TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 156

CHAPTER 104: YOU FCKING DARE

KNOX’S POV

The words come out wrong. Too low, too calm, like they’re coming from somewhere else, somewhere deep inside me that I’ve spent my whole life keeping locked away.

“Knox.” Nathaniel’s voice goes careful. “Your eyes.”

“What about them?”

“They’re not changing back. They’re staying gold.”

1

I don’t care about my eyes. I don’t care about anything except the woman in my arms and the old man on the ridge who did this to her.

Harrison fucking Crawford.

I stand up and I look at him across the battlefield.

He’s still there on that ridge, watching with that aristocratic indifference, and when our eyes meet something passes between us.

And the bastard doesn’t even flinch.

Something shifts inside me.

Not my wolf. Something else, something deeper and darker and older, something that feels like it’s been

sleeping my whole life and is finally waking up.

My skin ripples and my bones ache and the control I’ve spent decades building, all those walls I

constructed to keep the beast contained, starts to crack.

This isn’t like shifting. I’ve shifted a thousand times and I know what that feels like – the stretch, the burn,

the release of letting Phantom take over.

This is different. This feels like drowning, like being swallowed whole, like something is eating the inside out and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

me from

Like insanity creeping in through the cracks, filling up all the empty spaces where reason used to live.

“Take her.” I’m already pushing Ember into Nathaniel’s arms, and the loss of her weight against my chest feels like having my heart ripped out through my ribs. “Keep her alive. Whatever happens to me, whatever you see, don’t let her fucking DIE.”

“Knox-

I’m not listening anymore.

Harrison sees me stand. Sees my eyes blazing gold, sees the shift starting to ripple under my skin like something trying to claw its way out.

< CHAPTERJA HUTCHING PARE

And the bastard smiles. Actually fucking SMILES

Then he raises his hand, fingers poised, and signals his archers.

They loose their arrows.

I shift.

The transformation rips through me faster than it ever has, violent and brutal, bones shattering and reforming before I’ve finished taking my first step.

And I’m running before I’m fully beast–running toward the arrows instead of away from them, running up that fucking mountain like gravity doesn’t exist, like pain doesn’t exist, like nothing exists except Harrison Crawford and the need to tear him apart with my teeth.

Arrows hit me. I feel them punch through muscle, feel the silver tips scraping bone, feel the wolfsbane spreading through my blood like liquid fire.

I don’t stop. I don’t slow down. Each impact just makes me angrier, just feeds the inferno that’s consuming everything I used to be.

Phantom is thirsty for blood.

The first archer dies before he can nock another arrow.

My jaws close around his throat and I rip it out in a spray of hot copper, windpipe and vocal cords tearing

free with a wet crunch, and I’m already moving to the next one before his body hits the ground.

The second one gets his bow up and I take his arm off at the elbow, then crush his skull between my jaws

while he’s still screaming.

The third tries to run and I catch him by the spine, ripping vertebrae from flesh, painting the snow red with

what spills out.

They’re all screaming now. Scrambling to reload, tripping over each other to get away, and I am a storm of fur and claws and teeth tearing through them like they’re made of nothing.

Because they ARE nothing. Because they hurt her. Because they tried to take her from me. Because Harrison fucking Crawford stood on that ridge and waved his hand and thought he could kill what’s MINE.

The blood isn’t enough. The screaming isn’t enough. I want more. I need more.

I gut one archer from groin to sternum and his intestines spill out steaming into the snow and it’s STILL

not enough.

I crush another’s ribcage with one swipe and the bones splinter into his lungs and his last breath comes out as a bloody wheeze and it’s STILL NOT ENOUGH.

Nothing is enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

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