Deviant Kings: Claimed by The Four Lycan Kings

Adeline’s pov~

Raven’s jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flicking over my shoulder toward the empty towers.

"Miya is the daughter of a high-ranking eastern general. She’s observant, and she’s vicious. But she’s the least of your worries. The other three heirs know you’re here. They know you have no scent, and they know I’m protecting you."

My heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs. "And? What did you tell them?"

"I told them you were off-limits," Raven said, stepping closer. The sheer, suffocating weight of his presence—the heavy, commanding aura of a future King—pressed down on me. But I didn’t step back. I forced myself to look up, meeting his golden-flecked eyes. "But Blake is curious, Zyran thinks you’re a gold-digger playing a victim, and Keiran... Keiran watches everything. Today, the entire academy is going to look at you like prey, Adeline."

"Let them look," I whispered, a sudden, cold spark of anger flaring in my chest. "I didn’t come here to make friends, Raven. I came here for me. I need access to the historical archives in the restricted wing. You promised me that if I kept my head down, you’d get me in."

"And I will," Raven rumbled, his voice dropping an octave as he glanced around the courtyard, ensuring we were still alone. "But if you draw attention to yourself, if you break character and let them see that you aren’t just some helpless, wolfless stray, the Student Council will investigate. If they discover who you actually are—who your family was—not even the House of Dravenmoor can shield you from the High Council."

"I understand," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, but steady. "Crystal clear. I will not draw any attention."

Raven instantly stiffened. His chest rose in a sharp, sudden inhale, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to catch a scent that wasn’t there. His eyes flashed a brilliant, predatory gold, the pupils blown wide as they locked onto mine.

"Adeline," he murmured.

His voice had dropped all its harsh authority, softening into a low, surprised tone that sent a completely different kind of shiver down my spine. It sounded raw. Almost breathless.

I took a quick step back, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

Raven stared at me, his expression momentarily fractured, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features.

"Nothing," he muttered, stepping back to put a deliberate distance between us. He ran a hand over his jaw, his voice returning to its usual flat, commanding pitch. "Class starts in an hour. You should go."

Without waiting for me to reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, his long, powerful strides quickly swallowing the distance as he disappeared into the heavy morning mist toward the administration wing.

I walked back to the East Tower with my head down, my mind still spinning from the weird charge that had passed between Raven and me.

Back in Room 404, the air was quiet. Miya’s bed was empty, though the lingering scent of her jasmine perfume told me she hadn’t been gone long. I let out a breath of relief, quickly shedding my worn hoodie and jeans. Laid out on the chair was the official Royal Lycan Academy uniform I’d been issued.

It felt stiff, heavy, and entirely too formal. The dark charcoal skirt fell just above my knees, paired with a crisp white button-down shirt and a structured, deep-grey blazer. There were no house colors embroidered on my lapels—no vibrant reds, deep blues, or forest greens to signal a proud lineage. My blazer was completely blank. A loud, silent declaration to everyone who saw me that I belonged to no one.

I pulled my hair back, leaving just enough to shadow my face, and took one last look in the mirror.

Perfect. For not to get any attention from anyone.

The main academic hall was already buzzing by the time I arrived. The classroom for Advanced Pack History and Strategy was massive, designed like a steep, stone amphitheater with rows of heavy mahogany desks curving downward toward a central podium.

As I stepped through the double oak doors, the chatter in the room didn’t just quiet down—it completely died.

Dozens of heads snapped in my direction.

Just blend into the walls, I told myself, taking a deep, steadying breath. Get your books, find your seat, and don’t make eye contact.

The air in the room was thick, a suffocating cocktail of dominant Alpha pheromones, expensive colognes, and the sharp, territorial scents of heirs who had spent their entire lives preparing to rule. I could feel their eyes scanning my blank lapels, their nostrils flaring as they tried—and failed—to catch even a hint of a scent from me. The whispers started instantly, a low, hostile hum that vibrated against the stone walls.

"Is that her?"

"The one from the courtyard?"

"Raven dragged her by her wrist. He never touched any women nor did he let any women touch him."

"What is her relationship with Raven?"

"She doesn’t even have a scent. How did she get past the gates?"

I kept my breathing shallow and my gaze fixed on the stairs. Remembering Raven’s advice about predators targeting those who hide, I hesitated. But my survival instincts won out. I needed to see everyone, and I didn’t want anyone sitting behind my back.

I made my way up the steep steps, ignoring the burning stares, and headed for a secluded, empty desk tucked away in the far back corner. It was the safest spot in the room, giving me a clear view of the entire class and the entrance. I slid into the heavy wooden chair, pulled out a plain notebook, and kept my eyes on my desk, waiting for the bell to ring and end the agonizing silence.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over my desk, blocking the dim light from the high stained-glass windows.

"Is this seat taken?" a smooth, amused voice asked.

A soft, hesitant voice broke through my hyper-focus. I looked up to see a girl standing in the aisle. She wasn’t wearing silks or designer labels; her simple, structured blazer looked almost as plain as mine, and her bright hazel eyes held a nervous energy that mirrored my own.

"No," I said softly, offering a small, cautious smile. "Go ahead."

She slid into the seat next to me, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as she dropped her bag onto the floor. "Thank goddess. I thought I was going to have to sit near the front. I’m Sierra, by the way. First-year transfer from the Northern territories."

"Adeline," I replied, keeping my voice low.

"Nice to meet you, Adeline. Are you as terrified as I am?" Sierra whispered, leaning in slightly. "Because I feel like I walked straight into a lion’s den. Look down there."

She nodded toward the front row, and my stomach instantly dropped.

A wide, respectful berth had been left around the center seats of the lowest tier. No one in the lecture hall dared to sit within three rows of them. And then, right on cue, the heavy oak doors of the theater swung open.

The ambient noise in the room died instantly. It was like someone had sucked the oxygen straight out of the air.

Four figures walked in, moving with an effortless, terrifying synchronization. Raven was in the lead, his uniform immaculate, his face a flawless mask of stoic authority. Right behind him was Blake, his blazer casually unbuttoned, a lazy, dangerous smirk playing on his lips as his eyes scanned the room.

But it was the other two who made the hairs on my arms stand up.

One had golden, predatory eyes and an aura that practically crackled with a sharp, bad-boy charm—Zyran. The other was a wall of pure muscle and dark shadow, moving with a quiet, executioner-like grace—Keiran. The Four Kings. The undisputed rulers of this place.

As they took their seats in the front, Blake leaned over and murmured something to Zyran.

Zyran didn’t sit down immediately. Instead, he paused, his dark eyes slowly sweeping up the tiers of the amphitheater. He wasn’t casually looking around; he was hunting. His gaze flicked past dozens of highborn girls who were desperately trying to catch his attention, moving steadily, deliberately up the rows.

My breath hitched in my throat. I froze, my fingers gripping my pen so tightly my knuckles turned white. Don’t look. Do not look.

But I was a second too late.

Zyran’s gaze locked onto my corner. His eyes narrowed slightly, tracking my blank blazer and the complete lack of a highborn posture. A slow, highly anticipated smile crept onto his lips, sharp, knowing, and entirely predatory. He held my gaze for one long, agonizing second, making it perfectly clear that he knew exactly who I was, before finally turning around and sliding into his seat next to Blake.

"Oh, wow," Sierra whispered beside me, her voice shaking slightly. "Did you see that? Zyran was looking right up here. I think I forgot how to breathe."

I didn’t answer. My heart was hammering violently against my ribs, the ghost of that dark gaze burning through me.

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