Deviant Kings: Claimed by The Four Lycan Kings

Adeline’s pov~

I forced a faint, convincing exhale. "Right. Of course... Sorry, Sierra. I’m just... edge-bound today. Okay. Okay, then I will get going."

"I’m walking you to your dorm," Sierra insisted immediately, her hand coming up to hover near my elbow, not quite touching me this time. "I’m not leaving you alone in these hallways."

We moved down the long corridor in heavy, suffocating silence.

The air was thick, smelling of old dust and dampened iron, every step echoing like a slow countdown. But I could feel her eyes on me.

Every ten seconds, her head would swivel sideways, her sharp gaze sweeping over my face, scanning for a crack, a flinch, a sign of what I was really thinking.

I pulled my hood further down, shielding the sharp line of my jaw from the faint light of the wall sconces.

"Is something wrong? Why are you staring at me like... every ten seconds?" I asked, forcing a small, effortless smile to my lips as I kept my eyes fixed on the path ahead.

Sierra hesitated, her footsteps faltering for a fraction of a second before catching up.

"Just... wondering if you’re okay. You just stood up and walked away when he explicitly commanded you to eat. Nobody disobeys the Second Throne, Adeline. Nobody."

I gave a slow, deliberate nod, burying the suffocating ache still burning in the centre of my chest—the image of Raven’s dark eyes flaring with that terrible, raw agony when I said I no longer want him to protect me.

"I am one hundred per cent okay," I said, my voice smooth, flat, untraceable.

We turned the corner into the narrow, arched passageway leading toward the dorms. Shadows stretched long and crooked across the cold stone floor.

Sierra leaned in slightly, her voice dropping into a quiet, almost hesitant cadence. "So... the rogues that Zyran sent. They really came to kill you?"

"Yes," I replied simply, keeping my eyes forward. "They did."

Sierra swallowed, a tense shudder passing through her shoulders. "You should be careful, then. Extremely careful."

"I will," I murmured.

We kept walking. Then, Sierra spoke again, her tone measured, carrying a slow, probing curiosity.

"What were you talking about with Lord Raven?" she asked gently, almost delicately.

"He looked red-hot serious when I interrupted you two earlier. And when you stood up and walked away... Adeline, he looked genuinely upset. I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that."

Her words slammed into my chest like a physical blow, tearing fresh wounds over the ones I had just tried to cauterise.

He looked upset.

Hurt?

The memory hit me with ruthless precision—the sharp, audible break in his throat, the way his impenetrable, aristocratic composure crumbled into raw, bleeding vulnerability the second I told him I was releasing him from his obligation.

The way he had breathed my name, stripped of all power, looking as if I had driven a blade through his ribs.

It hurt.

God, it hurt so much more than the bruises that bloomed across my skin from the rogues.

Seeing that look in his eyes had felt like taking the blade into my own chest and twisting it until I couldn’t breathe.

Because if it was just an assignment... if I was truly just a pathetic, scentless defect passed down by the Dowager Luna to keep alive... why did his eyes look like they were tearing apart at the seams when I walked away?

"We were just settling an arrangement," I said, my voice dropping so low the quiet of the hall almost devoured it. I tightened my grip inside my pocket, my knuckles turning white around the hidden hilt of my steel blade. "An old debt that isn’t his to pay anymore."

Sierra slowed her pace, her head tilting slightly as her eyes narrowed on my exposed cheek and lip where the shadows no longer hid me. She stopped moving altogether.

"You’re healed," she said, her voice dropping into a slow, eerie murmur as her gaze raked over my skin. "That was... so fast."

I froze, every muscle in my body locking tight. A cold sweat broke over the back of my neck, but I forced my expression to remain deadpan, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I gave a slow, measured nod.

"Yeah."

"No, Adeline, that was way too fast," Sierra pressed, taking a half-step closer, her eyes scanning the flawless, unblemished side of my cheek where dark purple contusions had been blooming just hours ago. "The salve I applied was strong, but it takes at least a night to work through deep tissue trauma. How did you heal so fast?"

The memory hit me with violent, suffocating clarity.

Raven.

The suffocating heat of his presence, the dangerous, lethal surge of his highborn aura filling the room. The way his hand had clamped behind my neck, firm, tilting my head back.

The coppery, intoxicating scent of rich royal blood as he cut his own hand open against my lips, forcing the thick, pulsing liquid down my throat.

I remembered the sensation of his magic tearing through my veins like liquid fire, burning away every ache, every fracture, every shred of agonising pain within seconds.

My throat worked, a heavy swallow catching in my windpipe.

"Yeah," I whispered, forcing my eyes to stay steady. "Actually... Lord Raven helped me. He cured my bruises."

Sierra’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of bewildered disbelief washing over her sharp features. "Oh. What? How did he heal you? Did he bring some high-tier magic liquid? Something more powerful than what I bought?"

"No," I said flatly, the truth feeling like broken glass on my tongue. "He made me drink his blood."

Sierra gasped, her lips parting in utter shock, her steps halting entirely in the middle of the dark corridor. "What? He fed you his blood? The Prince of the Second Throne’s blood? That is so..."

"Precious?" I cut in softly, the word dripping with bitter, venomous irony. "That it’s so precious, so sacred, that a lowlife wolfless, scentless defect like me doesn’t deserve a single drop of it?"

"No," Sierra whispered, shaking her head frantically, her eyes wide as moons in the dim sconce light. "Unbelievable. Adeline... does he like you?"

The question hung in the freezing air between us, heavy and suffused with a sickening weight.

Out of nowhere, why would she ask that?

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