The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

“I’m not going to outrun him.” I tell Mia as I scramble with all I have.

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The words hammer in my skull as I tear through the forest, lung clawing for air, branches slashing at my skin. Every breath I take burns. My bare paws skid over damp earth, but I don’t stop can’t stop, not when the monster behind me is close enough that his growl vibrates straight down my spine.

I stumble into the spot where I tossed my clothes earlier. I quickly shift back, hurting a lot more as I force it in a hurry.

This time, Mia have less control to go back to her running mate.

My hands shake so hard I nearly rip the fabric trying to yank my skirt on, fumbling, cursing under my breath. Every snap of a twig behind me is another second closer to death. Or worse–recognition.

“Fuck, come on,” I hiss, jerking the shirt over my head, hair sticking to the sweat on my face.

The sound changes–they’re longer paws pounding leaves. The sound this time are heavy, measured steps now. Bare feet crushing the ground, the earth groaning beneath the weight of him. He shifted back.

My back slams against a thick trunk, the bark biting into my skin as I press flat, trying to quiet the ragged breaths tearing out of me. My palms are damp, clutching fistfuls of the bark as if it can make me invisible.

Then–his voice.

Low. Rough. Unmistakable.

“Sorin.”

It’s like being stabbed straight through the ribs.

I squeeze my eyes shut, teeth cutting into my lip hard enough I taste blood.

“I know it’s you,” he calls again, closer this time, voice sharp with something I don’t dare name. “Don’t–don’t fucking run from me.”

Mia pushes at me from the back of my head, insistent. “Answer him. He’ll help us. He always-”

“No,” I whisper back inside my skull. “Not like this.”

Not when I’m half–dressed, dirt–streaked, shaking like prey. Not when he’ll see what I am now. An Omega maid with nothing left. He deserves to think I died noble, not see me scrubbing floors and dodging beatings like a rat in his own house.

That was the Luna he’s known. The Sorin he admired. If he take a look at how much I had falled…he-

I could not disgrace myself more than I already have.

Leaves crunch closer and I quickly clamp a hand over my mout chest heaving, praying the ointment Marg made is still masking my scent now that I’m human again. If it isn’t–I’m fucked.

“Sorin.” His voice is softer now. Almost broken. “If I’m imagining this, then–fuck–tell me I’m not losing my mind.”

My throat tightens. Cods, a part of me wants to step out, to end the chase, to say yes, it’s me. But pride digs its claws in. The only thing I have left.

A hand yanks my arm.

I nearly scream until I see who it is–Tully. Wide–eyed, frantic, pressing a finger to her lips before dracing me away from

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Chapter 23

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the clearing. My heart punches against my ribs as we half–run, half–stumble back toward the estate, her grip iron on my

wrist.

We skid into the back hallway, breathless. The glow of torches lies the walls, and that’s when we almost slam straight into her.

Camila Pierce.

Look at that, it’s the stand–in Luna, wrapped in silk that costs more than my life, with that smug curl of her painted lips that makes me want to claw her eyes out. Her gaze drops instantly to me, lingers too long, too sharp, and I feel the weight of it like she’s peeling my skin back.

“Well,” she purrs, crossing her arms. “Where exactly are you two coming from?”

Tully swallows, ready to answer. “We–we just went for a run, Luma, me, Sorin, and Marg-”

Camila cuts her off with a laugh. Cold. “A run? Interesting. Considering you Omegas can’t even shift anymore.”

The words land like a blade I want to stab in her throat. Fucking bitch.

I see the flicker of shame on Tully’s face. Rage sparks hot in my chest. Camila’s little starvation game–cutting meat from our meals until the wolves inside them are too weak to shift. Torture disguised as obedience training.

Her eyes lock on me. “Except you, hmm? You’re not from here, so you’re able to shift, aren’t you?”

The silence stretches. Tully’s trembling beside me. I force my expression blank, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

“Answer me.”

“I told you,” I bite out, voice low, sharp. “We went for a run.”

Her head tilts. She steps closer, so close her perfume stings my nose. One manicured hand shoots up, fingers gripping my chin, forcing my head up until our eyes clash. Her nails dig into my skin, and I glare right back at her, refusing to flinch.

“Where did you go?”

My teeth grind together. I force the words out, steady, controlled

“I went for a run.”

And I don’t look away.

Suddenly, the back door slams open so hard the hinges groan, and the room goes dead silent.

Every muscle in my body seizes as the heavy steps echo in. I don’t even need to look–I know that presence. It crawls into my lungs and steals the air.

Alaric.

He smells like iron and rain–soaked earth, like the battlefield itself clung to his skin. When I finally risk turning my head, my eyes snag on the blood streaked across his shirt, splattered down his arm, dripping in lazy trails from his knuckles.a

He doesn’t see me. He can’t now that I’m back in my human form in the scent of Marg’s smelly ointment.

Fuck. He looks lethal, and not in the usual “Alpha King I could rip your throat out in a blink” kind of way. No–this is feral, raw, he’s just come from war and hasn’t shaken it off yet.

Camila doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she shoves me out of her pan with a force sharp enough to send me stumbling back, my shoulder slamming against the wall. My breath hitches, pain parking down my arm, but she doesn’t notice. Of course

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Chapter 23

she doesn’t. Her eyes are locked on him like he’s the only man alve–and in her head, he probably is.

“Alaric,” she breathes, soft and needy, saying his name a prayer and she’s the faithful one who gets to worship.

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He doesn’t even look at her. His gaze sweeps the room, sharp, citing. It lands on me, for the briefest second, but I’ve already got my back half–turned, my head ducked, the ointment asking my scent. He won’t know it’s me. He can’t.

Camila recovers from his indifference like it’s nothing, her heels clicking on the floor as she closes the distance. Her hand almost–almost–reaches for his arm, but then she sees the blood dripping from it. She falters, blinking up at him. “Where were you?”

His voice is gravel, dark and threaded with exhaustion. “Run.”

That’s all he says. Just that. Then he brushes past her like she’s invisible, and fuck me if the silence after isn’t louder than the slam of the door.

Nobody dares move. Nobody dares breathe wrong.

Camila stands there, her face tightening, her knuckles whitening as she clenches her fists. She looks from his retreating figure to me. Her lips curl into something venomous.

I don’t need to read her thoughts to know what she’s already piecing together. Her eyes narrow, and that sharp little smile creeps across her face.

She thinks I’m screwing the King.

Me. An Omega. The disgraced nobody who scrubs the floors she walks on.

If only she knew the truth.

I lower my eyes and stay silent, though my nails dig into my palms until they sting. Every Omega in the room trembles, their fear bleeding into the air. Everyone knows Camila. Everyone knows her temper. And everyone knows if she believes something, she’ll make it hell for whoever’s unlucky enough to be at the center of it.

And right now, that’s me.

Hours later, the summons comes.

The head maid’s voice is brisk when she calls me in, but there’s a weight in her eyes when I stand before her. The table between us is neat, organized—papers stacked, ink still fresh on the quills–but her hands fidget.

Her tone sharpens. “Where did you get the whips, Sorin?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You really don’t know?” My arms cross over my chest, defiance flaring hotter than common sense. “You’ve been head maid for how long? And you don’t have the slightest fucking idea what’s happening under your

nose?”

Her brows knit. “Watch your tone—”

“No. You watch yours.” My voice cracks, finally boiling over, all the shit I’ve held down bubbling free. “Do you even know what they’ve been doing to the Omegas here? Do you? Or have you been too busy licking Camila’s boots?”

Her face pales, but I’m not done. My chest heaves, every word jaged and loud. “The Omegas haven’t seen meat in weeks. They’re starving. They’re beaten for no reason, tortured for amusement, whipped until they bleed out on the floor–and you didn’t notice?”

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