Kaelen's POV.
I stood by the window of Fenrir's private chambers, staring out at the dark expanse of the Iron Fang territory. My reflection in the glass was a constant insult, a pale, narrow-shouldered boy instead of the scarred warrior I should be.
My mind drifted back to 1204. I could still feel the sensation of the thirty-second blade entering my heart. I could still see Valerius's eyes as he watched me die. My own pack had cheered while they tore me apart.
The heavy oak door creaked open. I didn't need to turn around, I exactly who it was.
Fenrir walked into the room, his boots heavy against the floor.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
"The dark," I said.
"You've been standing there for an hour. People don't stare at nothing for that long unless they're planning a murder or mourning a grave." He stopped a few feet behind me. "What are you thinking about, Linus?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing, is a lie."
I turned away from the window, leaning my back against the frame. I looked at the massive bed in the center of the room and then at the stiff, wooden chair tucked in the corner. "I'll sleep on the chair. You won't even know I'm here."
Fenrir's eyes darkened. He didn't like being dismissed. He stepped into my space, using his height to shadow me. "I am your Emperor. I demand an answer. When I ask a question, you don't give me 'nothing'."
The frustration that had been simmering in my gut since I woke up in this body finally boiled over. I snapped.
"Let me be for at least two seconds!" I spat, stepping toward him instead of flinching. "Do you realize how much peace everyone would enjoy if you just shut the fuck up for two fucking seconds? Do you ever stop barking orders?"
Fenrir's jaw tightened. "I am your King, boy. Watch your tongue."
"I used to be a king too!" I shouted. The words were out before I even realised. I poked him hard in the center of his chest. "But look where that got me! You think that crown makes you invincible? You think authority is just brighter and louder than everyone else? It isn't."
I leaned in, my face inches from his, my voice dropping to a low tone. "You either learn how to effectively use your power without people turning their back on you, or they'll wait until you're tired. They'll turn your back for you and stab it thirty-two times. Trust me, I've counted the blades."
The room went silent.
Fenrir stared at me, his golden eyes wide with a mix of shock and confusion.
"Thirty-two?" he whispered.
"I'd rather sleep outside," I said, shoving past him. I felt the heat of his body as I brushed his shoulder. "This place smells like garbage anyway. Your ego is stinking up the room."
I made it three steps toward the door. I reached for the handle, but suddenly, a massive hand slammed into the wood of the door right next to my head.
Fenrir didn't just stop me, he used his entire body to pin my chest flat against the door. The force of it knocked the air out of me. Before I could twist around to strike him, I felt his other hand grab the collar of my tunic.
With a sharp, violent tug, the silk fabric tore down the middle of my back. Fenrir buried his face in the crook of my neck. He pressed his lips against the skin of my nape, right over the scent gland.
He started kissing his way up my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. My knees buckled, and the only thing keeping me upright was the weight of his body crushing mine against the door.
The moment I began to lean into the moment, Fenrir pulled away. His chest heaving, his breathing rapid.
I didn't understand what part of me made him lose control, but I'm sure this is just the start.