Betrayed By My Mate, Claimed By His Lycan King Uncle
Chapter 125: How dare you call the queen man like that?!

Chapter 125: How dare you call the queen man like that?!

"You... you dare...!" Melisa hissed, her voice shaking with rage and fear.

Sorayah stepped closer, her expression calm and lethal. She reached for the dagger at her waist and drew it slowly, pressing the cold blade against Melisa’s neck.

"You really want to die, don’t you?" Mellisa said, voice soft but deadly. "Or what else could possibly explain why you’d raise a weapon against the Empress herself? You must be tired of living. If you kill me, they’ll know."

"The Emperor won’t lift a finger," Sorayah cut her off coldly. "You know it. He doesn’t give a damn about you. If you died here, with no witnesses, they’d call it an assassin’s work and move on. No one would question it too much. Certainly not him."

"My family will!" Melisa shouted, panic lacing her voice as her body began to tremble under Sorayah’s words. "Even if the Emperor does nothing, they’ll come after you, Sorayah. And once they find out you’re responsible, you’re dead. Dead!"

Sorayah gave a cold laugh, one that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Oh, I doubt that. In fact, you might want to start calling me Imperial Concubine soon." Her gaze sharpened. "Yes, that’s right. I might have become the Alpha Emperor’s chosen one. Soon, you’ll be watching from the heavens while he holds me close. And if your precious family dares to challenge me..." she leaned in closer, her tone laced with threat, "I’ll send them straight to hell to join you."

Tears spilled down Melisa’s cheeks as her composure completely shattered. She tried to step back, but the dagger remained firm against her throat.

"Please... take the dagger away, Sorayah," she whimpered, voice cracking. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to hurt you. I made a mistake. Please."

Sorayah tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

"Sorry?" she echoed mockingly. "Why do people always say sorry after doing something vile? You knew what you were doing was wrong. You did it anyway. And now you think words can erase that? As if apologies can rewrite intentions?"

She let out a smirk.

"But you know what? You’re not worth staining my blade. I’d rather kill beasts than waste energy on you. This time, I’ll let you ruin yourself with your own hands. But hear me clearly, if you send assassins after me again, I won’t hesitate next time. You’ll die."

Melisa stood frozen, tears silently streaming down her cheeks as she swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Sorayah removed the sword from her neck, turned her back and began walking away but she’d only taken a few steps when Melisa, desperation overtaking fear, grabbed the bow she had dropped earlier and nocked an arrow. With trembling hands, she aimed at Sorayah’s back.

But Sorayah moved in a flash, twisting away as the arrow sliced through the air.

"Hefty footsteps thundered in from the woods." Men...large, armed, and wearing the sigil of Melisa’s family burst into the clearing, blades drawn and eyes scanning.

"After her!" Melisa screamed, pointing at Sorayah. "Kill her."

Without hesitation, the guards surged forward, swords gleaming, arrows flying towards Sorayah.

Sorayah dodged, her movements agile as she darted between trees and ducked under roots. She ran over branches, leapt over fallen logs, and dashed through the underbrush. Just when she thought she had escaped, the ground gave out beneath her.

"Ahh!" she cried, falling into a hidden pit. Her body slammed against the earth below, pain lancing through her as she groaned.

"Damn it..." she hissed. Her ankle throbbed sharply. She reached down and winced.

"It’s sprained. I can’t fly out...not like this."

She looked around, trying to gather herself but then she noticed something strange. The pit, which should have been crawling with venomous snakes, was quiet. Too quiet.

The snakes were all dead.

And then her eyes landed on a figure slumped against the far wall of the pit.

Clad in a black coat, the figure looked motionless.

"Are you alright?" she called, dragging herself toward him with effort. As she drew closer, she recognized him.

"Your Highness?" she gasped, panic rising in her chest.

It was Dimitri.

She pulled him gently toward her until his head rested against her shoulder. The contact startled her....his body was burning.

’How did this happen? Was he poisoned? Bitten by a snake?’ Sorayah thought with worry etched on her face.

She tried to examine his body for wounds so as to suck the poison out, but just then, Dimitri’s eyes snapped open.

They were no longer green.

They glowed blood red under the red light of the full moon.

His fingernails grew into claws before her very eyes, the transformation triggering something primal inside her....a deep, instinctive fear.

The loud growls of other Werewolves who were hunting in the forest could be heard.

"No... it’s the full moon," she remembered. "He wasn’t supposed to be outside tonight! Why is he here then?!"

She tried to move away, but her injured ankle betrayed her. Dimitri lunged, faster than she could react. He pinned her arms above her head, his strength unyielding.

"Your Highness!" she gasped, but her words died in her throat as his fangs pierced her neck.

Pain shot through her as he began to drink. Her vision blurred. Her body weakened.

"Stop... please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You have to control yourself, Dimitri..." she pleaded, tears slipping down her cheeks as her energy drained. "We have to escape... before the assassins catch up to us... If they find us like this... we’ll both die..."

As if hearing her words...though he hadn’t...Dimitri suddenly stopped sucking. It was as if he had finally taken his fill, and his strength gave out. Without warning, he collapsed against her, unmoving.

Sorayah’s trembling hand flew to the bite mark on her neck, pressing against the open wound in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. Blood stained her fingers, and her vision blurred. Her body grew heavier with each heartbeat until, finally, she lost consciousness and crumpled to the ground.

******

Back at the Moon Crest Pack, where Anaya was staying, the portrait of Rhys had recently been completed. The best painter in the region had captured his likeness with breathtaking precision. The posters was now being displayed outside the palace and sent to neighboring packs.

Anaya sat silently beneath the full moonlight, her slender form wrapped in delicate silk. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her heart ached with pain. Though she was unaware of all that was happening around her, something within her stirred with grief.

"Should we go inside now, Your Highness? The night air grows cold," Kisha wrote gently on Anaya’s back, her fingers forming delicate, familiar motion. "The werewolves are out on the hunt. It is just the two of us in the palace tonight."

Anaya slowly nodded, acknowledging the message. The wind stirred the leaves, and suddenly, her nose caught a scent....faint but unmistakable.

The scent, so deeply engraved in her soul, floated in the air.

Her hand reached out instinctively, fingers trembling as though she could grasp the lingering trace of his presence.

"What’s going on, Your Highness?" Kisha asked aloud, her gaze following the direction of Anaya’s outstretched hand.

There, stood a man approaching them. He was dressed in elegant garments, embroidered with golden thread. His eyes bright, his full lips curled into a soft smile. Though his once-long hair had been cut short and he now wore a well-kept beard that subtly changed his appearance, Kisha recognized him.

It was Rhys.

"Young Master Rhys has been found, Your Highness," Kisha whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief and joy although Anaya couldn’t hear her.

"He’s no longer missing. He’s right here, walking toward us. Even in your weakened condition, you could still recognize his scent. Your love for him runs deeper than anything I’ve ever known."

She traced the words tenderly on Anaya’s back, and the silent princess nodded again, though now her tears flowed faster. Her entire body trembled with emotion.

"I was right... Anaya wrote on Kisha’s back with shaking fingers. I was right to come to my aunt’s pack. Rhys is here. He’s alive."

A pause. Then more words followed, filled with longing.

"Go to him. Even if he no longer remembers me, I just want to hold him."

Kisha did not hesitate. She turned and ran toward the man, her voice rising with excitement. "Young Master Rhys!"

But before she could reach him, a sword....still sheathed but formidable was suddenly drawn and pointed toward her, halting her in her tracks. The guard wielding it stepped forward, eyes cold and unyielding.

"How dare you?" the man growled, his voice low and dangerous. His hand tightened around the hilt as if ready to draw the blade fully.

"What do you mean? I want to talk with that young man." Kisha replied with confusion etched on her face.

"Young man?! How dare you call the queen man that?" The guard replied pressing his sword more closer to Kisha’s neck. "You have absolutely no right to speak to the queen royal consort."

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