. This time, he let her connect, grunting as the impact forced him back a step. A smirk curled his lips. "Better."
The weeks blurred into a grueling routine of combat drills, endurance runs, and lessons on vampire and Lycan anatomy. Harald was relentless, pushing her past her limits, but Asis refused to break. She learned to anticipate attacks, to use her smaller frame to her advantage, to strike with precision rather than brute force. And through it all, Harald watched her with a mix of pride and something darker—something that made her pulse stutter when their eyes met across the training grounds.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Berit joined them, her wolfish grin sharp as she tossed Asis a second dagger. "Time to practice against real speed," she teased, shifting effortlessly into her werewolf form. The first time Asis had seen the transformation, she'd frozen in terror. Now, she barely flinched as Berit's bones cracked and reshaped, her auburn fur gleaming under the moonlight. Together, they sparred, Berit's claws grazing Asis's arm as she barely dodged in time. Harald observed from the shadows, his arms crossed, his gaze burning into her.
It was during one of these sessions that the first attack came. The wards around the mansion shattered with a deafening crack, the air splitting open like a wound. Vampires poured through the breach—pale, snarling, their crimson eyes fixed on Asis. Sorin led them, his grin a slash of malice in the moonlight. "Hello, little bird," he crooned, his voice slithering into her bones. Harald was at her side in an instant, his body a shield between her and the approaching horde. "Get behind me," he snarled, his Lycan form rippling beneath his skin. But Asis didn't move. Instead, she tightened her grip on her daggers and stepped forward, her voice steady. "I'm done hiding."
The battle erupted in a storm of fangs and steel. Berit fought beside her, her wolf form tearing through vampires with lethal grace. Anders and the Lycan warriors formed a defensive ring, their howls shaking the earth. Harald was a whirlwind of destruction, his claws rending flesh, his snarls promising death. But Sorin was cunning. He slipped through the chaos like smoke, his gaze locked on Asis. She sensed him a heartbeat too late—his hand closed around her throat, yanking her off her feet. "You're coming with me," he hissed, his breath reeking of decay, but Harald was there. He wrenched Asis free, shoving her toward Berit. "Keep her safe!" Before she could protest, he lunged back into the fray, his fury a living thing.
With a roar that shook the earth, he ripped Sorin away, his claws tearing through the vampire's chest. Sorin screamed, black blood spraying as Harald's fangs sank into his neck. The Alpha King didn't stop—he tore, he shredded, he ended Sorin with a brutality that left even the vampires frozen in terror. When it was over, Sorin's head rolled across the grass, his body dissolving into ash. Silence fell.
The remaining vampires, leaderless and broken, scattered into the night. The Lycans howled in triumph, their voices echoing through the trees. Asis stood frozen, her chest heaving, her daggers slick with black blood. It was over. Sorin was dead.
Harald turned to her, his golden eyes blazing with victory—and something else. Possession. "You fought well," he said, his voice rough. But then his expression darkened. "But you're not staying here. It's not safe anymore." Asis frowned. "What do you mean? Sorin's dead." "And others will come," Harald growled. "You're unmarked. Vulnerable. I won't risk you again."
Before she could argue, he hauled her over his shoulder, ignoring her furious protests. "Harald! Put me down!" "No." His grip was iron. "You're coming with me. To my palace. Where do you belong?"
She thrashed, but it was useless. He carried her through the mansion, past the stunned faces of the pack, and into the waiting car. "You can't just kidnap me, again!" she snapped as he shoved her into the backseat.
He climbed in beside her, his jaw set. "I can. And I will." The engine roared to life, and the car sped away from the mansion, toward his kingdom, toward his throne. Toward her fate as his Luna Queen.
The tension in the car was suffocating, thick with unspoken fury and the weight of Harald's unyielding dominance. Asis's hands clenched into fists in her lap, her nails biting into her palms as she glared at him, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. "You don't get to decide where I go or what I do," she spat, her words sharp as shattered glass. "I'm not some trophy for you to drag back to your palace just because you've decided I belong there."
Harald's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening, his golden eyes flashing in the dim light as he refused to look at her, his jaw set in a hard line. "You are my mate," he growled, the words rough with barely leashed frustration, "and whether you accept it or not, your safety is my responsibility. Sorin may be dead, but his allies aren't, and I won't leave you unprotected just because you're too stubborn to see the danger."
The accusation stung, and Asis recoiled as if struck, her breath coming fast, her chest rising and falling with the force of her anger. "I don't need your protection!" she shot back, her voice rising. "I need you to stop treating me like I'm something you own!" The car swerved slightly as Harald's control slipped, his patience fraying, and when he finally turned his gaze on her, the intensity in his eyes was almost feral.
"You think this is about ownership?" he snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This is about survival. About keeping you alive long enough for you to realize that you're not just mine—I'm yours, too. And if that means dragging you kicking and screaming to the one place where I know you'll be safe, then so be it."
The raw honesty in his words left her momentarily speechless, her defiance faltering under the weight of his conviction, but the fire in her veins refused to be extinguished. "Then let me choose," she demanded, her voice quieter now but no less fierce. "If this bond is real, then prove it. Don't force me. Don't make me a prisoner. Because if you do, I swear to whatever gods listen, I'll spend every second fighting you until there's nothing left between us but regret."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the unspoken truth that neither of them could escape—they were bound, not just by fate, but by something deeper, something that neither dominance nor defiance could break. And as the car raced through the night, carrying them toward an uncertain future, the only certain thing was that neither of them would surrender without a war.
*****