TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 157

CHAPTER 105: THE TRADITIONALISTS

KNOX’S POV

The words rip out of me as a roar, barely human, vibrating through my chest and echoing off the mountains loud enough to shake snow from the trees.

And Harrison – this old man dangling from my grip with his feet kicking uselessly, his expensive shoes scraping at air – doesn’t even have the decency to look afraid.

“Your Majesty.” His voice is calm through the crushing grip on his windpipe, almost bored. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I assure you, this was never personal. I never willed for us to fight. This exchange would have been smooth – bloodless, even – if you had simply minded your business. But when it comes to that omega, you are incapable of rational thought.” A thin smile stretches across his lips. “An old friend warned me as much. He said you’d walk right into this, and here you are. Predictable as ever.”

My claws tighten. I feel the cartilage in his throat starting to give.

He keeps talking.

“I hold no ill will toward you, Knox. Truly, I don’t. You were a fine king once. Brutal when needed, strategic, respected. But that woman has made you weak. She clouds your judgment, makes you act beneath your

station, chasing after damaged goods like some lovesick pup instead of ruling as the goddess intended.”

Blood is trickling down his neck now, pooling in his collar, but his voice stays steady. “The goddess never

intended for kings to soil themselves with cheap, broken omegas. The goddess never intended for kings to lead with lenience. You signed your own death warrant when you bedded that frail, fragile thing — another man’s waste, if I am honest. You tainted the crown the moment you chose her over your duty.”

I should kill him. I should crush his throat and watch the light drain from his eyes and end this right now.

But the beast wants to hear more. Wants to know exactly how many bones to break.

“The traditionalists have been patient,” Harrison continues, like he’s lecturing a child instead of dangling from the claws of a monster. “Biding our time. Watching you stumble from one disgrace to the next. And this? Tonight? Chasing after my worthless son for a woman who isn’t worth the dirt beneath your boots?” He laughs, wet and rasping. “You’ve finally broken the camel’s back. You are no longer fit to rule, and everyone who matters kn-”

I rip his arm off.

He doesn’t get to finish.

The one he used to signal the archers. The one that waved those arrows toward us.

I sink my claws in at the shoulder and I TEAR, ripping through muscle and tendon and bone while his words are still forming on his tongue.

The arm comes free with a wet sucking sound and a spray of arterial blood that paints my

muzzle

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crimson.

His scream swallows whatever he was about to say, raw and animal and so fucking satisfying I almost smile.

I throw the severed limb aside like the garbage it is.

“MINE.” The word erupts from somewhere deeper than my throat, more animal than man, shaking the air around us. “She is MINE. My woman. You fucking touch her, and you die.”

Harrison is on his knees now, clutching the ragged stump where his arm used to be, blood pumping out in rhythmic spurts that turn the snow black in the moonlight.

And even now even broken and bleeding and missing a fucking limb – the bastard looks up at me without fear.

“Kill me then.” He spreads his remaining arm wide, welcoming death like an old friend he’s been waiting to embrace. “Kill me and unleash the hell that’s been waiting for you for years. Prove what you are, King Knox. Prove what we’ve always known you’d become.”

I want to. Goddess, I want to. The hunger inside me is screaming for it, demanding his death, demanding I

rip out his throat and feast on his still–beating heart and paint this entire mountain with every drop of

blood in his withered body.

My jaws open and my muscles coil and I’m a heartbeat away from giving the beast everything it wants-

Something stabs into my neck.

A needle punching through fur and muscle, injecting something that spreads through my veins like ice water and steals the fire from my blood.

My grip loosens. Harrison drops to the snow.

I turn, already knowing what I’ll see, already feeling the betrayal rising even as my legs start to give out

beneath me.

Nathaniel.

He’s standing behind me with an empty syringe in his hand and an expression on his face that I can’t read through the haze clouding my vision.

He doesn’t explain. All he does is watch me fall.

The world tilts sideways and I see Harrison crawling toward the edge of the cliff, dragging himself through the snow with his one remaining arm, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him like some grotesque snail.

He reaches the edge and looks back at me one last time, and that fucking smile is still on his ruined face even as his life pumps out onto the frozen ground.

Then he rolls himself over and disappears into the darkness below.

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Hry to stand. Try to follow. Try to finish what I started.

My body doesn’t respond.

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