Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

Aina

SPLASH.

An icy cascade of water slammed down on Aina from above, drenching her from head to waist in a single, brutal second. The heavy liquid soaked straight through her suit, blinding her as it poured into her eyes and plastered her hair against her face.

Aina gasped for air, removing her glasses and wiping her eyes frantically as laughter erupted from the second-floor balcony directly above her.

A tall wolf shifter leaned over the wooden railing, holding an empty silver ice bucket with an obnoxious, triumphant grin. "Look at him! The little rat is already soaked!"

Aina’s heart stopped. She didn’t care about the cold, nor did she care about the ruined suit. A far more terrifying realization struck her like a lightning bolt.

The scent-blocking cream.

The heavy, medical-grade cream she had slathered over her neck and shoulders was water-soluble. It was designed to wash off in the shower. If that water seeped into her skin and dissolved the barrier, her scent, her real, omega, unmasked scent, would flood the room in minutes. The alpha shifters in this cabin would know within seconds that ’Travis’ wasn’t a weak male, but a omega girl masquerading as a student.

I have to get out of here right now, her mind screamed in sheer panic. If my cover drops, I won’t just be humiliated. They’ll tear me apart.

She spun on her heel, dropping the water bottle and sprinting toward the nearest exit.

"He’s running! Don’t let him get to the doors!" someone yelled from the crowd.

Before Aina could make it five paces, a hulking male shifter stepped directly into her path. She tried to dodge left, but a hand clamped firmly onto the collar of her suit jacket, yanking her backward with terrifying force. Aina stumbled, her shoes slick against the polished floor, before a heavy boot kicked the back of her knee.

She crashed hard onto her knees, a sharp crack ringing out as her kneecaps slammed into the hardwood. Pain shot up her legs, taking her breath away.

"Where do you think you’re going, Whitelock?" a guy with a silver mask sneered, stepping up and grabbing Aina by the front of her shirt. He hoisted her up until her toes barely touched the floor. "Prince Malric said whoever brings you to him on your knees gets a reward. I’m taking that reward."

"Let me go!" Aina spat, shoving her palms against his chest.

She summoned every ounce of her strength, bringing her knee up hard directly into his groin. The guy let out a strangled wheeze, his grip loosening instantly as he doubled over. Aina didn’t waste a millisecond, she shoved him aside and bolted toward the corridor leading to the back of the cabin.

"Get him!" a girl shrieked from the crowd. "He hit Jax! Grab him!"

The entire ballroom devolved into a feral feeding frenzy. Dozens of students, desperate to earn the royal brothers’ favor, surged forward. It wasn’t a game; it was a dark, mob-mentality witch hunt, and Aina was the sole prey.

Hands grabbed at her from every direction. Someone snatched at her mask, snapping the elastic strap violently against her temple and tearing skin. Another student threw a heavy crystal glass that shattered against the wall right beside her head, showering her in sharp, flying shards that sliced her cheek.

Why did I come here? Why did I trust Molly?! Aina’s internal voice screamed, tears of sheer pain and fury burning behind her eyes. I knew this was a trap! I knew those royal bastards were going to pull something like this!

As she rounded a corner into a darker hallway, a hand reached out from a dark alcove and seized a handful of her hair.

Aina let out a sharp scream as her head was yanked backward with sickening force. Her neck popped, and she was slammed spine-first against the wooden wall.

A third-year shifter with a cruel, scarred jaw leaned in close, his breath hot against her skin. "Look at you, little Whitelock rat. Slapping a prince... you actually thought you were special? You’re nothing. You’re a weak, pathetic little worm, and tonight, we’re going to break every bone in your hands so you can never hit anyone again."

"Go... to... hell," Aina choked out through grit teeth.

Driven by pure survival instinct, she slammed her head forward in a vicious headbutt. Her forehead smashed directly into his nose. Blood exploded from his nostrils, and he roared in pain, staggering back and releasing her hair.

Aina didn’t look back. She stumbled forward, her scalp burning as if half her hair had been ripped out, her back throbbing from the impact against the wall.

Behind her, the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor. "He went down the east wing! Corner him!"

Her vision was blurring with sweat, water, and blood. Her lungs burned, completely out of air. She sprinted down a narrow, dark hallway, checking doors frantically. Locked. Locked. Locked.

At the very end of the hall, she threw her weight against a heavy door. The latch clicked, and the door swung open. Aina threw herself inside, slammed the door shut, and threw the heavy iron deadbolt into place just as a heavy shoulder slammed against the outside panel.

"He’s in here! Break it down!" a voice bellowed from the hall.

Aina backed away from the door, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold floor, pulling her knees up to her chest.

She gasped for air in ragged, agonizing hitches. Every single inch of her body hurt. Her scalp felt like it was on fire, her knees were severely bruised, her back throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, and a thin line of blood trickled down her left cheek from the glass shard. Her hands trembled so violently she couldn’t even clasp them together.

I survived, she thought, burying her face in her blood-stained sleeves as she tried to stifle her pathetic sobs. For now... I survived.

───

Malric

In a massive, dimly lit security suite on the third floor of the cabin, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Panels of oversized, high-definition CCTV monitors lined the dark walls, casting a cool, flickering blue glow over the room. Every single angle of the cabin was displayed in crystal-clear detail—the chaotic dance floor, the overflowing bars, the dimly lit corridors, and the winding staircases.

Prince Malric sat comfortably in a high-backed leather armchair in the center of the room, a glass of dark moon-wine resting casually in his hand. A wicked, ruthless grin stretched across his handsome face as his blue eyes tracked a specific feed on the central monitor.

On the screen, a drenched, disheveled figure was currently being hunted down a narrow hallway like an animal.

"Look at him run," Malric chuckled, taking a slow sip from his glass. "Like a panicked little rat looking for a hole to hide in."

Leaning against the control console beside him, Vance burst into a loud, obnoxious laugh, clapping his hands together. "Goddess above, Malric, this is absolute poetry! Did you see the way Jax took a knee? The little worm actually hit him!"

"And then he got his scalp nearly torn off by Marcus," Vance added with a wicked smirk. "I have to admit, brother, this is by far the best Iron Fang Bash we’ve hosted in years. Giving the crowd a target was a stroke of genius."

Theo sat on the edge of a nearby table, his arms crossed over his chest as he lazily scanned the monitors. Unlike Vance and Malric, he didn’t look utterly intoxicated by the cruelty, but a faint, amused smirk still hovered on his lips.

"I’ll give credit where it’s due, Malric," Theo said, turning his head toward his brother. "You set up a good hunt. The boy is getting an absolute masterclass in why you don’t cross royalty. But he managed to slide into the east wing."

Theo pointed a clawed finger toward the screen on the far left. The monitor showed the empty east corridor, where a dozen angry students were currently pounding on a locked oak door at the very end of the hall.

"That wing doesn’t have internal cameras, other then the one we are already seeing. " Theo noted, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a dead zone. We can only assume his in the room that’s being pounded upon."

Malric’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it grew darker, more menacing. He set his wine glass down on the small table beside his chair with a soft clink.

"It doesn’t matter," Malric said, his deep voice smooth and icy as he slowly rose from his armchair. "There are no exits in that wing. There are thorn bushes beanth the windows of all those room, and no back doors. He’s trapped."

Vance pushed himself off the console, cracking his knuckles with a wide, predatory grin. "So... what now? Do we let the mob drag him out, or do we handle this personally?"

Malric adjusted the cuffs of his dark, immaculate suit jacket, his eyes fixated on the locked door displayed on the screen. For the first time in days, ever since the humiliating moment that little Whitelock commoner had dared to slap him in public, Malric looked genuinely, dangerously happy.

"The mob has done their job," Malric murmured, stepping toward the double doors of the control room. "They’ve broken his spirit. Now... it’s time for us to put this little rat in his place permanently."

He turned back to glance at his brothers, his crimson eyes glowing with unholy delight in the dim light of the monitors.

"Let us go," Malric commanded, his voice dripping with sinister anticipation. "I want to hear him beg."

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