Deviant Kings: Claimed by The Four Lycan Kings

Adeline’s pov~

The pain subsided as abruptly as it had struck, vanishing like it never existed in the first place..

I let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, my hand still pressed flat against my sternum. But as my breathing slowly evened out, the cold reality of what had just happened slammed straight into my gut.

The pain.

The bond.

A phantom ache. A distant, burning thread pulling at the dormant core of my chest.

Barely.

You don’t feel the pain unless it’s...

A bitter, hysterical laugh threatened to tear past my lips, but I choked it back into the dark. I was drowning in a sea of paradoxes.

I had answers to questions I had never thought to ask, and a terrifying, endless void of questions for which I had no answers at all.

What the hell is happening to me?

Without realising it, my trembling fingers reached up and cupped the smooth, cold stone of the pendant resting against my collarbone. My thumb slowly traced its carved edge, soothing myself in the rhythm of the gesture.

Dowager Luna Gwen, Raven’s grandmother, the matriarch of the Second Throne, had pressed this very pendant into my palm the night she took me to the territory of the Second Throne.

She told me it was an ancient relic, crafted to mask my scent, to hide me from those who wished to hunt a scentless, disgraced reject. She had never mentioned a single word about shifting. She had never said it possessed magic.

Yet... I had seen it with my own eyes.

Or had I?

My mind raced back, hyper-analysing every anomaly, every terrifying encounter I had survived since the night of my rejection.

The first time was in the deep, shadow-drenched woods just outside the Crescent Pack territory.

I was bleeding out, starving, completely defenceless after Lucas and Logan tore our bond to shreds. A rogue had tracked the scent of my blood and cornered me against an ancient oak.

The male hadn’t shifted yet; he stepped forward in his human form, his jaw set, his intent clear—to tear me apart. But the moment he tried to force his shift to finish me off, he froze.

His bones snapped halfway through the transition, his veins bulging as he roared in agony, unable to bring his wolf forward. No matter how hard he pushed, the shift refused to complete.

And then it happened a second time—at the academy, with the assassins Zyran had sent to tear me apart. The moment those three rogues lunged with lethal intent, trying to summon their beasts to crush me, their wolves locked up.

They were trapped in their human skin, stripped of their predatory edge.

I gripped the pendant tighter, my heart hammering a dangerous, calculative rhythm against my ribs.

Is it this stone?

No. It couldn’t be.

Because during that terrifying first encounter in the woods, I wasn’t wearing this pendant. Dowager Luna hadn’t found me yet.

A violent chill ran down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins.

The pendant wasn’t blocking them.

I was.

Or whatever terrifying, unseen force was tied to me or my blood.

I began connecting the lethal dots in the dark.

It was a bizarre, calculated defence mechanism: if an opponent attacked me in their physical human form, the protection didn’t trigger. I could get beaten, bruised, cut, and thrown against walls unless I physically fought back or defended myself.

But the exact second someone tried to force a shift to inflict lethal damage on me? Their wolf was instantly suppressed. Shackled. Denied.

What kind of bloodline carries power like that? What did my parents hide from the world?

Suddenly, another realisation slammed into my chest like a physical blow, scattering my frantic theories into absolute panic.

Sierra.

My blood ran cold.

Earlier today, when Sierra asked me about how I healed, I told her that Raven fed his blood, and she asked me if I drank it or threw up.

I told her the truth. I told her that I had spat up Lord Raven’s blood after our confrontation.

But inside the Vault, I heard Raven say that he was going to verify the truth himself.

Shit. Fuck.

Cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

What if... what if Raven confronted Sierra about it?

Shit! I’m screwed.

If Sierra repeated what I told her to anyone, or if Raven confronted her before I could fix it... no no...

I needed to get to Sierra.

I had to tell her to keep her mouth shut, to alter the story, to make sure she didn’t drop my name in front of them.

But I didn’t have her private number, and it was well past midnight. The dorm corridors were patrolled by royal enforcers.

I had to wait until tomorrow morning, first thing at dawn, before the bells rang for the early assembly.

I buried my face in my hands, my mind spinning out of control in the pitch-black room.

Lord Raven couldn’t possibly be my second-chance mate... could he?

No way! I must be overthinking. That is not possible.

I am just an omega. He is the Lycan prince, soon to be the Lycan king of the second throne.

Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Adeline.

Mhm...

~

The blaring warning chimes of the morning academy bell hadn’t even echoed down the halls when I shoved myself out of bed.

I pulled my signature black hoodie over my head, tugging the heavy fabric down over my frame and dragging the thick hood forward until it cast a dark shadow over my eyes.

I grabbed my bag, throwing it over one shoulder, my knuckles white against the strap.

I needed to find Sierra.

Now.

Every second I wasted in this dorm room was another second Raven had to drag the truth out of her, and if she opened her mouth about me spitting his blood... no, I needed to get to her before anything worse like that could happen.

I practically sprinted out into the marble corridor, my sneakers making sharp, rapid squeaks against the pristine floorboards.

My mind was hyper-focused, calculating every turn, searching every face—until a wall of bodies stepped directly out of the shadows, blocking the hallway completely.

Fuck.

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