Deviant Kings: Claimed by The Four Lycan Kings

Author’s pov~

Blood sprayed across the stone wall, hot and thick, drenching Zyran’s face and clothes. The body went instantly limp in the chains, his head hanging at an impossible angle.

The remaining two omegas started screaming, frantically thrashing against the silver cuffs, their boots slipping in the growing pool of their companion’s blood.

Zyran turned his black, blood-splattered gaze onto the second wolf. The man was sobbing now, his tough-guy act completely shattered.

"Please—please, man, we don’t know! It was a dead drop! An anonymous one!" the second omega shrieked.

"Not good enough," Zyran hissed.

He stepped forward, grabbed the omega’s left arm, and pulled. He didn’t use a weapon. He used pure, unadulterated Lycan strength, bracing his boot against the stone wall and pulling until the muscle tore, the tendons snapped, and the entire arm was violently ripped away from the shoulder socket.

The room filled with a sickening, wet pop followed by an agonising scream that cut off instantly as Zyran drove his elbow right into the man’s temple, crushing the skull and silencing him forever.

The third omega was hyperventilating, his eyes darting from the two corpses to the bloody demon standing in front of him. Zyran was covered from head to toe in crimson, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving as the scent of fresh blood filled the air.

Zyran walked up to the last living man, stepping over the severed arm on the floor. He placed his bloody palms flat on the wall on either side of the omega’s head, leaning in.

"You’re the last one left," Zyran whispered, his voice dangerously calm, though his entire body was vibrating with rage. "Tell me how to find the person who paid you. Give me a location, a sigil, a scent—anything. If you give me something I can use, I’ll let you live. If you stay silent, I will skin you alive right here in these chains."

The last living omega shook violently, the tears cutting clean lines through the blood splattered on his face. "I swear to God... I swear on my wolf... it was completely anonymous! We don’t get names for those kinds of hits! It was just a dead drop box behind the tavern. No note, no crest, just the gold and a picture of her face! That’s all we know! That’s all we were given! Please, don’t kill me, please—"

Zyran stared at him, his dark eyes burning into the man’s soul, searching for any sign of a lie. But there was nothing but pure, unadulterated terror. They truly had no idea who had hired them. The lead was dead.

"Useless pieces of shit," Zyran hissed.

Before the omega could even breathe a sigh of relief, Zyran’s hand shot forward like lightning, his claws sinking deep into the man’s throat. With a single, brutal twist, he crushed the larynx, cutting off the wolf’s breath permanently.

Zyran stepped back, letting the third body slump forward against its chains.

The cell was completely silent now, save for the heavy, wet dripping of blood onto the stone floor. Zyran stood in the center of the slaughterhouse, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving as the thick scent of copper filled the air.

He had nothing. No names. No houses to burn down. The killer was a ghost, completely hidden in the shadows.

As he wiped a streak of hot blood from his jaw, Adeline’s broken, bruised face flashed in his mind again. She was out there right now, bleeding and terrified, believing with every ounce of her soul that he was the monster who had ordered her destruction.

And the worst part was, his own arrogance had given the real enemy the perfect cover to kill her.

Zyran kicked the broken iron door completely out of his way, stepping out of the blood-drenched cell and into the dimly lit stone corridor.

He ran a heavy, crimson-stained hand through his hair, gripping his head as a low, frustrated growl vibrated in his chest. Nothing.

No names, no sigils, no paper trail.

Whoever had placed the hit on Adeline knew exactly how to navigate the underworld without leaving a single footprint. They were a ghost, and they had used his own network to mask their execution order.

He slammed his fist against the damp stone wall of the corridor, cracking the rock. The fact that the real killer was still out there, entirely hidden, made his stomach churn with a sickening blend of fury and uncharacteristic panic. He don’t know why? Is this feeling because of guilt?

"What the fuck did you do down here, Zyran?"

The sharp, demanding voice cut through the dark. Zyran snapped his head up.

Blake and Keiran were standing at the end of the hall, having just hurried down the spiral stone steps from the academic levels.

The moment the dim light hit Zyran, both Lycan’s froze in absolute shock. Zyran was a walking horror show—drenched from head to toe in thick, steaming blood, his clothes ruined, and his hands still dripping heavy droplets of blood onto the floor.

Blake took a step forward, his jaw dropping before his features instantly locked into a dead-serious, tense glare. "We heard the yelling from the courtyard. Did you just slaughter the rogue omegas? Are you losing your goddamn mind?"

Keiran didn’t look at the blood on Zyran’s clothes; his dark eyes locked directly onto Zyran’s face, scanning the lingering, raw anger in his expression. "You didn’t interrogate them. You eradicated them. Why?"

"They were useless," Zyran spat, his voice dropping into a guttural, dangerous wire as he wiped a smear of drying blood from his chin. "They didn’t know anything. It was an anonymous hit. A dead drop."

Blake stepped directly into Zyran’s path, blocking the exit, his massive frame radiating a heavy, unyielding authority.

"An anonymous hit? For who, Zyran? Stop talking in riddles. We just came from the main academic block. We found Adeline hiding in an empty history classroom. She was shivering, hiding behind a hood, completely broken. What the fuck is going on? She slapped you and you killed these omegas from last night. You are literally drenched and fully covered in their blood."

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