The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“Do. Not. Lie to me.” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “Who did this to you?”

My eyes is wide with annoyance. Where did he even get that audacity?

70%

I shove his hand off my wrist, hard enough that my knuckles grace his chest. The touch is brief but electric–static from friction and hate, supposedly. Yet here’s here trying to act like aero.

“What right do you even have to care, Wade?” I hiss and step back.

The words are a weapon, unsheathed and aimed point–blank. I want them to stick. To wound.

For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t breathe. His mouth parts just slightly–as though my defiance has caught him off guard–but the look in his eyes is jagged glass. He doesn’t blink. Nor does he move. And I don’t rush to fill the silence. Let him choke on it.

His jaw flexes once, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Then another Breath–controlled, shallow. He drags it in through his nose though he’s forcing himself to stay in this room and not put a hole in the wall.

“Fine.” His tone is clipped, but I feel the word cut through the air like the snap of a whip. His gaze lingers on me a second too long, like he’s trying to strip me bare without touching me. And then he turns.

The door swings open with more force than necessary, hinges protesting.

The guard outside stiffens immediately, hand brushing the hilt of his weapon out of habit, but Wade doesn’t acknowledge him. His stride is precise, his back straight. Not a stomp, not a retreat–just a clean, sharp exit as a blade sliding back into its sheath.

And just like that, the air feels lighter but not safer. He should get back to his Luna instead of trying to care for his old one. The one he deliberate;y threw away.

The moment the space behind him is empty, a figure appears in the doorway. It’s the maid from earlier–small, shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed low. She’s draped in a thick robe with the hood drawn forward, shadowing her face. Steam curls from the bowl of soup on the tray in her hands, ghosting up to mingle with the cool air.

“My Luna,” she murmurs, voice soft enough to almost vanish.

The guard’s voice cuts in before I can answer. “Why the robe?” His tone is suspicious, his eyes narrowing like he’s already imagining tearing it off to prove a point.

“It’s cold outside,” she replies lightly, her voice lifting at the end like she’s stating the obvious. A small, almost cheeky smile flickers at the edge of her mouth.

The guard’s expression sours–he’s not the kind who likes women with edges–but after a pause, he steps aside.

I watch her cross the threshold, her movements careful but not timid. The faint clink of ceramic against the tray is swallowed by the thick tension still hanging in the air from Wade’s departure.

She places the tray on the small table beside my bed. The smell of herbs and broth rises immediately, earthy and familiar, but underneath it–faint, almost masked–is something sharper

She hesitates, glancing at the door like she’s measuring whether the guards outside are close enough to hear.

“My Luna…” she starts again, her voice dipping lower.

“Say it,” I tell her.

1/4

16:31 Sat, Dec 20 G GA

Chapter 12

She swallows, her throat working, eyes flicking back to the shadow moving in the hall. “About the trial-

Before she can finish, the guard’s voice slices through. “Time’s u”

4.70%面

Her eyes dart to mine, panic sparking there for a heartbeat. She early wants to say more but straightens instead, letting the hood tilt forward just enough to shadow her face again.

I reach for her hand, my fingers curling around hers. Her skin is warm, trembling just faintly. I press my lips to her forehead -quick, discreet–and murmur, “Go forth. Thank you.”

The words are small but deliberate.

Her eyes glisten briefly before she nods once and turns away.

The door opens again, bringing in a thread of cold air from the corridor. She steps through without hesitation.

The guards barely glance at her. One mutters something about wasted time and “pampering,” the other already shifting his weight in boredom.

They don’t notice the way her posture has changed–her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted just slightly. They don’t notice that her steps aren’t the hesitant shuffle of a servant leaving a room but the measured, deliberate pace of someone who knows exactly where they’re going.

They don’t notice the tray she carries is empty now. Or that the faint sharp tang in the air isn’t just from the soup’s herbs- it’s the residue of a scent–masking draught Edith once whispered about in hushed tones when we were younger.

They don’t notice that under the hood, it isn’t the maid anymore

It’s me.

The robe is heavy, almost too warm, but it swallows my frame completely. The fabric is thick enough to muffle the outline of my movements, the hood low enough to obscure my profile in shadow. I keep my head bowed and my stride steady, matching the rhythm the maid used when she entered.

Each step away from that room feels like holding my breath under water, every sense sharpened, ears tuned to the scrape of boots on stone, the clang of metal against armor, the shallow breaths of the guards.

The corridor stretches ahead, lined with cold stone and lit in intervals by flickering sconces. Shadows cling to the corners. Every door we pass is shut, the air thick with the kind of silence that feels watched.

I pass the first checkpoint without a word. The guards there glande at me but don’t stop me–too lazy to search a servant carrying an empty tray.

My pulse hammers anyway. One wrong move. One wrong breath. One flicker of recognition in their eyes and it’s over.

I’m halfway down the narrow, creaking stairs from the attic when the noise hits me.

It’s not the usual lazy chatter of pack members gossiping in the courtyard – it’s sharp, urgent, and moving away. Heavy boots slam against floorboards. Someone shouts orders. Another voice yells back, muffled by the pounding of feet.

I freeze on the step, my hand tightening on the splintered railing.

–

From my angle, I catch flashes through the warped glass of the back door shapes darting across the yard, the blur of uniforms, the white flash of bared teeth.

Something’s happening.

I slip down the last few steps and press my back against the cool plaster, letting a couple of warriors shove past. The stench

of their sweat clings in the air they leave behind, mingling with the faint tang of metal from their weapons.

2/4

16:31 Sat, Dec 20 6

Chapter 19

The back door’s wide open now, the hinges groaning against the wind Curiosity laws at me be dest that says stay out of sight Still, Ledge lower hal tugged for wat until it charms of my fare

de put

Curside, the training ground’s different world. The air smelle le churned dir, hot from the sun mared with the mandry scent of ton many wolves in me place. The slide damn park

of into the open held, bores prend dunder t shoulder, their voices a constant low roar

At the far end, on the raised platform, Ware stands like he owns the fucking em His pretime’s ngid, le chanted pr enough to scream superiority the bastard’s wearing that smug mile the one that used to mean trust me and now mhes watch me destroy you

But he’s not the center of attention Not really

Because to his right, lounging on a black, high–backed throme like he’s at the world’s dulled party, is him

Alaric Hayes.

Even sitting down, he’s an entire wall of muscle and menace. Midnight hair falling over his brow, amber eyes scanning the crowd with the lazy precision of a predator who already knows ‘s at the top of the food chain. Ifis suir’s dark, sharp enough to cut, and the silver ring on his finger glints whenever

He looks bored

My stomach twists,

but in the way a lion might look bored before decides to eat something just to pass the time

Wade’s voice booms over the crowd.

“The Alpha King is here today as a guest of honor. He has come for a personal matter?

Murmurs ripple through the pack, like wind moving through tall grass. I keep my head down, the hood casting, everything in shadow, but my ears are straining

Wade turns toward the King, then back to us. “He is searching for a pen pal he has corresponded with over the last year. By his request, anyone here who has exchanged letters with him recently will step forward and present themselves to the King,”

I nearly choke on the breath I’ve been holding

“Bring proof,” Wade adds, his voice dripping with fake warmth. Your letters. If they match… the King will claim you as his

bride.”

The crowd reacts instantly

–

gasps, squeals, frantic shoving, Several women scream “It’s met before shoving toward the

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify