Chapter 9 The Beast who Waits.

LEVI~

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There are two kinds of pain.

The kind that warns you you're dying.

And the kind that reminds you you're still alive because you haven't killed them yet.

Right now? I'm dancing with both.

The blade Jasper's traitor slipped between my ribs still aches like a curse. The healer says I'm lucky to be breathing. I say Jasper's lucky I didn't catch him first.

Because I would've ripped out his heart with my bare hands and fed it to the same wolves he sent after me.

Zaria saved me.

Again.

But it wasn't mercy.

It was rage. Unfiltered. Savage. Beautiful. I watched her rip apart the wolves who turned on us like her claws were forged from vengeance and moonlight.

And when she came for Jasper?

She didn't kill him.

She walked away.

She made him bow with her silence.

And I should be satisfied with that. I should be grateful that she came back to me. That her fingers curled around mine in the dark. That her scent still haunts my sheets like a ghost who refuses to leave.

But I'm not grateful.

I'm starving.

For her.

For all of her.

Not just the fire she unleashes in battle. But the softness she never shows anyone but me. The quiet way she checks my pulse when she thinks I'm asleep. The way she bites her lip when she's fighting tears.

I want to ruin that lip.

I want to taste every inch of her fury until she forgets the Alpha King's name.

Because I don't want to be her safety net.

I want to be her weakness.

The first night I'm strong enough to stand, I find her outside, perched on the edge of the training wall like she belongs to the moon and nothing else.

She doesn't turn when she hears me.

But she knows I'm there.

She always knows.

"You should be resting," she says.

"You should be kissing me," I answer.

That gets her attention.

She glances over her shoulder, mouth twitching like she wants to smile but forgot how.

"Still cocky, even with a hole in your lung?"

"You didn't complain when I took that hit for you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"No," I say. "You didn't."

And gods help me, that cuts deeper than the blade did.

She drops down from the wall, boots crunching on gravel. Her eyes meet mine-molten, guarded, wrecked.

"I won't lose you, Levi," she says, quiet now. "I can't."

"Then stop holding back."

"I'm not-"

"Yes," I cut in, stepping closer. "You are. You keep running from this thing between us like it's a curse. But I'd let it destroy me if it meant touching you without restraint."

She swallows. I see her pulse flutter at her throat.

"You still think this is a game of winning me?" she whispers.

"No," I growl. "I think I already did. I just want to make d*mn sure Jasper never forgets who you moaned for when your claws came out."

Her breath hitches.

There it is.

The line we never crossed.

And now?

We burn it.

We don't make it to a bed.

We don't need one.

The wall of the training yard becomes our altar. Our war zone. Our home.

She pushes me hard, lips crashing into mine like a storm that's waited too long to break. My back hits the stone. My lungs scream. My hands don't care.

Because they're already on her hips. Already gripping hard enough to bruise. Already dragging her closer like my whole body's been starved for this single breath.

She tastes like battle and blood and every goddamn fantasy I've ever denied.

And when her teeth scrape my jaw?

I lose it.

I lift her. Pin her. Press my hips to hers and hear the sound she swore she'd never make again.

A whimper.

For me.

"Say it," I breathe into her skin.

She shakes her head.

I bite her collarbone.

She gasps.

"Say. It."

Her nails rake down my back.

"You're mine," she hisses.

I grip her tighter. "Again."

"Mine."

And f*ck me, that's better than any bond. Any ceremony. Any mark.

Because she chose me raw.

No moon blessing.

No strings.

Just flesh. And fury. And fire.

When it's over, we don't speak.

Our bodies tangled in the dirt and sweat and stars.

Her head rests on my chest.

My hand in her hair.

And for once... it's quiet.

Not empty. Not numb.

Just quiet.

But peace doesn't last for wolves like us.

Not when there's still a throne unclaimed.

Not when Jasper's still breathing.

And not when Zaria finally says-

"I need you, Levi."

My heart stops.

Not because she's never said it.

But because she means it now.

Not just as her soldier.

Not just as her shadow.

But as her equal.

I turn to her. Kiss her temple. Pull her closer.

"You've always had me," I whisper. "Now let me have you."

She doesn't answer.

But she doesn't pull away.

And for me?

That's a war won.

Later that night, I dream of the old gods.

Of fire and wolves and blood-soaked thrones.

Of an Omega who never bowed.

And a Beta who never stopped choosing her.

Even when it cost him everything.

Even when it meant war.

And I wake with one truth pounding in my chest:

The crown doesn't belong to the strongest.

It belongs to the one who never stops bleeding for it.

And Zaria?

She's already drenched in the blood of a kingdom.

Now it's time we take the rest.