Page 37 of Savagely Mated (Shared Mates #1)

All of the majesty of the most impressive and majestic man can be stripped away in a moment when it becomes apparent that all he wants is sex.

Filthy, unpleasant, cloying sex. The kind of sex that comes from men you do not want to touch you, who have everything going for them and yet somehow still manage to make your skin crawl.

I let out a laugh that I hope he will find charming.

“I’m not really a producing heirs type of girl,” I explain. “I’m more of a career woman.”

“Ah, yes. I’m informed you left the academy in order to pursue recklessness and murder on the streets of Eclipse.”

I think this man and Einar would really get along well if they met under different circumstances, given the king is unlikely to say gross sex things to Einar. They seem to share the same stern judgment of everything that does not fit into their world view.

“You won’t be doing that again. Now that you are where you belong, you will be put to the sort of work you were made for.”

“Protecting your majesty with my years of combat training?”

“No,” he laughs, as if what I just said was adorably ridiculous. “Taking my cock and bearing my babes.”

It is getting increasingly hard not to punch the king in the face. But even me, impulsive and terrible as I am, knows better than to hit the king. Those guards outside would fucking dismember me in a second if I attacked him.

“I thought this was a meet and greet.”

“All female shifters are property of the king,” he says. “I find it hard to believe that you were not informed of that fact as some point in your existence. Your presence at the academy was dubious. It would have been better if you were raised in the palace…”

It is at that moment that I suddenly realize that everybody I have ever known has tried to protect me from this precise moment, and I have never done anything but rush headlong toward it.

I feel cold, and slightly nauseous. He’s not going to let me go, and this place is far better guarded than the academy.

This is where the guards who actually graduate top of their classes go to serve.

I might get out eventually, but not before all manner of terrible things are done to me, I am sure.

The king continues his disgusting explanation of how things are.

“You belong to me, the same way that chair does.”

“Oh, does the chair also want to punch you in the face?”

He smirks at me as I snap verbally.

“Do not threaten me with a good time. I like how feisty you are. Feel free to resist. I will enjoy it more if you do. Tears are nice, too.”

I really hate this man a lot. He’s a terrible person. I’m not sure why I thought a king would be nice. I suppose it’s the endless propaganda from growing up in an institution designed entirely to serve him. Kind of messed my mind up.

“These are my sons. I have twenty-one sons. You will bear me another.” He gestures to a painting in which his boys are lined up in the throne chamber, from oldest to youngest, I have to assume.

The oldest one looks around my age, or older, the youngest one is either being held by his mother, or a nanny.

The artist has captured the expressions of the various progeny very well.

The eldest looks cruel and complacent, those slightly younger than him look as though they’re plotting to kill him.

Those in their teens look bored, and those younger are blissfully unaware of the quiet horrors surrounding their existence. The baby seems chill.

“Looks like you have more than enough spares,” I say. “Why do you want more?”

“Because good breeding requires frequent breeding.”

That’s the sort of thing that people say, and on the surface it seems like it makes sense, but if you think about it for more than a moment, you realize it makes absolutely no sense at all.

“Alright,” I say, taking in a deep breath. “I know you’re the king, but…”

He grabs me roughly by the chin and kisses me, or tries to. I clamp my lips shut, refusing his advance. It’s an unpleasant smooch, and it makes my stomach turn.

“Dude. What the fuck?”

I splutter the second he lets me go, wiping my mouth on the back of my dress sleeve.

“You will learn not to talk back,” he says, not at all concerned by the way I am clearly repulsed. “You’ll learn to take what I give you and be grateful for it. The harem can be a wonderful place of privilege, or it can be a living hell.”

I ignore his threat. I am starting to get very angry now, and that is really eroding the very last vestiges of respect and fear I have for this man.

“Sounds cool, but I already have mates,” I explain. “I’m not worthy of your royal rod. I am unclean.”

God, I hope he’s one of those assholes who cares about body count. I hope he’s obsessed with being the only cock in a woman. A lot of what he was saying earlier makes him seem that way.

“Yes. I can smell the lesser creatures on you. They do not matter. You will be given a tonic to ensure that no clinging fruit of their loins is lodged inside you before you are bred.”

I haven’t been thinking about pregnancy. I haven’t been thinking about much of anything besides my own amusement. I haven’t been taking any of this king stuff seriously because none of it really seemed to affect me—until it did.

The notion that there could be some spark of life inside me, and that he would snuff it out so he could replace it with yet more of his own royal rot disgusts me.

“I’m starting to understand why so many people want you dead.”

The king looks surprised at that.

“People want me dead?”

I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic, or if he is the kind of stupid that comes from being privileged for so long that you actually think all the riches you have for no reason were somehow deserved.

I remember what my mates told me, about how this man is not the real king. He sure feels like a real king to me. Taking what he wants, reveling in cruelty, developing twisted desires for more and more people, because one mate isn’t enough.

I suppose I’m being a bit hypocritical there. After all, I have three. But I didn’t choose three, and I’m certainly not looking for more. Definitely not looking to add a gross king to my roster.

“Come here,” he says. “I want to taste you.”

I take a step back. “No, thank you,” I say. “I am sure I would be too bitter for a royal palate.”

“I gave you an order,” he says. “Are you going to present yourself to me, or am I going to have to break you first?”

I look him in the eye. “I came to your attention because I killed four men…”

“Six men,” he corrects me.

“Right. Six men. And you think you can threaten me? You might have a harem full of submissive females, but I am not one of them. I was not bred or raised to bow to any authority. You may be king, but my body is my own.”

He laughs. “You think I haven’t heard a girl talk a big game before? You’re a female wolf, so yes. You can kill male humans easily, even in significant numbers. But you are no match for a wolf king.”

With that, he shifts, bursting out of all his silken finery to take his form as a vicious beast. I know what he means to do. He means to hurt me just enough to make me scared and mate-able, and then he intends to fuck me. What I want does not matter.

This is a very different proposition than it was when Einar claimed me. I wanted him. I wanted his brute strength, his rough dominance. I wanted the thrill of his possession. I want nothing whatsoever from this false king.

He is disgusting, inside and out, and the fact that he has taken his animal form against me speaks to his cowardice. It also proves what Rafe and the others told me. This is no king of Eclipse. There is not a drop of royal blood in this mongrel.

Royal wolves have distinct markings, black hoods that run over the muzzle, eyes, ears, and neck. This is just a stock standard wolf. No wonder it is illegal to shift in the palace. One look at this mangy mutt and everybody would know they’re being led by a pretender.

This, of course, means he is going to kill me. Or he should, if he is smart. Or maybe he’ll do what everybody says, lock me away in a harem I cannot escape, make it so I can never say anything to anybody.

I am the biggest idiot I have ever met. I should have listened to my mates.

I should have listened to the director. I should have…

I don’t know. I’ve just been so arrogant, always thinking I knew better even though I wasn’t really thinking at all.

I don’t know when I decided I knew anything.

Or why. I just know that almost everything I have ever done is a mistake, and I’ve worked that out in the last seconds of my life as the pretender king lunges at me.

I shift and dip underneath his flying body.

Fortunately I have been doing a lot of stupid things lately.

That has kept me limber. And I’ve been in training to fight quite literally my entire life.

I don’t think this guy has ever had a real fight.

He leaves himself open on the way past and doesn’t protect his weak spots.

I get a real good grip on the ruff of his neck and just start yanking hard enough to make him yelp.

If I was in my human form, I’d laugh. Pathetic.

All that shit he was talking about owning me and he doesn’t know how to take a bite. If people at the academy could see this they’d be laughing their asses off.

Any wolf of his size with any level of fighting ability would be able to hurt me.

Einar had no trouble dropping me when we tussled.

It wasn’t even a contest. The only thing the king has on his side is the fact that he is bigger than me, but even his weight is easy to use against him.

He has momentum and the hold I now have on him makes him cartwheel head over heels.