A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 52 - 51

Chapter 52: Chapter 51

I continued to ignore his summons day after day, pouring myself into my routine—feeding the cats, wandering the estate gardens, and even sneaking a few moments to sit by the fountain and let the cool spray wash over me. I kept my head high, even as the servants whispered behind my back, their eyes darting between me and the grand halls that led to him. Let them talk. I wasn’t about to grovel at his feet like some obedient pup.

By mid-afternoon, I was back in my room, humming softly as I sorted through the few books I had brought with me from the library. The sun filtered through the window, warm and golden, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to relax.

And then it happened.

So suddenly.

So unexpectedly.

One moment, I was reaching for a book, and the next, the air around me shifted, like the world had tilted on its axis. My breath caught in my throat, and before I could make sense of the sensation, of what was actually happening to me, the room dissolved around me, replaced by an icy, suffocating chill.

I stumbled as I landed on solid ground, the book slipping from my fingers. My heart pounded in my chest, the disorientation giving way to a sickening sense of dread. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

But one thing was a fact! I was no longer in my bedchamber.

The first thing I noticed was the floor—cold, polished stone that gleamed under the flickering light of torches lining the walls. And then the aura hit me.

It crashed into me like a wave, heavy and oppressive, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing the air from my lungs. My wolf, which was always so silent, so weak it was almost an afterthought, stirred uneasily within me. It wasn’t a full-blown awakening—she wasn’t that strong—but even in her diminished state, she shivered, her presence a faint echo of my own fear.

I didn’t need to look up to know where I was. The throne room.

Forcing myself to focus, I glanced to my side, only to see another figure—a male, but not just any male, a messager. He wore a short, hooded cloak in deep midnight blue, which was fastened with a silver brooch shaped like a winged crest, probably a symbol of the guild he worked for. And slung across his back was a compact leather satchel, embossed with intricate patterns and design.

His form pressed flat to the ground, his head bowed so low it almost touched the floor. His entire body trembled, though whether it was from fear or something else, I couldn’t tell.

My stomach churned as I followed the trajectory of his gaze, my head lifting slowly, almost against my will. And there he was.

The Lycan King.

He was draped lazily across the throne, one leg slung over the armrest, the other foot planted firmly on the ground. His posture was casual, almost bored, but the energy rolling off him was anything but. The intensity of his aura was suffocating, a silent warning that screamed louder than any words ever could.

His ruby red eyes—piercing, cold, and impossibly sharp—met mine, and it felt like the ground gave way.

He wasn’t frowning, wasn’t scowling, wasn’t even glaring. His expression was blank, unreadable, but that made it so much worse.

I couldn’t hold his gaze for long. My instincts screamed at me to look away, to bow my head, to submit. My wolf whined pitifully, the sound echoing faintly in my mind, and I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the trembling that threatened to overtake me.

What had I done?

The question rattled around in my head, a wind whirl of doubts and regrets. I had refused his summons, yes, but surely that wasn’t enough to warrant this. Or was it? Had I pushed too far, crossed a line I hadn’t even realized existed?

I stole another glance at him, only to immediately regret it. His gaze hadn’t wavered, hadn’t softened. It was as though he was dissecting me with his eyes, peeling back every layer until there was nothing left but raw, exposed nerves.

My breath hitched, and I quickly looked away again, my gaze darting to the male beside me. He hadn’t moved an inch, still pressed to the ground as though it might swallow him whole if he begged hard enough. Did he know something I didn’t?

Did he deliver a message that didn’t please the Lycan king?

Does it concern me?!

The silence was unbearable, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. The only sounds were the crackle of the torches and the faint, uneven rhythm of my breathing. My mind raced, searching for an explanation, an escape, anything that might give me even the slightest edge in this situation. But there was nothing. Just the weight of his gaze and the crushing realization that I might have angered him.

I bit down hard on my bottom lip, the sharp sting grounding me, and forced myself to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. I didn’t even raise my head fully, didn’t dare to stand straight. Every muscle in my body was tense, coiled like a spring, ready to bolt or bow or fight—though the latter felt laughably impossible under the circumstances.

I clenched my fists tighter, the nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep my composure. The humiliation of bowing to him, of apologizing or groveling, would be unbearable, but so was the thought of provoking his wrath further. I was caught between two equally unappealing options, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to do.

Had I overstepped?

The thought struck me like a slap, and my stomach churned violently. I had been so confident in my defiance, so sure of my ability to stand my ground. But now, under the weight of his silent fury, I wasn’t so sure.