Deviant Kings: Claimed by The Four Lycan Kings

Adeline’s pov~

"No Lycan does that," Sierra continued, her voice trembling with an intense, quiet awe. "No highborn—let alone a Prince of the Second Throne—makes that kind of move unless their most close person is in agony. Blood-sharing is sacred. It’s a soul-tethering bond, Adeline. They don’t give their blood to strangers, and you should’ve known that."

Her words sliced through me, sending a violent chill down my spine.

Does he like you?

A soul-tethering bond.

My mind spiralled into a dark, suffocating abyss of doubt.

If I was really nothing more than a tedious assignment to him—a burden foisted upon his shoulders by the Dowager Luna to keep an unwanted, defective girl breathing—why would he tear open his own skin for me? Why would he force the royal life force flowing through his veins into mine, binding his magic to my wolfless, scentless body?

Was it duty? Was his sense of obligation so sick and twisted that he would break sacred ancient laws just to keep me from dying on his watch? Or was there something far darker, far deeper lurking beneath that icy, untouchable exterior?

Seeing him shatter when I walked away... hearing his voice break as if I had driven a blade through his heart...

Gods, what was I to him? A target? A pawn? Or something far more dangerous?

"He doesn’t like me," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, dark and hollow as a grave. I turned away from Sierra, pulling my hood low over my face as I began to walk again. "He was just protecting me because of his words to someone else."

"Still," Sierra said softly, a faint, unsettling smile playing on her lips as she kept pace beside me.

"He wanted you healed. And look at you—you’re completely whole. Not a single bruise left. Your body accepted his blood, Adeline. Your body knows him."

"No," I cut her off, my voice sharp, a knife slicing through the cold air.

"That’s not true."

Sierra stopped dead in her tracks, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What? What isn’t true?"

I swallowed, the dry lump in my throat feeling like crushed stone. My mind flashed back to the moment the heavy oak doors had closed behind Raven after he left my room—the agonising, violent convulsion that had seized my stomach, the gagging, the raw heave as my body revolted against the royal magic burning in my veins.

"The part where my body accepted his blood," I whispered, staring down at my unblemished hands, my voice trembling with a dark, suffocating dread. "That’s not true. I threw up his blood. Every single drop of it."

Sierra blinked, stunned into silence.

"I threw it all up the second he left," I continued, the realisation twisting like a blade inside my stomach.

"My body rejected him entirely. So I shouldn’t be healed. A scentless, wolfless body like mine cannot process highborn Lycan blood without accepting the magic, and I didn’t. My body rejected his soul-tether... yet here I am. Completely healed. I don’t know what is wrong with me, Sierra. I don’t know how I’m alive, let alone unbroken. Let alone healed."

The horror of it settled heavy in my blood.

If it wasn’t Raven’s royal magic repairing my fractured bones and torn skin, then what had? What monster slept inside my scentless veins, waking up only to drink the damage away?

Sierra stared at me for a long, heavy second, her eyes searching my face, searching for a sign of madness. Then, she slowly relaxed her shoulders and forced a gentle, reassuring smile onto her face, nodding softly.

"Okay," she murmured, her voice soothing, though her eyes remained unreadably dark.

"It’s okay, Adeline. All that matters is that you’re healed now. Whatever happened, you survived."

We reached the heavy arched doorway of the dormitories.

Sierra paused at the entrance, turning to offer a quiet nod and a small wave. "Get some sleep, Adeline. We’ll talk tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Sierra," I murmured.

She turned and faded into the gloom of the torchlit corridor, her footsteps vanishing into the silence. I stood there alone, watching her go, as the shadows swallowed her whole—and the terrifying, unanswered questions in my own chest began to consume me.

I pushed through the door of my dorm room. The latch clicked shut behind me with a finality.

Miya was perched on the edge of her bed, the low glow of her phone screen casting harsh, angled shadows across her face. The moment the lock clicked, her eyes snapped up, gleaming with a cold, malicious satisfaction.

I ignored her, keeping my chin low as I took a slow step toward my own cot on the opposite side of the small room.

"Looks like the scentless defect doesn’t know where she belongs," Miya said, her voice dripping with lazy venom. "Seems like she’s forgotten her damn place."

I heard the rustle of her sheets as she swung her legs off the mattress, her boots hitting the floor with a heavy, deliberate thud. Her smirk was audible in the cadence of her breath as she stepped into my path, a wicked, predatory grin carving through her features.

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a glance.

I didn’t look at her, didn’t flinch, didn’t utter a word. I simply brushed past her, sliding into my cot and pulling the coarse woollen blanket up over my shoulders, turning my back to the rest of the room.

"How dare you ignore me?!" Miya barked, her voice suddenly spiking into an ugly, sharp roar. The sudden flare of her temper rattled the quiet air.

"Whoa... look at you. You think you’re some kind of big shot now? You think you’re untouchable just because Lord Blake came down to this room to drag you out, or because Lord Raven paraded you into the Royal Hall like a pet just to watch you walk out on him?!"

My pulse pounded against my ribs, heavy and slow, but I kept my body motionless beneath the blanket.

Of course, the news spreads faster in this academy. Especially when it is about the Four Thrones, it only needs a few seconds.

Miya took two fast steps closer, her breathing heavy, radiating an oppressive, suffocating heat that reeked of second-rate arrogance.

"You are just a pathetic, useless fool who doesn’t know her fucking place," she hissed. "And I will personally remind you of it. You actually think you can walk around this academy after you slapped Lord Zyran? You’re insane."

She let out a low, poisonous laugh.

"Enjoy this, Adeline. This will be your last sleep—make it a peaceful one. Lord Zyran has probably already signed your death warrant by now, so I won’t bother keeping you awake tonight. Goodnight, bitch."

Her heavy footsteps receded, the mattress springs squeaking as she threw herself back onto her bed, turning her back to me.

I lay frozen in the dark, my fingers tightly gripping the edge of the blade tucked against my side beneath the sheet. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating quiet, but inside my chest, a dark, dangerous fire began to consume the lingering cold.

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