The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96

Chapter 96

“There’s been an attack.”

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The words hang in the air between us like a death sentence, and for a second–just one fucking second–I can’t breathe.

An attack. On the Imperial Pack. On his territory.

me

Which means going back. Which means facing reality. Which the fantasy vacation where I could pretend I didn’t know my mate murdered my father is officially over.

Fuck.

I grab his arm before he can pull me toward the door, my fing back? Right now?”

digging into the muscle there. “Do we… do we have to go

Alaric stops. Turns. Looks at me like I’ve just suggested we abandon his entire kingdom to burn while we finish our piña coladas.

“Sorin-”

“I know, I know.” My voice cracks despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “I just… can we have five more minutes? Please?”

His expression softens, and god, I hate how easily he reads the desperation in my voice. How he mistakes my reluctance for fear of danger instead of what it really is fear that once we step back into that pack, into that life, I’ll have to make good on the promise I made to myself.

That I’ll have to leave him.

“Baby, we need to go.” His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I need to handle this. People are hurt. The borders-”

“I know.”

And I do know. I’m not a monster. People are in danger, his pack is under threat, and here I am trying to steal a few more moments of pretending everything isn’t completely fucked.

But can you blame me? This might be the last time. The last time he looks at me like I’m his entire world. The last time I get to feel his hands on my skin without flinching at the memory of what those hands commanded. The last time before I become a ghost, a corpse, a girl who chose death over loving her father’s killer.

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, and I’m furious at myself for the weakness. I wipe it away quickly, but not quickly enough.

“Hey.” Alaric’s voice drops, concerned now, urgent. “What’s wrong?”

Everything, I want to scream. Everything is wrong and it’s your fault and I can’t even hate you properly because I’m still so fucking in love with you it makes me want to rip my own heart out.

Instead, I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent–pine and smoke and something fundamentally him–and commit it to memory.

“I’m just afraid,” I whisper against his skin, “that this is gonna be the last time we go to places like this.”

Because it is. Because after this, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with a body that isn’t mine and a truth that will destroy you.

His arms tighten around me, almost painfully. “No. No, baby, it won’t be. I swear to you–once I handle this shit, once things settle down, I’m taking you everywhere. Paris, Tokyo, fucking Bora Bora if you want. Anywhere you want to go, we’ll go

Chapter on

weethe

The certainty in his voice cracks something inside me.

I pull back just enough to look at him, to memorize every detail of his face the sharp line of his jaw, the amber gold of in eyes, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. The way he’s looking at me like F’re the answer to every question her ever had.

This is the last time I’ll see him like this. Before betrayal. Before loss. Before he realizes the girl he loves chose justice over a mating bond that should’ve been unbreakable.

I kiss him.

It’s desperate and fierce and tastes like salt from tears I’m no longer trying to hide. He kisses me back with equal intensity. like he can sense something shifting, something ending, even if he doesn’t understand what.

When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I press my forehead to his.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s go home.”

One last time.

The Imperial Pack territory looms ahead as our car tears through the gates, and the difference from when we left is stark. Before, there was order. Routine. The machinations of a well–oiled machine.

Now? Now it’s barely controlled chaos.

People are running. Guards are stationed at every entrance, weapons drawn. The air practically vibrates with tension and the acrid smell of fear. Even from inside the car, I can feel it–the collective anxiety of a pack that’s just realized they’re not as untouchable as they thought.

Beta Cole is waiting for us at the main entrance, and the poor bastard looks like he’s aged ten years in the few days we’ve been gone. His usually immaculate appearance is disheveled, his eyes wild with barely suppressed panic.

The second Alaric steps out of the

car

Cole is on him like a starving dog on a bone.

“Alpha, thank god–the northern borders have been breached, we’ve got reports of three casualties, maybe more, and the scouts are saying there’s movement on the eastern front too, and we don’t know if this is coordinated or-”

“Slow down.” Alaric’s voice cuts through the rambling with the force of a blade. “Where exactly-”

“I’m gonna head upstairs.”

Both of them turn to look at me.

I paste on my most convincing exhausted–girlfriend smile. “You guys have work stuff to handle. I’m just gonna go unpack and… yeah. I’ll be in our room.”

It’s not a lie. I am exhausted. Exhausted from pretending. Exhausted from feeling like my heart is being ripped in two directions. Exhausted from knowing that every moment from here on out is borrowed time.

Alaric’s eyes narrow slightly, and fuck, of course he notices. Of course he can read the flatness in my expression, the way I’m holding myself together with duct tape and sheer spite.

He holds up a hand to silence Cole mid–sentence. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Where do I even start?

I walk back to him, take his hand–the one that commanded my father to his death–and bring it to my lips. Kiss the back of

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Chapter 96

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it gently, like it’s something precious instead of something that haunts me.

“I’m just tired,” I say, meeting his eyes with practiced ease. “It’s been a long trip. You should focus on work. Your pack needs you.”

I let my lips curve into something that almost resembles a genuine smile before I turn and walk away, feeling his gaze burning into my back the entire time.

Marg is waiting in my room when I get there, because of course she is. The girl has a sixth sense for when shit is about to go sideways, and right now, shit isn’t just sideways–it’s completely vertical and possibly doing backflips.

“So.” She’s sorting through my luggage with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times, but her dark eyes flick to me with unmistakable curiosity. “How was the honeymoon? Did he rock your world? Break the bed? I need details, babe.”

Despite everything, I almost laugh. Classic Marg–cutting straight through the bullshit to what matters. Or what would matter, if my entire life wasn’t currently imploding.

I help her hang up a dress, keeping my voice light. “It was… good. Really good, actually.”

“Just good?” She raises an eyebrow. “Girl, you’ve been glowing since you walked in. He must’ve done something right.”

“Yeah, well.” I wait until we’re fully inside the bedroom, until the door is closed and I’m certain we’re out of werewolf hearing range. Then I turn to her, and I let the mask drop. “Marg. I’m leaving.”

Her hands freeze mid–fold on one of my shirts. “What?”

“I’m leaving the pack.” The words taste like ash. “Soon. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but soon.”

“Why the fuck would you-” She stops. Looks at me. Really looks at me. “You found out. You found out who killed your father.”

It’s not a question.

I nod, and suddenly there are tears streaming down my face because saying it out loud, admitting it to someone else, makes it real in a way it hasn’t been before.

“Who?” Marg’s voice is hard now, protective. “Tell me who, and I’ll help you make them pay. Alaric will make them pay. He’s the fucking King–whoever did this will suffer in ways they can’t even imagine.”

“It was him.”

Silence.

Complete, suffocating silence.

“Marg.” My voice breaks. “It was Alaric. The King himself sent my father to war. He’s the one who killed him.”

She stares at me like I’ve just told her the sun is actually cold. Like the fundamental rules of the universe have just been rewritten in front of her eyes.

“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “No, that’s… Sorin, are you sure? Because if you’re wrong-

“I’m not wrong.” The certainty in my voice kills whatever argument she was about to make. “I’m not fucking wrong, Marg. I have proof. I have… I know. Okay? I know.”

She sinks down onto the edge of the bed, and I’ve never seen her look so devastated. Marg, who’s always been the strong one, the practical one, the one who keeps me grounded when I threaten to fly apart.

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Chapter 96

“Can I …” She swallows hard. “Can I tell Tully?”

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“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, but I can’t risk it. “Tully can’t know. Not yet. She’s too … you know how she is. She’d either try to stop me or she’d want to help, and I can’t put her in that position. Please, Marg. Please.”

After a long moment, she nods. “Okay. Okay, I won’t tell her.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s steel there now, determination replacing the shock. “So what’s the plan?”

Thank fuck. Thank fuck she’s not trying to talk me out of it, not trying to convince me there’s some other way.

“That’s why I told you.” I sit down beside her. “Because I need your help.”

We talk for what feels like hours but is probably only thirty minutes. I lay it out–the broad strokes, the timeline, the things I need her to do. She listens without interrupting, occasionally nodding, her mind clearly working through logistics and potential problems.

When I’m done, she stands up and straightens her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle.

“I’ll start making preparations,” she says quietly. “And Sorin? No one will know. I promise.”

“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate for what she’s risking, what she’s offering. “Marg, I—”

“Don’t.” She cuts me off with a sad smile. “We’re sisters, remember? Fuck the pack bonds–you’re family. Now let me do this before I start crying and ruin my eyeliner.”

She leaves, and suddenly the room feels too large and too empty and I’m alone with my thoughts, which is the last place I want to be.

I pull out the burner phone Tessa gave me in the Bahamas—a lifeline, a thread connecting me to the outside world, to possibility. Alaric is thorough. Paranoid, even. There’s a non–zero chance he’s tapped every device I’ve touched, every phone I’ve used. But this? This he doesn’t know about.

I dial Tessa’s number, heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. Three times-

“Hello?” Her voice is cautious, professional. Cop voice.

“Tessa, it’s me.” I keep my voice low. “I need to ask you something. Do you still have connections with… with the morgue? With unclaimed bodies?”

AD