A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 53 - 52

Chapter 53: Chapter 52

The silence in the throne room stretched until it felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest. My breath was shallow, my pulse thundering in my ears. The messenger beside me—the one whose trembling had almost distracted me from my own fear—was now gone from view. My gaze was too fixed on the floor to see him, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

The air shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable, like the calm before a storm, and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched—no, not watched, hunted. My wolf whimpered again, her unease coursing through me like a second pulse. I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, my hands clenched tightly at my sides, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

And then I heard it. Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, each one echoing off the walls with a chilling finality. The sound was heavier than it should have been, each step vibrating through the stone floor and settling into my bones. He was moving toward me.

I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel him—closer now, his presence an all-encompassing force that made the air in the room seem colder, thinner. My wolf’s whining grew louder, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching. This was a power play. A mind game. And it was working.

Suddenly, an invisible force tilted my chin upward, the motion as smooth as it was inescapable. My eyes widened in shock, and despite every instinct screaming at me to look away, my gaze was dragged upward until it collided with his.

The Lycan King stood over me, his eyes glowing faintly, a molten red that seemed to see straight through me, unraveling every secret, every shred of defiance I had left. He didn’t touch me—he didn’t need to. The power emanating from him was enough to make me feel like I was suffocating.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the messenger—the one who had been bowing beside me. Except he wasn’t bowing anymore. He was on his feet, his posture rigid and unnatural, like a puppet on strings. His eyes were wide with terror, his mouth opening and closing as if to plead.

And then, with a flick of the Lycan King’s hand, the man’s head twisted sharply to the side. The sound of bone snapping echoed through the room, followed by a wet, sickening crunch as his neck snapped completely. Blood gushed out, staining the polished stone floor in a dark, spreading pool.

I couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink. My stomach churned violently, bile rising in my throat, but I forced it down. He’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground, and the silence that followed was deafening.

"That," the Lycan King said, his voice calm, almost conversational, "is how easy it is for me to take a life."

His words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable, and I felt the weight of his gaze on me again. "Just a whisper," he continued, his tone dropping to a low, menacing murmur, "and a person’s hearing is gone forever."

Before I could process his words, he was suddenly closer, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him. He leaned down, his breath ghosting over my ear, and whispered something—something I couldn’t quite hear, but it sent a shiver racing down my spine. My ears rang with the force of it, and I clenched my jaw to keep from wincing.

"Just meeting my gaze," he said, straightening and gripping my chin to force my head up again, "can make a person go blind."

His hand was firm but not painful, his touch as controlled as the rest of him. But it was his eyes that terrified me. They burned with a quiet, unrelenting intensity, and for a moment, I truly believed he could snuff out my sight with nothing more than a glance.

"And just one stomp of my foot," he added, his voice cold and cutting, "could move mountains."

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. I wanted to speak, to scream, to run, but his hold—both physical and invisible—kept me rooted in place. His gaze didn’t waver as he continued, his tone growing sharper with each word.

"The only reason you can breathe," he said, his grip tightening slightly, "is because it pleases me."

"The only reason you can speak," he went on, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile, "is because it excites me."

"The only reason you are alive," he finished, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "is because I want you to be."

The weight of his words crashed over me like a tidal wave, each one hitting harder than the last. My wolf whimpered again, louder this time, and I felt my resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. But then, against all logic, all reason, I spoke.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, your majesty?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them, my voice steadier than I expected. It was a foolish question—reckless, even—but I couldn’t help myself. If I was going to die, I might as well go down swinging.

The Lycan King’s lips twitched, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise impassive face. "I don’t need words to intimidate," he said simply, releasing my chin and stepping back. "Snapping your legs into two would have been enough."

My stomach dropped, and for a moment, I thought he might actually do it. But instead, he turned slightly, his gaze flicking to the bloodstained floor where the messanger’s body lay.

"Let this be a warning," he said, his voice sharp and unyielding. "Patience is not my strong suit. I admire defiance to a point, but there is a limit to my tolerance."

The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of his presence pressing down on me once more. And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling in the suffocating silence.

In that moment, the very idea that I ever thought I could escape his hell felt utterly laughable.