Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22: The Wicked King

So cold, Kira thought, her consciousness drifting in the grey space between sleep and wakefulness.

A phone buzzed relentlessly somewhere close. She groaned, rolled over to escape the noise, only to roll straight off the bed and hit the floor with a thud.

"Ouch!" she yelped, eyes snapping open.

The first thing she saw was the underside of a mahogany desk and a towering bookshelf crammed with books. Her neck ached from the awkward angle she had slept in. Morning sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the room, birds sang outside like nothing was wrong, and from the courtyard below came the sharp bark of men’s voices issuing commands.

The phone buzzed again.

Kira pushed herself up, rubbing her sore neck as the fog of sleep cleared. She was in Derek’s study. Right. Last night flooded back: storming in to annoy him, prattling on until she had fallen asleep right there on his couch. She had even asked him to wake her when he finished.

"Wicked King," she muttered under her breath. "Absolute jerk. Couldn’t even be bothered to wake me."

She stood, hugging herself against the morning chill. He hadn’t even bothered to toss a blanket over her. No pillow, no warmth, just the cold leather of the couch and an equally cold floor. She sucked her teeth in annoyance.

The phone buzzed again, and she shot a glare at the phone on the desk. If it didn’t shut up soon, she was going to smash it.

Then, she realised it looked like hers. She crossed to the desk. Yes, it was her phone, placed neatly beside a folded note in that familiar sharp cursive. She snatched it up and read:

’Here’s your damn phone, and you can resume school whenever you want. I hope never to be disturbed by you again.’

She huffed a breath, rolled her eyes, a slow, triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself. She tapped the phone against her chin.

"Sweet Kira: 1. Ruthless King: 0," she whispered, fist-pumping in victory.

"That’s enough strength building for today. Spar," a familiar deep voice boomed from the courtyard.

Curiosity pulled her to the window. She parted the blinds just enough to peek.

Her breath hitched.

Bare-chested men sparred under the rising sun, bodies gleaming with sweat.

She spotted Declan and Connor, but her eyes immediately locked onto her wicked husband. Derek was in the centre, moving with a deranged, terrifying power as he fended off multiple warriors at once. She couldn’t look away. There was something primal, almost hypnotic, about the way he fought. He wasn’t just training; he looked like he was fighting for his very life.

"Is that how sparring usually works?" she murmured to herself.

One by one the warriors fell until only Connor and Declan remained. She watched, astonished, as Derek brutalised his way through the last of it.

Nothing about him is soft, she thought.

The fight ended with Declan slamming Derek against a wooden barrier. They stayed there for a heartbeat, glaring at each other, chests heaving, before Derek shoved him away and began to stride toward the edge of the yard.

As if he sensed her gaze, his head snapped up, straight toward the study window. Kira squeaked, yanked the blinds shut, and pressed her back against the wall. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she placed a palm on her chest.

"That was close," she breathed. "Right. Time to get dressed. Go to school. Escape this madhouse."

She turned to leave, but a sudden, guttural roar from below stopped her cold.

"Brian!"

Her feet carried her back to the window before she could think. She peeled the blinds back again. Brian had just sauntered into the yard, shirtless and smirking, looking every bit the entitled prince he was.

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