3: Emma

The air between us thickened with unspoken recognition, that impossible bond stretching taut as a bowstring. King Theodore filled the doorway like a living wall, moonlight tracing silver along the edges of his silhouette. I felt my wolf strain forward beneath my skin, desperate to meet her mate, while my human mind retreated into the shadows of memory and fear. Two instincts at war, with my trembling body as their battleground.

Neither of us moved, as if a single step might shatter whatever fragile magic or cruel joke the universe had played on us. The scent of him, cedar and stone, honey and lightning, continued its relentless assault on my senses, bypassing every defense I'd spent years constructing. My fingers gripped the balustrade behind me, seeking anchorage against the invisible current pulling me toward him.

Finally, he stepped forward, his movements measured and deliberate, like a man approaching a wounded animal. The moonlight revealed him fully now, broad shoulders beneath his midnight formal wear, the platinum crown catching starlight, those amber eyes never leaving mine. Up close, I could see flecks of deeper gold within them, like embers burning in ancient forests.

"I am Theodore Lykoudis." His voice was deeper than I expected, with a subtle accent that hinted at centuries of royal lineage. The sound of it brushed against my skin like velvet over steel.

"Your Highness." My own voice emerged thin and brittle. I attempted a curtsy, the proper protocol when addressing the king, but my legs had turned to water, and the gesture faltered into an awkward bob.

Something flickered across his face, amusement, perhaps, or tenderness. "Theo," he corrected gently. "If anyone in this kingdom has the right to use my name, it would be my mate."

The word hung between us, both acknowledgment and question. My pulse jumped wildly in my throat.

"Is that what I am?" I whispered, the words escaping before I could contain them. "Your mate?"

"You know it as well as I do." He took another step closer, leaving perhaps two feet between us. "Our wolves recognized the truth before our minds could process it. I scented you the moment I entered that ballroom."

I swallowed hard, my throat painfully dry. "This is... impossible." But even as I said it, my wolf howled in protest, clawing at my insides. She recognized him, claimed him, wanted him with a ferocity that frightened me.

"And yet here we stand." His eyes never left mine, tracking each flicker of emotion I failed to hide. "May I know your name?"

"Emeline Maxwell," I said, the formal introduction feeling absurdly inadequate given what we had just discovered. "Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, and something about the way my name rolled off his tongue made my skin prickle with warmth. "Of the Blood Moon Pack." It wasn't a question.

I nodded, words momentarily deserting me. My hand remained glued to the balustrade, as if letting go might send me tumbling into an abyss of my own making.

Theo lifted his hand slowly, telegraphing his movement as he reached toward my face. "May I?"

Before my mind could process his request, his fingers brushed the air near my cheek, and I flinched, a violent, instinctive recoil that sent me pressing back against the stone railing. My breath caught painfully in my lungs, my body responding to a threat that wasn't there.

He froze, hand suspended in the air between us. The amber of his eyes darkened to burnished gold, his expression shifting from tender curiosity to something sharper, more focused.

"Who hurt you?" The question emerged so softly I might have mistaken it for the night breeze, except for the dangerous undercurrent that made the hair at my nape stand on end.

I looked away, unable to hold that penetrating gaze. Below us, the Royal City sprawled in concentric rings of light and shadow, oblivious to the drama unfolding on this quiet balcony. How could I explain? How could I possibly articulate the complex tangle of shame and relief that had accompanied my rejection of a first mate bond?

"You're my second chance," I said finally, my voice so low I barely recognized it as my own. "I rejected my first because..." The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. "Because he hit me."

Three simple words that couldn't possibly convey the escalating control, the isolation, the subtle degradation that had preceded that first violent outburst. Three words that failed to capture how I'd ignored my instincts for too long, believing that the mate bond couldn't possibly be wrong.

A low growl rumbled from Theo's chest, and his eyes flared with dangerous golden light. I flinched again, stepping sideways along the balustrade, creating distance between us.

His expression immediately shifted, the growl cutting off abruptly. Understanding dawned in those remarkable eyes, followed by something that looked suspiciously like self-loathing.

"Emma," he said, my name emerging like a prayer. "I would never—" He paused, then extended his open palm toward me, not touching, simply offering. "I would never hurt you. Never."

The fervent promise hung in the air between us. I stared at his outstretched hand, large, strong, capable of both violence and gentleness. The mate bond thrummed between us, insistent as a heartbeat.

Slowly, cautiously, I placed my fingers against his palm. The contact sent a shock of warmth racing up my arm, not unpleasant but overwhelming in its intensity. His fingers curled slightly, cradling rather than grasping.

"I know," I whispered, though I didn't, not really. I wanted to believe, but trust had become a luxury I couldn't afford to give freely. "I know that logically."

His thumb brushed over my knuckles, featherlight. "Logic and emotion often find themselves at odds, particularly where mate bonds are concerned."

The understanding in his voice nearly undid me. I withdrew my hand and turned away, facing the city once more. I braced both hands against the cool stone, letting my head hang forward as I tried to collect the fragments of my composure.

"This is impossible," I repeated, more to myself than to him. "You're the Lycan King. I'm just a werewolf. The diplomatic implications alone…"

"Emma…" he began, but the sound of the balcony door opening cut him off.

Elijah and Elena burst onto the balcony, concern etched into their features. They both stopped abruptly, their eyes widening as they registered the King's presence.

"Your Highness," they said in unison, heads bowing respectfully.

The formal address created an immediate shift in the atmosphere. I felt Theo straighten beside me, his posture becoming more regal, though he remained closer to me than protocol would dictate.

"Alpha Maxwell. Luna," Theo acknowledged with a slight nod.

Elijah's gaze darted between us, assessing the situation with the sharp instincts of a pack leader. "Emma?" he questioned softly. "Are you okay?"

I lifted my shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, not trusting my voice. My hands remained braced against the balustrade, head bowed as if the weight of this revelation was a physical burden I struggled to bear.

"Theo," I said finally, the informal address causing Elena's eyebrows to rise slightly. "This is my brother Elijah, Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, and his Luna, Elena."

I could feel their confusion and concern like a tangible force. The air around us thrummed with unasked questions.

"The King is your second chance, Em?" Elijah's voice held a mixture of awe and alarm, his diplomatic mask slipping in the face of this unexpected development.

I nodded without lifting my head, my fingers pressing so hard against the stone that my knuckles blanched white. "Apparently the universe has a sense of humour."