Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 100

Chapter 100: The Chase

The market turned into a blur of light and noise as Derek and Kira tore through it, weaving between stalls, ducking under hanging lanterns, and shoving past startled vendors who barely had time to register what was happening before the wind of two royals running at full speed had already passed.

Behind them, the men with clubs were shouting, swearing, knocking into baskets of fruit and strings of fairy lights, generally announcing their progress to anyone within a half-mile radius.

Kira’s heart was hammering against her chest, but it wasn’t out of fear; it was for the sheer thrill of the run.

Derek, however, was far from thrilled. His jaw was set so tightly, and his amber eyes flashed with a lethal golden light under his hat.

Every instinct in his Lycan blood screamed at him to stop, turn, and reduce their pursuers to a pile of broken bones. To the King of Dravengard, retreat was a foreign concept, and fleeing from a pack of drunken, club-wielding humans felt like a stain on his very soul.

"Kira!" he called over the noise of the market, dodging a man carrying a crate of apples. "Enough of this! Let me finish them. They dared to speak to you that way!"

He squeezed her hand, to anchor her so he could deal with the threat.

Kira didn’t stop. Instead, she threw a glance over her shoulder, her face flushed and radiant. To Derek’s utter bewilderment, she was beaming.

"Why are you smiling?" he bellowed, dodging another vendor carrying a basket of bread. "You should have let me dismantle them the moment they stepped out of line!"

"And spoil the fun?" Kira yelled back, her laughter like silver bells ringing through the chaos.

She ducked under a low-hanging canopy. "It’s way more fun running from a bunch of drunkards than watching a bloodbath, Derek! Look at them—they can barely keep their balance, let alone catch us."

"They called you a whore," he growled. "I will not have it. I should teach them a lesson they’ll remember for the rest of their miserable lives."

Kira let out a bright, mocking chuckle as they rounded a sharp corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a startled vendor.

"Oh, stop overthinking it! Do you actually think I’m a whore, then? Is that it?"

"Don’t be ridiculous," Derek nearly tripped, but he caught himself, his pace easily matching hers despite his mounting frustration. "Why on earth would I think that?"

"Then relax!" she said, her voice dropping into a playful lilt. "We’re on a date, not a military excursion. Those men aren’t worth your time or your temper. By tomorrow morning, they won’t even remember us, let alone what they shouted tonight. Don’t turn our night out into a massacre over a few idiots who’ve had too much ale."

Derek watched her as they ran, his gaze fixed on the way her hair whipped behind her and the genuine, infectious joy radiating from her every pore. She was crashing into passers-by, dodging stacks of goods, and apologising with breathless giggles that made his own lips twitch.

For the first time in a long time, the ’Mighty King’ found himself pulled into someone else’s orbit, his rigid sense of honour losing ground to her sheer vivacity.

Slowly, the absurdity of the situation began to seep through his icy exterior. Here he was, the most feared Lycan in the kingdoms, being led on a chase through a human market by a girl who thought a pursuit was a game.

A dry, raspy sound escaped his throat—a rusty laugh.

"Are you actually enjoying this?" he asked, his voice losing its edge.

"Yes!" Kira screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing her arms out for a split second before regaining her balance.

That was the breaking point. Derek’s laughter broke free, deep and booming, harmonising with hers as they sprinted down a darkened alleyway.

Kira turned her head, caught him laughing, and lit up so brightly that for a second Derek genuinely lost track of where his feet were supposed to land.

They ran on, both of them laughing now, dodging carts of oranges and ducking past a fishmonger who shouted something extremely unkind in their general direction. The men behind them were still coming, still cursing, still tripping over their own feet.

In this moment, there was no crown, no contract, and no thoughts of deceit—only the cold night air and the girl whose laughter was more intoxicating than any wine.

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