“What will you do?
Eliminate them, or do you just enjoy causing trouble for werewolves?” Breena asked, her voice muffled by the mattress.
She felt him shift on top of her, reaching into the nearby drawer before applying a cold, soothing cream across her inflamed back.
The icy cream immediately quieted her sharp pain.
She stayed still and let him have his way; fighting his immense physical strength was entirely beyond her power.
Dronti dipped his fingers deeper into the cream, rubbing it gently over her upper back.
“Are these marks only on your back?
And how do you manage to scratch yourself like this without fully shifting?” “Just get it over with and let me go,” she muttered.
Dronti remained silent, his hands working methodically across her skin.
His fingers slowly trailed lower, catching the hem of her trousers and tugging at the waistband.
“Are there marks on your behind too?” “No, no!
Not there!” Breena gasped, her hands instinctively shooting back to wrap around his wrists.
“Let me go, Your Highness.
Thank you for your assistance.” “I still haven’t bandaged them.
Stay still,” he commanded, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.
Breena relented, lying motionless while he dressed her wounds.
By the time he released her, her back was perfectly patched—precisely the kind of flawless medical work expected from the owner of Giffrode Private Hospital, the nation’s premier center for advanced surgical procedures.
Breena sat upright, pulling her top down as she met his dull, pale grey eyes.
“Your Highness…
is this how you treat your guests on their first day?
By starving them?” Dronti got off the bed and adjusted his attire.
“I have no intention of mistreating my healer.
A meal will be brought to you by the staff.” He finished buttoning his trousers, pausing at the threshold.
“You sleep here tonight.
I expect a name tomorrow morning—whoever cast you out of your pack.” Without waiting for a response, he walked out, the heavy lock snapping shut behind him.
— Morning arrived, and Breena woke up late into the day, her body still exhausted from being abducted and dragged to the estate the previous night.
The lock clicked, and a servant entered carrying several high-end shopping bags.
“Good morning, madam,” the servant greeted with a soft bow.
Breena offered a slight nod.
“What is your name?” “My name is Rose.” She handed the bags over.
“His Highness requested that you have these.” “Thank you, Rose,” Breena said, taking the packages.
Rose turned toward the door, pointing to the landline on the bedside table.
“If you need anything else, I am only one call away.
Just use that extension.” Once Rose departed, Breena emptied the bags onto the bed.
They were packed with an impressive selection of clothes, all tailored precisely to her measurements.
Strangely, a large portion of the haul consisted of fitted denim jeans.
Breena wondered if the king had personally ordered them based on what she was wearing when his men took her.
Still, she wasn’t about to complain about a fresh wardrobe; purchasing new clothes was a luxury she rarely afforded herself.
She spent the next hour trying on the outfits in front of the full-length mirror, turning to inspect her slender frame.
She tried on flowered sundresses, delicate shoes, and undergarments.
The lace bras fitted her flawlessly.
Breena scowled at her reflection—could he really gauge her exact cup size just from grabbing her breast once?
He was a Lycan after all; his biological senses were unnervingly sharp.
Unbuttoning a floral blouse, she glanced over her shoulder at the neat bandages covering her back.
The Lycan King was by no means a gentle man, which made his actions from the night before all the more puzzling.
Why go out of his way to tend to her wounds?
Was it an attempt to soften her resolve so she wouldn’t try to escape, or was he simply riding the high of achieving his first release?
She questioned whether the rumors of his biological block were even true, considering how effortlessly he had ejaculated during her treatment.
Perhaps Dronti was playing a broader game, harboring darker motives.
Or maybe he had brought her here to quietly eliminate the last surviving member of the Feins lineage.
Her jaw tightened.
Whatever his game was, she was determined to make him bleed.
She had spent years researching the physical and emotional weaknesses of the Lycan species; she wouldn’t leave this villa until she had completely broken his power.
After a quick shower, Breena pulled on a pair of stiff, high-waisted denim jeans.
If the king decided to misbehave again today, at least he would have a difficult time stripping them off her.
A heavy breakfast was brought in shortly after, and she cleared every plate like someone who hadn’t eaten in days.
Just as she finished, the door swung open without a knock.
Dronti walked in, wearing a bespoke navy-blue suit.
The dark wool hugged his broad, muscular shoulders and tapered down his waist, accentuating his towering height.
Skipping any form of greeting, he strode across the room, pulled out the armchair opposite her, and sat down.
His pale grey eyes locked onto hers, cold and penetrating.
“There are a few things I failed to make clear yesterday.” Breena crossed her arms, her eyebrows furrowing.
“What things?” “First, no one in this house can know your actual purpose here,” Dronti said, his tone icy.
“If anyone asks, brush them off with an excuse.” A bitter smirk played on Breena’s lips.
“Ah.
So the mighty king’s inability to release isn’t a power move, but a humiliating biological defect?” In a fraction of a second, Dronti lunged across the space.
Before she could react, he slammed her back against the mattress, his massive hand clamping hard around her throat.
His Lycan flared right beneath his skin, his pale eyes darkening with lethal rage.
“Do not speak of that again,” he growled, his grip tightening until her chest heaved for air.
“Unless you are eager to die.” Shocked by the sudden violence, Breena grabbed his thick wrist, her fingers digging into his skin as her oxygen cut off.
“Okay…
Your Highness,” she choked out.
Dronti held her there for a second longer before releasing her neck and stepping back, smoothing his suit as he returned to his chair.
Breena sat up, rubbing her sore throat as her breath stabilized.
She shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.
“Everyone knows I’m a professional herbalist.
What am I supposed to tell the staff?” “Tell them you are here to treat my pet,” Dronti replied smoothly.
“Your pet?” Breena asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dronti let out a low, sharp whistle.
A moment later, a massive wild predator leaped effortlessly through the open balcony window, landing silently on the floor.
It padded over to Dronti’s chair and slunk down at his feet, its heavy tail thumping against the ground.
Breena froze, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the beast.
It was a massive rosette-patterned jaguar, its sleek yellow coat covered in black rosettes, its powerful jaw and muscular shoulders radiating raw lethal force.
The predator turned its golden eyes toward her, letting out a low, vibrating growl.
Terrified by the sheer size of the cat, Breena shrank back against the headboard, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the sheets.
“Is that a…
a wild cat?” “A jaguar,” Dronti corrected calmly, resting his hand over the beast’s wide head.
Breena stared at the predator, her breath catching in her throat as she fought the overwhelming urge to bolt from the room.