Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Grueling training began the next morning by six a.m.

It was Sunday, and I was supposed to have the weekends to myself, but for some reason, during his trip to Court, something occurred that changed Soren’s mind, pushing him into a state of urgency. And in addition to that, a shitty mood.

"Use your fucking legs, Adams," he snarled at me when we crested yet another mile and I was seriously dragging behind. For obvious reasons being that he was a damned Lycan and there was no way in hell that I would ever be able to keep up with him.

My lungs were burning and my vision swam as I tried to suck in a deep breath and failed.

At some point, my body couldn’t handle the speed at which he ran and I lurched, throwing up into the shrubs.

Soren stood off to the side, his face twisted with disgust. "Pathetic."

It was no better with Mercer.

Joining him in the private gym, I was subjected to several forms of torture, ranging from climbing high walls without hand or footholds, lifting weights that were taller than I was, leaping from high points, wrung to wrung, simulating the experience of leaping from tree branch to tree branch in a run.

I was exceptionally woeful, and often ended up on the floor, panting raggedly with my mouth stuck open like a dying fish.

Mercer stood over me with folded arms, his mouth curled into a sneer. "I have no faith that you’ll survive. I just wish I didn’t have the burden of keeping a miserable thing like you alive."

Anger twisted in my gut, and when he announced that we had to spar, I was more than thrilled at the idea of punching his fucking teeth out.

But I was way in over my head.

I realized then that whatever had happened back at school that day during Combat class had been a fluke. And Mercer had been holding back.

He gave me a head start, just to mock me.

He was faster, and I ended up losing my cool everytime he swerved and ducked and tackled me effortlessly and efficiently, I felt my throat close up from sheer humiliation.

His face was inches away from mine on the mat, my hands trapped above my head. His voice had the same unhinged quality to it that his eyes did. "You know what I think, Adams?" His nose brushed mine. "I think Soren never should’ve brought you here. You should’ve continued to serve for the rest of your life in that pack because you will always belong beneath. What use is a wolf who cannot fight for herself? Even if you survived the shift, nothing about you would’ve changed then. Well, save for sexual compatibility. And even then, no one would choose a Lycan with no sense of self worth. Save for the aim of making you a fuck toy."

My ears began ringing.

When he let me go, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve been used to Mercer’s antics. Angry Mercer who never had anything good to say. His cruel mouth that was as much a weapon as his body.

But I was quite frankly tired of being spoken down to and insulted.

He’d just pulled away turned his back to me when I opened my big mouth. "And you want to know what I think about you, Mercer?" His back stiffened, but I didn’t stop. "I think you’re an ass who likes to call everyone miserable to overcompensate for the fact that he is really the miserable one."

He whirled. "You don’t know a single thing about me, so I suggest you shut the fuck up."

I smiled, fully accepting that I had a death sentence. "Maybe not, but I do recognize the symptoms enough to guess what your sob story is. Let me guess, your mother never held you? Did she never give you the attention and love you so badly crave and that’s why you feel the need to make everyone around you feel like they’re worthless? Or maybe you’re a bitter little boy who hates how ugly and empty he is on the inside."

Mercer’s eyes went black. All the anger drained out of me, replaced with fear.

And the only warning I had before he came lunging for me was his order, "Take your stance."

I barely had my hand up in time to block before his blow landed. It was ruthless and brutal, and I might have blocked the first, second and third hit—just barely—but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the fourth.

And I ended up getting punched in my left eye.

He halted then, eyes bleeding from black to the green, and then something akin to horror shone in them. And he stumbled back a step and simply vanished.

I simply remained there in the gym, trying to hold back my tears.

Maybe Mercer was an arse. But I was no better than him, throwing around words just for the sake of hurting him back.

"Here."

I opened my eyes, though it hurt to do so, and found Jericho crouched in front of me, holding out an ice pack. I took it from him and pressed it against the tender, swollen skin.

He watched me with intense dark eyes. "Mercer is..." He tracked off. "Mercer is a hard pill to swallow, but he isn’t a terrible person."

"I don’t need you to defend him—"

"I’m not," he cut in coolly. "In the same way I am not here to lecture you on what is right or wrong. But if you must push back against Mercer, you should know there are lines and why they are there, and there will be consequences if you cross them, with or without justification."

I swallowed, feeling the hurt around my eyes slowly begin to soothe.

Jericho pressed his fingers together. "It is not a widely known fact, but Mercer is a Black."

My lips parted. "Mercer is a Prince?"

"You will be taught on Court Protocol starting tomorrow," Jericho continued, "and you will learn more about this and our traditions in the coming weeks, but before then, to avoid further incidents, I will tell you this.

"We are a matriarchal society. In that sense, our pups often take the last names of their mothers over their fathers. Soren’s mother was a Black, and Her Majesty, the Queen, is a Black. Soren’s mother was the Lycan Queen, but she passed on during his birth, leaving Soren the throne, considering there were no female heirs to inherit. Whenever he grew into his inheritance, he would need a bride to claim his throne, but until then, Princess Lysandra, her sister, would rule in his stead."

I lowered the ice pack, reeling from all this new information. "But... history says there have been Lycan Kings in the past. And what about Soren’s Dad?"

Jericho’s lips pursed. "There are Kings, but not without a Queen. Only a Queen is qualified to raise her Consort to the status of a King. You will come to learn more of that much later. As for Soren’s Dad, he and Soren’s mother were mates. Our bonds are rather strong, in the sense that we cannot be parted from each other. Not in life. Or in death. When one dies, the other follows instantly. There is no exception."

Goosebumps attacked my skin. And then, I thought about Soren, losing both his parents at the same time and never meeting them.

Something akin to sorrow bubbled in my heart, but I said nothing as Jericho continued. "To answer your original question, no. Mercer may have royal blood in him, but he is not a prince, and that’s because Queen Lysandra doesn’t officially recognize Mercer as her son."

"I’m... confused. What does that mean?"

"In Court, Mercer is referred to as a bastard. Our race treasures infants, so in the event that one of them is named a bastard, it is because he was conceived through unacceptable means."

His lips pursed. "Considering the fact that we are sexual creatures with heightened urges, there are little to no lines in that department. Meaning? It doesn’t matter who you fuck, so long as a child comes of it. Not even incest is frowned upon as much as you wolves and humans condemn it.

"So you must understand that if one is condemned to the title of bastard, a horrendous crime had to have been committed." His eyes were hard on mine. "And there is no greater crime to commit against another creature of desire, than rape."

It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he was trying to say to me. And when it sank in, my eyes flew wide. "Oh my God."

Jericho’s mouth tightened. "Mercer was not wanted, but he had to be kept to further our race. And for obvious reasons, the Queen refused to grant him her last name. So, he bears the name of a criminal, as well as the weight of his father’s crime. And even after many years of proving he is not that man, he will never be recognized by his mother."

My fingers trembled as Jericho stood. "So, I highly suggest the next time you wish to fight with Mercer, you may very well stab him through the heart or crack his skull, but do not take his mother’s name or mock that relationship. It’s a sore spot for everyone involved."

Oh no. I had no idea how close I’d come with my words. Some part of me knew I had to apologize for my ugly words. But some part of me was still upset.

He’d been nothing but mean since I met him. And he did punch me.

So I decided it was best to wait it out. Until I felt calm enough to have a conversation with him.

But when I awoke by evening before dinner, after spending the rest of the day sitting by the waterfall with Jericho, trying and failing to tap into my connection with my wolf, it was to a tin of salve on my night stand.

And a note.

"For the bruise. It won’t happen again."

It was the closest thing I would ever get to an apology from Mercer.