The Mind-Reading Mate Why Is the Lycan King So Obsessed With Me novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Lycan King's Wrath

People rarely called Edmund by his name—or rather, no one dared to.

They treated his name like some kind of a bad jinx, as if saying it out loud would summon death itself.

Because of those ridiculous superstitions, Primrose had never spoken his name in her first life. But in the end, she still met her demise, even without calling his name.

The truth was, she had always wanted to say his name because she wanted to curse him along with his name, to be exact.

"EDMUND, YOU BASTARD! How the hell could you not reinforce the guards in the Queen's chamber?!"

Primrose kept screaming, her voice ringing through the room as she hurled whatever she could grab at the assassin standing before her.

A vase. A candle holder. A goddamn pillow.

It didn't matter what it was as long as it hit him, she was throwing it.

At this point, the assassin was starting to lose focus because of her relentless screaming.

"Shut up! Just shut up already!"

Like hell she would.

Primrose grabbed a heavy antique vase sitting by the fireplace, and hurled it at him with everything she had.

"AAAAAA!!! AAAAAAA!! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!"

The vase missed by an inch, shattering against the floor. The assassin flinched, not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

"EDMUND!! EDMUND OSBERT VARNHAME!! ARE YOU DEAF OR WHAT?!!"

His fingers twitched. This was supposed to be a clean job. A quiet kill. The last thing he needed was for half the damn palace to wake up because of this woman's loud voice.

"Enough!"

In a second, he closed the distance between them, catching her wrist just as she reached for another object to throw. With a sharp shove, he slammed her against the wall.

Before she could scream again, his hand wrapped around her throat.

"Just give up, Your Majesty," he snarled, "I can snap your neck in seconds—"

Primrose's survival instincts kicked in. She moved wildly, her nails raking down his arm, her knee jerking upward to land a desperate hit. She even tried to bite him.

Useless. Her attempt to survive was completely useless.

It was like a rabbit trying to fight off a bear.

Tears spilled down her cheeks because the pain was unbearable. Her lungs burned, her vision darkened, and her body screamed for air.

Maybe this is it.

Her second death.

How pathetic.

Her body slumped down against the wall. A choked sound—half a gasp, half a sob—escaped her lips as her mind flickered between past and present.

Just as her vision blurred into nothingness, something unexpected happened.

BOOM!

The door to her chamber didn't just open but it was obliterated. Wood splintered, metal groaned, and a powerful gust of wind howled through the space, sending things flying and curtains billowing like wings.

And then, before the assassin could react, the chilling voice echoed through the room.

"Who gave you permission to touch my wife?"

A blade sliced through the assassin's arm. His right limb was severed from his body, forcing him to release his grip on Primrose's throat.

She collapsed onto her knees, choking on air. Her lungs burned as she coughed violently, her trembling fingers clawing at her skin, only to freeze when she felt something cold and lifeless still clinging to her neck.

The severed hand.

What the hell ... the fingers were even still twitching on her neck?!

A wave of nausea rolled over her as she yanked it off, flinging it away with a horrified shudder.

She had seen dismembered limbs before. Bloodied corpses. The aftermath of a battlefield.

But holding a severed body part in her bare hands?

That was new.

And utterly disgusting.

Warm, sticky blood sprayed across the walls, pooling on the floor, drenching her nightgown, and worst of all, it splattered onto her face!

The thick, metallic scent filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

The assassin's agonized scream finally registered in her ears, but Primrose barely heard it. Her mind was too busy processing the sheer horror of what had just happened.

"How dare you infiltrate the Queen's chamber."

The voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It was cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

The heavy footsteps that followed were slow, deliberate. Not rushed. Not panicking. Just steady, like a predator closing in on its prey.

Then, he stepped into the room.

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