Page 3 of Siren’s Kiss & Feral Beasts

KAI

“ G o easy on him, Alpha,” Veris calls out, and others around him snort. The sound is a mix of annoyance meets amusement, and I throw a smirk at my friend.

“Not in my nature, Beta, but…” I trail off, my ear picking up the scrape of sand as Spiro shifts into a fighting position.

Why is he doing this? Because it’s not for honor, much less misplaced worry over his wolfen brethren.

Not even his greed can cover the stench of fear that’s too thick to ignore.

“Fight me!” Spiro yells out what he considers a warning, growl slipping through. To me, though, it’s more like the yip of a pup. Not menacing in the least. Almost laughable.

“Attack at the sound of the horn.” Giving him my back, I slip my shirt over my head. It’s tossed somewhere to my right, just grazing the floor, when a smaller body slams into my back.

Then he falls back onto his ass.

Me? I don’t move.

No budge or shift, Spiro’s force is that of a gnat, and for a minuscule moment, I pity the idiot. He’s no match for me, and we both know it.

Taking in a deep breath, I stretch my neck from side to side. Let him regroup for a minute or two while reigning in my wolf.

For his benefit, not mine.

“Face me,” he snaps, the attempt at a command quite comical if nothing else. “Man to man.”

I ignore him. My attention is elsewhere…

My nostrils flare as the scent of orange blossoms and coconut, with the light undertone of vanilla, sweeps over me on a gentle breeze.

My reaction is automatic; every muscle in my body expands before clenching tight, a heaviness in my knot that I can’t ignore.

Hunger unlike anything I’ve experienced lashes across my senses, and I shake my head to try and clear the haze.

Sweet and floral; I want more. Wolf and man, we feel a tug—a call that’s impossible to ignore.

Who the fuck owns that mouthwatering scent?

Another deep inhale, and I close my eyes. Savor the moment as the world stops and the stone pendant on my chain warms for a second before growing ice cold. Here and then gone, and I turn my head toward the water when the scent vanishes.

It’s in that momentary distraction that I seem to deeply offend the rogue.

He shouts something I don’t pay a lick of attention to. Comes closer, but it’s when his hand grips my arm that I whirl on him, lips peeled back over my teeth. “Remove your filthy hand.” I’m angry at his audacity, but more so at the loss of that glorious perfume.

“Then fight me.” Spiro’s body is tense as he takes a few steps back, the glint of metal more pronounced now as he flicks the butterfly knife fully open.

He tightens his grip. His eyes nervously shift away from me for a second, his attention toward the rogues with him before making his final mistake.

The last one he’ll ever make.

Spiro lunges, blade high, and my beast surges forward with an instant half shift.

My clawed feet drag across the sand as I sidestep his sloppy charge, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him spine-first into the ground.

The knife slips from his hand and lands with a muted thud partially buried beneath sand, while the air cracks from the impact.

An audible gasp leaves the female rogue seconds after; I understand why.

A small mist of blood spreads in the wind as he chokes, his smaller hands trying to pry my claws from his skin—he fails.

Instead, I dig them in a little deeper. The beast and I revel in the way his muscles tear as if my claws were a knife slicing through butter.

Almost no force needed, and the sight of him squirming like a worm is amusing.

Tilting my head to the side, I grin. “You have a choice, Spiro. One I don’t give most people...”

“Get the fuck off!” he cries out, trying to use his feet to kick me away, and once again fails miserably. Pathetic.

“I’m truly disappointed, mutt.” Lowering my face to his, I unleash the tight grip on my alpha's aura, and Spiro cries out.

Dominance radiates from me, a presence every shifter—member of my pack or rogue—acknowledges.

It slithers around them, demands they yield to my command, and the physical manifestation of my bark is in the bending of spines and neck—it digs its claws into their instincts and tells them who I am.

What will happen if I’m defied...

This is the perfect example of such an act.

His challenge is met by force, and Spiro Marros finds himself pinned with my claws seconds from ripping his throat out.

“Who sent you, rogue? How did you get here?”

“I don’t?—”

“Liars never make it into the goddess' presence, Spiro. Tell me,” I growl out, voice deep, and the finality of the command is unyielding. Defying me will hurt him and his wolf, the latter of which is trying hard to break free but can’t.

Spiro tries to half-shift, but the glitch between animal skin and human skin distorts before leaving a panting mess beneath my grip.

Instead of defeat, he tries one last attempt to switch to fur.

His claws slip in and out, his wolf’s coat emerging then fading across trembling limbs. It’s a draining process to find the right balance between the two forms, and only those with the alpha’s power have been able to control it for the past century.

We have movement from the two male rogues, Kai. To your left, but outside the ring. Torren’s message comes in as I bare my elongated fangs, mouth open to tear off flesh.

All three on their knees. No one moves. No one leaves.

Yes, Alpha.

“Tell me who you’re working for, and I’ll make sure your next miserable attempt at a shift is your last.” At my command, his wolf cowers while the human clenches his jaw, fighting the need to bow his spine.

“You’re no real king, Kai Daire.”

Silence. His statement is met with complete and utter silence.

My answer to that? I let him go. My claws retract slowly, fingers flexing so the wounds widen and blood bubbles at the surface of each gouge before slipping down the side of his neck and onto the sand.

The stains are vivid under the moon, the gentle rain only spreading the color until an imprint of his neck is left behind.

One that becomes visible to everyone once he stands after I step back a few feet.

Spiro’s hand cups his neck, checking the injuries while a smirk spreads across his face. “Did that sting, Your Majesty? The truth usually does.”

Gasps ripple at this man’s blind ignorance.

Because I’m not known for my patience or for showing leniency, and this mutt has tugged the wrong beast's tail. Wolves around the world heed my warning—know that both animal and man thirst for blood, and to some degree, so do these wolves here in attendance. Violence is in our blood, the same way a siren’s song will lead mortals to their death.

“You talk too fucking much for a dead wolf, Marros.”

“Fuck you!” Spiro stumbles forward, his arm cocked back, and throws a messy punch. It’s desperate and wild, and I catch his closed fist mid-air, twisting it hard enough that a pop rends the air. The dislocation of bone echoes, but not louder than the scream it rips from his throat.

Then I return the favor; the difference is that my attacks land in precise succession.

A knee to the ribs, chest, and then face. Blood flies like a fine mist, the drops sliding down my tattooed chest, while my claws rip into him withoutpause, and a chunk of his shoulder lands near his now kneeling companions. Someone gags, while a sorrowful cry rends the air.

Deafening, and yet, I can make out each pained noise leaving the rogue.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.” Not as cocky.

Laughter bubbles out of me, loud and boisterous, but it dies as fast as it arrives. “You think you’re owed something?”

“Fuck—” he pauses to spit out a fragment of tooth, stumbling; I drag him up by the collar before slamming him into the trunk of a thick palm ten feet away. Bark splinters. Prongs fall along with a few coconuts, adding insult to injury. The last one splits his forehead open.

“Watch your words.”

“When I’m king, I’ll make every last wolf here bow and kiss my feet.”

“What makes you think you’re better than every pack leader here who’s challenged me and lost?”

“Because you’ll answer the call and lose. No one’s infallible.”

“What call? Who the hell sent you?" Yet, as the last question slips through my gritted teeth, that scent floods my senses again. This time, it’s stronger. Fragile, yet the layered dominance of a sweet floral aroma makes my cock harden. My balls grow swollen and heavy.

A howl rips from my chest, full of something I’ve never felt before…

Longing.

Savage hunger.

I drop Spiro like garbage before landing another blow, this time a closed fist to his gut, and the asshole folds in half.

The sound of angry waves crashing onto the shore catches my attention, and I once again give him my back.

He’s no threat to me, but my wolf’s senses are drawn to the sea, and the pull is getting stronger by the second.

The animal rises to the surface, and through his eyes we watch the light storm intensify, and what minutes ago was a misting rain turns into thunder. Heavy drops begin to fall, too. Violent and fast; a demand we heed its warning.

Keep an eye on the shoreline.

Both my beta and gamma confirm they heard, and I sense their movements, the buzz of conversation with my guards to prepare. For what? I have no clue, but we’re not alone tonight.

“Make your move, or I’ll end this quickly.

” The lax way I render the threat angers him, and Spiro tries to shift but fails.

His wolf is cowering; the mangy thing recognizes the bigger predator, even if I haven’t fully unleashed my beast yet.

I don’t have time for his nonsense, and those around us sense the change in me.

Power is dangerous when wielded by those who crave it. Because there’s a difference between earning it—studying those who came before you—and demanding it. I rule for my people, not for my pocket or the accolades. I kill for the same reasons.

To protect. To serve.

Spiro’s mind is clouded by a false sense of entitlement, and tonight it’s his downfall.

“Shadow born. Blood forged. Shadow born. Blood forged.”

The chants start again, and this time, they’re louder. Demand retribution.

This fuels him. His anger and hatred morph—control his reactions—and the idiot lunges for my throat, the knife in his hand again. “I’ll show you all!”

When he picked it up, I don’t know or care.

The second he’s close, I shift. The blade grazes my shoulder mid-turn, but it’s too late for him.

My jaw clamps down and shakes, teeth embedded deep in his ribs.

Bones crack. A few pierce through the skin, flooding my mouth with blood.

Each sanguine drop tastes as rancid as his soul, and I release him for a minute and just watch.

My ears pick up his wheeze.

His movements slow.

I give him the choice to bleed out silently and with some dignity, but he chooses to attack. Before he can grip the handle of his weapon, I jump on him. His back hits the wet sand, a pain-filled yowl filling the night as his wounds rip open further.

My wolf towers over the dying rogue.

It’s inevitable. His penance.

My claws dig into Spiro’s torso, the cut sharp and unforgiving—my weight crushing his chest, slowly adding pressure until my paws become wet and tinged with red.

A low whine escapes his throat the deeper I dig.

It’s a sign of submission, but the feral anger in his eyes turns to hope as he focuses on something—someone toward the shore.

Not that it matters. No one can save him.

With a vicious growl, I raise my blood-soaked paw and bring it down hard. There’s a crack, and his eyes widen; his lips part in a scream that never escapes as his heart gives way beneath the force.

He’s dead, vacant eyes on the shore, and I follow their line of sight.

Feminine silhouette. Flowing dark hair. That same mouthwatering scent.

It hits me with the weight of a thousand-pound boulder…

“Son of a bitch.”

Every cell in my body contracts. It’s a painful blow to my wolf as he goes from feral to almost docile as he recognizes what this means.

What she is to us.

Mate.