Chapter 39
brYLEE
The cool grass tickles my ankles as I circle around him in the moonlit clearing. His blade catches the pale light, the silver glinting menacingly as Kylian twists it between his fingers. That wicked smile plays on his lips—the one that tells me he's enjoying this far too much.
We’ve been at this for hours. The sun has long since fallen, and my other mates have made a point to check in on me, only to be turned away by Kylian, who claimed we’re “beating the shit out of each other but not actually hurting each other because we’re not psychos. Geez.”
I’ve ditched my bodysuit, shoes, and most of my clothes, choosing to train in a sports bra and shorts. Kylian had complained at first, claiming that if I were to be engaged in a fight, I would do so as “Teddie.”
He quickly changed his mind when he saw my tits in the hot-pink bra.
“Make sure none of the soldiers come in this direction,” Kylian had told Luka. “I’ll cut out anyone’s eyes who see her like this.”
“Because I’m out of my disguise?” I’d said dryly.
He had grinned, savage and wicked. “Because I can see your pussy through those little shorts and your nipples through that teeny-tiny bra.”
Now sweat coats my skin, and my menial clothes cling to me in ways that will require a meat cleaver to remove.
The only bright side is that Kylian is also just as sweaty, his dark skin radiant in the sparse moonlight.
I find my gaze continually dipping to his prominent eight-pack, imagining what his sweaty skin will taste like as I lick down and—
“Come on, Brylee,” Kylian taunts, his voice low and husky. “My eyes are up here, you horny slut.”
“You’re one to talk,” I scoff, continuing to circle him.
Once, when we were sparring, my sports bra drifted down just enough to show the tip of my areola.
I thought Kylian would take me right then and there.
Surprisingly, he has more self-restraint than I give him credit for.
But dammit, he lit a fire in me, and not just the sexy kind.
I want to beat him. Not just spar until he manages to get the killing blow and we’re forced to start again.
The bastard is even going easy on me—pulling his punches, applying just enough pressure to simulate a takedown, slicing inches from my skin without ever nicking flesh.
It’s maddening.
I keep my eyes locked on his, not the dagger in his hand. I learned that lesson the hard way. Watch the eyes, watch the chest, watch the shoulders—they telegraph the moves before the weapon follows.
Kylian lunges suddenly, faster than I expect, given how long we’ve been at this and how tired we both are.
The dagger slices through the air where my throat was a second ago.
I twist away and feel the breeze of its passing against my skin.
My training kicks in—the muscle memory from my months at Eros.
“Too slow,” I breathe out, dropping into an offensive stance and sweeping my leg out.
He hops it easily, and his laugh echoes in the quiet clearing, that unhinged sound that still makes my heart race. “You're beautiful when you're trying to kill me.”
I don't respond. Words are distractions, and I’ve had enough of those in the last hour. I watch his feet now, the way he shifts his weight. He's preparing for another attack, but this time he's feinting left. I see it in the subtle tilt of his shoulders.
When Kylian comes at me again, I'm ready. I sidestep and grab his wrist with both hands, using his momentum against him. The dagger clatters to the forest floor as I twist his arm behind his back and press him against the rough bark of a nearby oak.
His body tenses for a moment before relaxing against me, a low groan escaping his lips. “God, I love it when you do that.”
I release him and step back quickly. “This is training, Kylian. Not foreplay.”
Though it’s beginning to feel an awful lot like both.
He turns slowly and retrieves his dagger, his eyes dark with desire and something else—pride. He loves that I can hold my own, that I'm not just another conquest.
“Prove it,” Kylian challenges and gestures with the blade. “Show me you're not just playing.”
I nod once, acknowledging the challenge. The next round begins, and this time, I won't just defend. I'll attack.
I don't wait for Kylian to regain his full composure. The moment his fingers tighten around the hilt of his dagger, I surge forward. My feet are silent on the forest floor as I close the distance between us. He's expecting me to feint, to dance around him like before. I don't.
Instead, I drive my shoulder hard into his chest. The impact knocks the air from his lungs in a sharp grunt, and his surprise is my opening.
I follow through, sweeping his legs out from under him.
Kylian hits the ground with a heavy thud.
The dagger flies from his grasp and lands somewhere in the dark grass.
Before he can recover, I'm on him, straddling his chest, my forearm pressed firmly against his throat. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to make the point.
His hands fly up to grip my arm, but he doesn't try to throw me off. He just stares up at me, his chest heaving beneath me, that psychotic smile finally gone and replaced by raw, unadulterated awe.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word a puff of air against my skin that elicits full-body shivers and a fresh round of goose bumps. “You're getting so much better.”
I lean down slightly, putting more weight on his chest. “Don't sound so surprised.”
A slow, genuine grin spreads across his face, the kind that makes my stomach clench.
“You've earned a present,” he rasps.
I roll my eyes, not loosening my hold. “The ‘present’ better not be your cock, Kylian.”
Or…
Maybe it better be.
His grin widens, turning wicked and utterly unhinged. He doesn't answer, just lets out a low, dark chuckle that vibrates through my arm. The promise in his eyes is far more terrifying than any blade.
He surprises me, though, by gracefully rolling us so I’m on my back. He then leaps to his feet and hurries toward the largest tree on the outskirts of the clearing, its branches curled together like two lovers in an intimate embrace.
Oookaaaay, I guess he truly does have a present for me.
When Kylian returns, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically radiating infectious energy that conjures a smile to my own lips. His hands are clasped firmly behind his back.
“A coronation gift for my favorite royal.” Seemingly as an afterthought, he adds, “Don't tell Teddie.”
He thrusts his hands out, and I have to fight the urge to recoil. It's a crown, but not like any I've seen before. It's crafted from teeth and bones, interwoven with dark vines that still bear thorns.
Are they…animal bones and teeth? No. They don’t look like it—
“It's made from your enemies,” Kylian says, his eyes gleaming with pride as he leans closer.
“Each tooth, each bone, belongs to someone who threatened you.
Who would have harmed you if I hadn't stopped them first.” He lifts the crown, preparing to place it on my head.
“A ruler should have a crown, don't you think?”
I remain frozen as he settles the macabre creation on my hair. The weight of it feels both terrifying and strangely fitting. The bones and teeth are cool against my skin, the thorns pricking just enough to remind me this is real.
A logical part of me knows I should feel disgusted, but…
that emotion doesn’t register. Not really.
All I feel is love that Kylian went through the effort to do this for me.
It probably took him hours just to craft the crown together.
I picture him, leaning over a table, his hand steady as he diligently pieces this gift together.
How many people did he kill to make this?
Why don’t I care?
Fuck.
Is this who I am now?
Is that a bad thing?
“Beautiful,” Kylian breathes, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “My omega queen.”
His scent intensifies, and my body responds with a traitorous heat that spreads through my veins.
The blockers I use are failing me completely now, my own omega scent rising to meet his.
I can feel his satisfaction as he leans in, his nose tracing the line of my throat.
Lust streaks through me, quickening my pulse, which has already been going haywire.
“You are something more,” he murmurs against my skin. “Something ethereal and powerful. Something that needs to be claimed, protected…possessed.”
His lips find the gland on my neck, and I gasp as a jolt of electricity courses through me. It's like being struck by lightning, but instead of pain, there's only pleasure—intense, overwhelming, all-consuming.
“I've waited so long,” he whispers, his teeth grazing my skin. “My little obsession. My perfect princess. I need you.”
One of his hands inches upwards until he touches my bare stomach, his knuckles grazing my skin. The touch is electric, sending waves of desire through me that make my knees weak.
The forest around us seems to hold its breath as his fingers trace patterns on my lower belly, my body arching into his touch, bowing against him like a flower desperately seeking sunlight. The crown of teeth and bones sits heavy on my head, a grotesque halo for this unholy communion.
“Kylian,” I breathe, and it's neither protest nor permission but something in between.
We shouldn't. We're in the territory of our enemy. Ridge will kill us. We need to return to camp—
He answers with a low growl that vibrates through his chest and into mine. “That's it. Say my name. Let the forest hear who claims you tonight.”
As he lowers me to the ground, I wonder if this is how it ends. Not with a rescue or a revelation, but here in the dark woods, with an unhinged alpha and a crown made of bones. I might actually die if he doesn’t touch me, kiss me, make love to me.
But then his mouth finds mine, and the thought dissolves like sugar in hot tea. His kiss is consuming, demanding, claiming. It tastes of sweat and wilderness and something that might be madness or might be love.
My omega scent rises like incense to the sky. I can feel the change in Kylian as it hits him—his growl deepens, his grip tightens, and his eyes flash with predatory light.
Thank fuck we’re far away from camp and the wind is blowing to the east.
“Mine,” he whispers against my lips, and the word settles over me like a mantle of snow. “All mine.”
The crown shifts on my head as he moves over me, the bones and teeth clicking together softly. A rhythm for what's to come. A promise of possession in a language older than words.
As the forest watches, I give myself to the madness. Because at this moment, with Kylian's scent filling my lungs and his body covering mine, I am more alive than I've ever been in my life.
Kylian traces the outline of the crown with reverent fingers, his touch both worshipful and possessive.
“Do you see?” he murmurs. “This is who you are. A queen of the wild things. A ruler of shadows and monsters. Monsters like me.”
His words resonate with some deep, buried part of myself. The part that has always felt constrained by palace walls and royal expectations. The part that has yearned for something raw and untamed.
The part that has yearned for him. For them.
I don’t want to be a pampered princess omega locked away in a castle. No, that’s not who I am. Not anymore.
I choose my alphas. I’ll always choose them.
Now it’s time for me to prove it.