Page 18 of Blood Marked
EIGHTEEN
KAEL
K ael needed to hit something.
Hard.
Preferably something with teeth and a death wish.
He vaulted onto his warhorse before dawn, armor half-buckled, his cloak flaring in the wind like a banner of fury.
His mind wouldn’t shut up. Not about the ceremony.
Not about Selene. Not about the letter Nyra had found, or the fucking smugness in Varyn’s eyes every time they crossed paths in court.
And Ruarc, his father, his king, his cage—had the gall to ask if Kael was “emotionally prepared” for the rite.
Emotionally prepared.
As if Kael were some simpering noble child learning to dance for court, not a bonded heir being forced to parade his mate before a council that wanted her dead or worse.
He gritted his teeth and spurred his horse faster.
The patrol post near the southern Veilmouth had sent word of rogues circling too close to the forest's edge—strays, maybe. Outcasts with the stench of shadow on their breath. Usually too disorganized to risk real damage.
But Kael didn’t care.
He wanted a fight.
He reached the outpost at mid-morning.
The sentries straightened when they saw him. His reputation preceded him here. Wordless nods. Weapons checked. No pleasantries.
“Where?” he snapped.
“North slope,” said a scout. “Three. Maybe four. We caught their scent yesterday. Haven’t breached, but they’re close.”
Kael didn’t wait.
He ran.
Through underbrush, over frozen ground, cloak discarded mid-stride.
He could feel his wolf clawing beneath his skin, agitated, ready. For weeks he’d held it back, controlled it like the obedient son they’d trained him to be. But now?
Now it wanted blood.
He found them in the ruins of an old sentry watch—three rogues, half-shifted and snarling, their eyes gold-rimmed with madness. One had an iron-spiked club. Another, claws blackened by poison.
No words were exchanged.
Just the kind of violence that spoke for itself.
Kael didn’t wait. He launched himself forward with a growl that barely passed as human anymore.
His blade arced through the air, a whisper of silver catching the first rogue square across the chest. Bone crunched.
The man flew backward into a tree with a strangled gurgle, his body a limp sack of shattered ribs and regret.
The second rogue was faster. Leaner. Half-shifted already, fangs out, claws blackened with old poison. He lunged from the side and slashed across Kael’s shoulder—deep, burning.
Kael didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even register the pain.
He welcomed it.
Because pain meant movement. Pain meant distraction. Pain was better than the suffocating pressure he’d been carrying for days— weeks .
With every broken rib, every splatter of blood against bark, he let the rage roll out of him.
The pressure.
The fucking helplessness.
The weight of being someone’s heir. Someone’s mate. Someone’s last hope in a court full of ghosts with knives.
The rogue snarled again, claws raised.
Kael met the strike, twisted inside it, and drove his blade into the man’s gut with a roar that shook the trees. The rogue sputtered blood, staggered back, and fell.
Kael turned.
The third rogue, a smaller one with a hunter’s gait—had already broken into a sprint toward the treeline.
Coward.
Kael ran after him, legs burning, boots tearing through brush and frozen loam.
And then his vision split.
The bond pulsed hot behind his eyes. The world blurred at the edges.
He shifted.
Mid-step. Mid-swing.
It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t elegant.
It was raw.
Bones snapped. Tendons popped. Flesh tore.
Clothing shredded under the force of muscle expanding, fur ripping from skin like black fire. Kael’s mouth stretched into a snarl, fangs punching through his gums. His scream twisted into a howl.
A monstrous black wolf erupted where the man had been.
Not the sleek, trained predator he usually kept tethered. This was something older, wilder, feral .
The beast that remembered what it was like to kill because it wanted to.
Kael’s paws hit the ground and he ran.
He tackled the rogue mid-leap, and they tumbled through snow and soil. Kael’s jaws snapped down on the man’s neck—too hard, too fast. Bone cracked under his teeth, a wet, ugly sound. Blood exploded across the ground, steaming and dark.
He didn’t let go.
Even as the rogue choked and went still.
Even when the trees stopped echoing.
He couldn’t stop.
He didn’t want to.
The beast in him was roaring, more, more, more.
“Kael!”
His name, like a whip crack through the fog.
He froze.
Blood dripped from his muzzle. Steam rose from his fur. His chest heaved, lungs too full of fury and copper.
“Kael!”
Softer now.
Familiar.
He turned his massive head.
Two riders. Cresting the slope through a thin line of trees.
Nyra, jaw clenched, eyes burning.
And behind her, Selene.
Her raven-black hair was whipping loose in the wind, her cloak flaring as she swung down before her horse had fully stopped.
“Selene—what the fuck—!” Nyra’s hand flew to her weapon.
Selene ignored her.
She walked forward, slow but sure, cloak swirling around her ankles. Her boots crunched over blood-slick earth. Her gaze locked on Kael’s wolf form like she wasn’t afraid. Like she knew what she was walking toward.
Because she did.
She knew him.
Kael’s wolf snarled.
Not in warning.
In conflict.
His muscles coiled like a trap. Ears flat. Blood still on his muzzle. But his body wavered.
“Shift back,” Selene said, voice even. “Come on. I know you’re in there.”
The wolf growled, low and tortured.
Selene stepped closer.
Nyra hissed behind her. “Selene, don’t—he’s gone. You don’t understand?—”
“Yes. I do,” she said without looking back.
Her voice softened, almost breaking. “I know you’re angry,” she told him. “I know. But this isn’t you, Kael. Not like this.”
Kael’s inner mind screamed, scratching against the bars of the beast’s skull. He wanted to move. To run. To stay .
His paws shifted.
Selene didn’t stop.
She knelt in front of him and slowly reached out.
Her fingers brushed through his blood-matted fur. Over his cheek. Not flinching when he huffed against her hand. Not pulling away.
“You’re not lost,” she whispered. “Come back.”
Kael collapsed.
The shift reversed with a sickening grind of bone and sinew. Fur pulled back beneath flesh, muscle contracting, claws receding. His scream came out broken as he shifted down— falling forward onto hands, then knees, then trembling in the dirt and blood as a man again.
Naked. Bruised. Raw.
Selene didn’t flinch.
She dropped to her knees fully in front of him, cloak already off her shoulders.
She draped it over him without a word.
Then touched his face.
Kael flinched. Couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice ragged and half-wolf. “I lost it.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I found your guards. I made Nyra bring me.”
He looked up, brow furrowed. “Why?”
Her jaw tensed. She didn’t say what she wanted to.
Instead, “Nothing. It can wait. Come on.” She tucked the cloak tighter around his shaking form and stood and walked him back to the horses.