The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 4

ALARIC

The Imperial Pack has been alive with tension these past two months, and I’m the goddamn center of it. My wolves can smell it on me—my obsession, my hunger for her.

Sorin Carter

The one woman who makes me lose control, whose defiance only feeds the fucking inferno burning inside me. She’s like a thorn lodged under my skin, impossible to remove but too intoxicating to let go.

I start my mornings thinking about her, and my nights filled with dreams of her sharp tongue and the way her lips curve when she’s mocking me.

It’s maddening. No—she’s maddening.

Today, I send her a gift. A golden statue of myself, standing over ten feet tall. It’s ridiculous, I know, but Sorin drives me to these lengths. She rejected the bouquet of roses last week. Tossed the diamond necklace into the fountain.

Let’s see her ignore this.

I have it delivered to her courtyard, where she can't avoid it. The thing gleams under the sun, my sculpted figure standing tall with my crown and a wolf at my side. A masterpiece, honestly.

The artist outdid themselves.

Hours later, a servant stumbles into my office, pale-faced and holding a note.

“She, uh . . . She sent this back, Your Majesty,” he stammers, holding out the slip of paper.

I snatch it, already anticipating the bite in her words.

‘Where should I return this? The nearest landfill or the bottom of the ocean?’

I laugh, loud enough that my Beta outside my door flinches. God, she’s infuriating. I lean back in my chair, imagining her face when she saw it—probably rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a headache.

* * *

The next time I see her, it’s at one of her absurd tea parties. The stables smell better than those gatherings of tight-lipped she-wolves pretending to enjoy her company. But I’m not here for them.

I’m here for her.

I make my entrance grand, of course. The Alpha King doesn’t slink into a room unnoticed. My cape flows behind me as I stride in, radiating dominance and authority.

The room falls silent, every eye on me—except hers. Sorin barely glances up from her cup, her expression calm but her lips twitching. I know that look.

“Your Majesty,” she says sweetly, her voice laced with venom, “the stables are that way.”

A chorus of laughter erupts around us. She fucking planned that. I glare at the other women, and they scatter like leaves in the wind.

But Sorin doesn’t move. She just sits there, sipping her tea as though she didn’t just humiliate me in front of the pack. I lean in, close enough to smell the faint citrus of her shampoo.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” I growl, my voice low enough that only she can hear.

She sets her cup down, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes are fire, molten and unyielding. “No,” she says simply. “I know I am.”

* * *

Two days later, I see her on the edge of the village, crouched down and trying to coax some mangy stray out from under a cart. It’s a scrawny thing, its fur matted and one ear bent awkwardly.

This is my chance. I’m going to be the hero. The gentleman. The Alpha King who rescues kittens and wins the heart of his stubborn mate.

I yank off my cloak and crouch beside her. “Move,” I command, reaching under the cart. The cat hisses, swiping at me, but I’m faster. I grab the damn thing by the scruff and pull it out, holding it triumphantly in front of her.

She blinks at me, her nose twitching. Then she sneezes.

“Are you—”

“Allergic,” she cuts in, her voice nasally. “But thanks, Your Majesty. I’ll be sure to put this in my growing list of reasons to avoid you.”

I hold the cat tighter, its claws digging into my skin as it struggles. My wolves are laughing in the distance. I consider throwing the thing into the river.

When the island is ready, I make sure she knows.

* * *

“An island?” she repeats, standing in the middle of the throne room. “You bought me an island.”

“Not just any island,” I say, stepping closer. “It’s secluded, private. A place where you can do whatever you want. Be whoever you want.”

Her lips part slightly, and for a second, I think I’ve won.

Then she smirks. “Finally,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “A place to store all my socks.”

My jaw clenches, my fists itching to grab her, to shake that damn smirk off her face with my lips. Instead, I watch as she turns on her heel and walks away, her laughter echoing through the halls.

* * *

The invitation to the ball I prepared especially for her is my final move. If she doesn’t give in after this, I’ll have to take . . . other measures. I make sure the dress code is clear: formal, elegant, no exceptions.

When she arrives, every eye in the room turns to her—and not for the reasons I hoped.

Sorin stands in the doorway, her hair loose and wild, wearing what looks like a silk pajama set. It’s blue, covered in tiny crescent moons and stars. She’s barefoot.

She still looks incredible fuckable.

My wolves shift uncomfortably, murmurs spreading through the crowd.

Sorin raises her arms in mock surprise. “What? I thought this was a pajama party.”

The room explodes into laughter.

I’m done holding back. I’d have her chained if that means I’ll have her all to myself.

I stride toward her, the crowd parting like waves before me. She doesn’t flinch as I stop inches from her, my towering frame casting a shadow over her smaller one.

“You think this is a game? You think this would make me stop, darling?” I whisper, my voice low and dangerous.

She tilts her head, her smile infuriatingly calm. I love that about her. “Oh, it’s not a game, Your Majesty,” she replies. “It’s a fucking sport.”

Oh Goddess, you will be mine, baby. The sooner you realize that, the better.

* * *

PRESENT

The ink on her last letter is barely dry. I reread her reply, the careful curve of her words, her restraint isn’t deliberate. It’s as though she thinks this game can be won with dignity intact. She doesn’t know me yet. Not really.

She’s wrong.

Sorin Carter will break.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify