Chapter 7 A Kneel, A Growl, and A Choice
A KNEEL, A GROWL, AND A CHOICE
“Some would call them monsters, but those who’ve truly looked a vólkin in the eyes know, there is no creature more bound to protect what he calls his.”
—Eyleen ársa
Noel
Did I just hear a tree fall?
I hold my spear with both hands. They shake, but it’s the most I can manage for now. My heart stutters in my chest, and I instinctively hold my breath. Every part of me is screaming to run, to move, but my legs feel like they’re anchored to the ground.
Could it be a bear? I’ve never seen one, not in real life, only in my mother’s books.
But something doesn’t feel right. Mother said they’re more afraid of humans than we are of them.
If I don’t bother them, they won’t bother me.
They live far from the villages, in the depths of the forests, and rarely venture out.
But a bear wouldn’t make trees fall. Arnold said there wasn’t much farther to go, that we were almost there.
I’m close to vólkin territory.
I swallow the lump in my throat. The vólkins should be avoided at all costs. But I’m not in ávera, I’m still in the forest, right? The forest that surrounds it. It can’t possibly be a vólkin . . . right?
Run, Noel. Run.
But I can’t. My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can’t even think straight.
Another crack makes my head jerk to the side.
Something heavy is moving through the trees, snapping branches like they’re nothing.
I force myself to scan the spaces between the trunks, but all I see is shadows.
The forest feels darker. The sunlight that offered soft comfort now barely reaches through the dense canopy above.
I need to move. But my body isn’t listening. The fear is paralyzing, and I curse myself for standing here like a helpless child. Mother . . . please. I need you.
I hear a growl, it’s unmistakable. Low, deep, and so close it vibrates through my bones. It’s here. Goddesses, please.
If you hear a growl, it’s already too late.
A massive figure emerges from the mist, and with every step it takes, the ground quakes under its weight.
This . . . this is a vólkin.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight.
The vólkin is massive, easily twice my height.
A living wall of violence that dominates the space around it.
The sunlight glints off the thick, grayish-blue fur that clings to its body, and as it steps closer, the fur ripples, revealing muscles so enormous they look unnatural.
Its entire body is carved out of raw power, built not just for strength but for war.
I can’t even imagine a whole army of beasts like this one. Humans have zero chance.
I’m rooted in place, staring at it, feeling like a mouse caught in the shadow of a predator.
I force myself to look away from the broad expanse of its chest, and my eyes move down its arms to catch on the—large, terrifying things that hover somewhere between paws and human hands.
Claws glint in the light, long and vicious, capable of rending flesh like it’s paper.
The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.
I swallow, my throat tight, as I imagine those claws slicing through me.
But when I lift my gaze up to its face, I stop.
Its features are fierce, chiseled like stone, yet the eyes .
. . The eyes are what make me pause. They’re a deep hazel, but there’s something in them, something that doesn’t match the rest of its terrifying appearance.
A gentleness, a softness that almost feels . . . human. How?
I blink fast. There is no way I’m humanizing it.
Blue crystals embedded in its forehead in a V shape, they glow like stars. With such strong features, that’s definitely a male. A he.
He’s godlike, like he stepped out of some ancient legend meant to frighten and awe all at once.
How . . . How is this possible? Is this what all vólkins look like?
We were shown paintings of them in the army, but they looked nothing like the beast before me.
He’s not matted with blood, doesn’t even look like a normal wolf.
I tear my eyes away from his face to take in the sheer mass of his torso.
With every breath, his muscles ripple. Each one sharply defined and solid.
I’ve seen men, soldiers, bare-chested after training, their bodies honed for battle.
But this . . . is something entirely different. His body . . . No.
No. No. No.
Look down, Noel. Stop staring at his abs. There is no way I feel my most private parts heating. What is wrong with me?
I swallow hard, my eyes widening. I try to dart my gaze away, but it’s too late.
The sight of him, fully erect, is right before me.
His cock is massive, thick and pulsing. It’s pulsing!
And a ruddy pink color with a pointed tip, like a wolf.
Literally. Blood rushes to my cheeks, my skin burning at the sight of it.
Why does he breathe so heavily? His knees tremble.
I snap my gaze upward. No. I can’t focus on that.
His nose twitches, moving ever so slightly left to right. What is he scenting? Is there another vólkin around? This is not good.
He lowers his gaze to my thighs, and his pupils expand. Shit. Could it be . . . ? Can he scent me?
I have to charge him. I have to end this madness. Come on Noel, take a step forward, and—
Is he . . . kneeling?
The massive creature lowers himself before me, a gesture so out of place I can only stare in disbelief. He bows his head, averting those piercing eyes and showing a vulnerability I would never have expected from such a monstrous being.
“I have been waiting eons for you, my mate.”
Did Arnold’s friend hit me so hard I’m imagining a vólkin kneeling and speaking? He is speaking to me . . . speaking! What is going on here?
And what is this mate nonsense? Is it his mating season?
No matter. He can say whatever his heart desires. I simply do not care.
When he rises, he looks even more massive straightened to his full height, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“My name is Theron,” he says, his voice low and rumbling but surprisingly gentle.
“I speak because my kind are not the monsters of your nightmares. We have voices, thoughts, and emotions just as you do. We live, we feel, and we desire balance.”
My expression says it all. He didn’t even need to hear the question.
He takes a slow step, his massive paw-hand reaching out as if to reassure me. My gaze turns to his lowered paw, and I catch sight of his cock again, fully erect. Shit.
My cheeks burn, heat rushing down to my chest, and I force my eyes up quickly. I hope he didn’t notice.
He follows my gaze, looking down at himself before his mouth curls into a grin, the amusement lighting up his face in a way that makes my cheeks burn even hotter.
Not quick enough. He noticed.
“Ah,” he rumbles, his voice teasing. “I see I’ve . . . distracted you.”
I swallow hard. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, far from it. There’s confidence in the way he stands, completely unashamed, as if this moment were as natural to him as breathing.
“I . . .” My voice cracks, and I have to tear my eyes away, focusing on anything else—anything but the intense heat rolling off him, the way his grin makes something inside me stir. What is going on with my body today?
Theron chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Not unless you ask.”
Did he really just say that?
How did I find myself in such a horrific situation?
Mother, look what’s happening right after your death.
Everything you taught me about being strong, about surviving, and now here I am .
. . standing before this . . . this creature.
This beast. And I’m letting him unnerve me like I’m some frightened girl?
My knees are weak, so much they almost give way under the emotions burning inside me—fear, confusion, shame—but I clench my fists around the spear and force myself to stand tall. No, I can’t afford to show weakness. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.
“Do not,” I spit out through gritted teeth, “come any closer!”
My legs may be shaking, my body betraying the fear pumping through my veins, but I won’t back down.
His eyes soften, the teasing grin slipping away as he watches me stand my ground. “You’ve got fire, I can see that.” He straightens, giving me space, his gaze never leaving mine. “I won’t come closer.”
Why isn’t he attacking? Why am I not attacking? Why do I feel warmth in my heart?
“I don’t care what you are or what you want, but don’t you dare move!” My voice quivers, but I force the words out with as much strength as I can muster.
The vólkin’s eyes move to the weapon in my hand, but instead of advancing, he lifts his paw to his chest. “I understand your fear”—his voice sends goose bumps prickling across my skin—“but I mean you no harm. If holding that weapon makes you feel safe, you are welcome to do so.”
“How can you speak?” I need more than I’m not a beast. “And why would you call me your mate?”
“We have voices and minds, same as you do. The barrier has kept us separated for centuries, but that doesn’t mean we are without understanding or speech.
As for why I call you my mate . . .” He pauses, and his voice drops lower.
“It’s not something I chose, human. It’s a bond, deeper than blood, woven by the goddesses themselves.
I felt it the moment I caught your scent. ”
I narrow my gaze. Mother never said anything about mates. Only that vólkins are guardians of nature. She might have been tricked before. Although thinking that Mother would believe nonsense feels foolish.
“You may not believe me now,” he continues, “but I would never harm you. The bond between us . . . it is sacred. It’s more than words, more than what you’ve been told to fear. You are not just a human to me. You are my mate—the one I’ve been waiting for.”
How could Mother be wrong? But how could the military be wrong? They’ve always prepared me to survive, to fight, to shield myself from the vólkin. Yet here I am, torn between everything I’ve been taught and what my mother believed.
As I stare into the eyes of this creature—this Theron—I see no malice, no aggression. His gaze, piercing as it is, holds something gentle. Nothing like the feral, bloodthirsty beasts I was warned about.
I want to believe my mother, to trust in the wisdom she imparted. But what if she was wrong? What if this creature is simply biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
I trust my mother.
But not this vólkin.