Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Maisie

My skin turned to ice and I jerked again, harder, and he shoved me backward into the booth so fast the air punched out of my lungs. My shoulder struck the leather seat.

The noise of the theater surged on.

A heavy weight began to pin me to the floor.

I twisted, fighting hard enough for my muscles to burn, but he was too strong, too heavy, too close. The edge of the bench dug into my back. My pulse pounded in my ears so loudly I could barely hear theater anymore.

Something in me went feral.

I kicked. He caught my leg with his thigh and trapped me there. I screamed, hands lashing out and I slashed my claws down his face. But the second the gash formed, it healed. Too fast. It was impossible to heal that fast, even for a Lycan.

"Perks of fucking the Queen. Among other things," he chuckled, slapping his hands over my wrists to keep me trapped under him. "Don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be."

My breath came in sharp pulls.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" I snarled but his hand came down over my mouth again.

Hated the taste of his skin. It was acrid.

I sank my teeth in to his palm.

He jerked back with a hiss.

I used the opening to wrench one wrist free and slam the heel of my hand into his nose. Pain exploded through my palm, but he only staggered an inch before hauling me in again.

The space felt too tight. Too loud. Laughter echoed all around me.

I could feel the bond pulsing somewhere under my skin, restless and far away, as though I had to break through layers of water just to reach it.

Help.

His breath brushed my cheek. "You should’ve stayed where they put you."

My stomach lurched and I drove my forehead into his face.

Something cracked.

He swore, stumbling back, and I shot for the opening in the curtain.

His hand caught the back of my neck and yanking me off my feet and hauling me backwards onto bench. My head struck the wooden edge hard enough to make white sparks burst across my vision.

When I came to, he was straddling me, his hands running up my legs, hiking up my skirt, eyes black with lust. I swung my fist and slapped him across the face.

He laughed hoarse, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and then he was strangling me, so that my screams came out as tiny, cut off squeaks.

My claws dug into his hands, but it barely made a dent.

"You can’t touch me," I wheezed. "They’ll kill you."

His tongue darted out to caress his bottom lip and revulsion and fear churned in my gut.

"I’ve been looking into you all this time," he said. "The Queen likes to know her enemies intimately, and I quite like to know them even more intimately. Want to know what I found?"

I reached for the bond desperately. Frantically. But panic made everything slippery. My thoughts wouldn’t stay together. I couldn’t find the walls to break them down.

Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t—

"Do you know how eager my queen has been to get her hands on the lost heirs of House Hunt? Imagine my surprise, to find that she’s been under our noses all these time and managed to get not just one but four full bred princes tied to her. Brilliant. Tell me, did your mother teach you just how to infiltrate our ranks? Spread your legs and marry a prince, was it?"

My air was gone. My head was heavy. My lungs were wheezing, failing to get even a pocket of air in. "And... if they don’t kill you... I will."

He nudged his thigh forcefully between my legs. "I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I told her I desecrated you in her honor. I’m sure the others won’t mind either. Our recent favorite pastime is wondering all the many ways we could fuck you up. You may look and smell like us, but you’re still a wolf cunt. And you smell like dirt. And even worse, you’re a traitor’s wolf cunt."

I abandoned trying to breathe and began searching for a weapon. My hands closed around the bottle of whiskey, just as his eyes glowed with sick glee, "Wonder what they’ll do if they found that I ruined their little toy right under their noses. Someone ought to teach you some manners. In fact, I’m sure this is the final push I need to cement the ceremony."

My hold tightened on the bottle and I slammed it against the side of his head.

He didn’t go down. He barely even flinched. And in retaliation, he jerked his hand into my blouse and ripped it open. "Bitch."

I barely thought as I tightened my hold on the hook of the glass and rammed it into the nearest part of him I could find.

It sunk into skin and he howled, but something must’ve been happening on the stage because a deafening applause echoed over the animal sound, burying it completely.

He raised me by my neck until our breaths were mingling. "I like them better when they fight. Makes it more fun when they break—"

A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the booth and blood splattered across my face. His body convulsed violently on top of me, blood spraying from his mouth onto my face and chest in hot spurts.

I screamed.

The weight on me lifted for a split second, then slammed down again as Quinlan ripped his hand back out through the gaping wound, fingers clenched around something dark and pulsing.

A still-beating heart.

It throbbed once, twice, in Quinlan’s blood-soaked fist before going still.

The man’s body collapsed lifelessly on top of me, eyes wide and empty, a ruined hole where his heart used to be.

Quinlan stood behind him like a demon, breathing hard, his face and chest splattered with blood. Without a word, he grabbed the corpse by the shoulder and flung it aside like it was nothing.

The body hit the wall with a sickening thud and slid to the floor.

I recoiled back as he came for me next. His eyes were eerie. The ice blue remained, but his white pupils were all black, making his sockets look like wells of darkness.

"Fuck," I heard Mercer snarl at the entrance of the booth. "Fuck."