Alpha's Cruel Addiction

Chapter 133  Succumb to Insanity

"I'll go with the royal family," Ophelia decided for herself.

"Absolutely not," Killorn declared, shooting to his feet. A vein popped on his clenched jaw as he shot her a warning glare. The room grew chilly, as his presence thickened with fury. "You want to willingly become a prisoner? Do you really think they'll just keep you there for the sake of protecting you?"

"Well, that is the intention," Everest reasoned.

"I know the extent of the royal family's greed. You'll keep Ophelia as prisoner, draining her blood dry on the basis of 'experimentation' and exploitation, then, wait for her to regenerate more, and then, repeat the process," Killorn spat out. "You think I'd let you start a monopoly over her blood, and let everything go awry? F*ck off Everest."

Killorn drew his sword, but Ophelia remained her ground.

"I can keep myself safe," Ophelia said. "If I concentrate enough, then I can do anything I-I put my mind to and—"

"Ophelia." Killorn's voice was low, each syllable delivered with deliberate calmness that concealed the storm raging within. "You will not go to them." His seething stare froze her in place, his tone leaving no room for argument. Each word dropped like a stone into the stillness of the room. She could feel his rage, a glacial fire threatening to engulf anyone who dared come too close to his patience. It was the kind of anger that came from a deep, unspoken fury, a dread that the royals would ensnare her in gilded webs of exploitation and deceit.

"I'll keep her safe," Everest promised with a curt clear of his throat. He saw the hesitation in Ophelia's demeanor, her attention lowering to the floor. She grew meek at the presence of her husband's disapproval—such an obedient little wife.

"I still want to go," Ophelia whispered, raising her head again to reveal her slight frown. The air seemed to quiver with the tension between husband and wife. A tangible force filled every corner of the room. She met his narrowed eyes with a quiet strength of her own. "I must," she said. "I-I do not want madness on these lands or war to plague us further. I-I do not want to see you a-at harm's way for m-me. I-if all it took was b-being in a golden cage for the royal family, then so be it."

Killorn raised a slow, unpredictable brow. He closed the distance between them. Each footfall is a testament to his turmoil. There was a calculation in his movements, a precision that made her step back in worry. He saw her nervousness, the gnaw of her bottom lips, and the wrinkles of her forehead. She froze, but didn't flinch as his arms enfolded her with an intensity that was almost suffocating.

A fortress of flesh and bone.

"Killorn?" Ophelia mumbled in confusion, her cheeks reddening. By instinct, her arms rested low on his back, for that was as far up as she could go with his bear grip. She could feel Everest's irritated gaze, but not for her. "My sweet Ophelia," Killorn murmured into her hair. Ophelia could feel the tension in his body, the coiled strength of a warrior who was used to standing his ground, used to being the most unmovable object in the face of an unstoppable force. He pressed his lips against her silver strands, his voice a low rumble of protective ferocity.

"Just this once, obey me, my lovely wife," Killorn coaxed.

Ophelia's lips trembled. How could she dare to object when he grasped upon her like his life depended on it? He had always tolerated her unintentional mischief and disobedience. He always minded her protest and gave in whenever she wished for him to stop or continue. Whatever she wanted, he gave.

"Stay within my walls, Ophelia. Be under my protection. I will keep you safe."

Ophelia swallowed.

"If they want you, they'll have to take you over my dead body, and even then, my soul would not let them." The words were not a threat, but a solemn oath. A declaration that sucked the air from the room. Ophelia remained encased in his embrace. The weight of his resolve dug into her shoulders, the depth of his fear ringing in her ears.

"Rein in your selfishness, Killorn!" Everest barked. "This is the only way to keep the both of you safe. It is not just the royal family coming after the two of you, it's the entire kingdom! Think of the Vampire Houses that'd want you dead, of the furious Alphas ready to storm your pack, and the army the foreign nations possess. They intend to wipe Pack Mavez from history. Your survivors will become slaves."

Ophelia yanked back from Killorn in disbelief, wondering if he knew that. Killorn met her gaze. He did.

"Their mission is to kill you, Killorn, if you do not hand Ophelia over. They will seize her by force from your grasp and when that happens, what shall become of Ophelia? Her flesh would be fed to the werewolves eager to gain eternal strength and her blood to be drunk like wine to the vampires thirsting for a drop of her," Everest snarled. "Your people are not prepared for war, not right now. Not with the damages you've sustained from the recent monster raid."

"A-and the only way to prevent that is to go with you?" Ophelia whispered. "The royal family will keep you safe," Everest exasperated. "I will keep you safe." Killorn scoffed.

At that exact moment, Ophelia realized Everest was in love with her. Call her delusional, but she knew no man would go to his extent to keep a woman safe. Not unless he valued her. Not unless his heart beat for her without resolve. This man lusted for the wife of his good friend. He was no man after all. "You would be able to keep me safe from everyone, but yourself," Ophelia wondered out loud.

Everest froze, staring at her like a deer staring into a fired arrow. Helpless. Shocked. "No, I—"

"Give us a night to think about it," Ophelia declared, taking Killorn's hand tightly. She finally understood his fears. "It's quite late, Your Highness. I wish you a night well rested." Ophelia stormed out of the room, dragging Killorn with her. She didn't bother waiting to see Everest's crumbled expression. For once, she saw past his playful facade. His eagerness to help her. To wipe her memories. To entertain her boredom. She thought he was a friend. Turns out, he was just a fiend. Thɪs chapter is updated by ɴoᴠel ꜰɪre.nᴇt

"Ophelia, we're not done talking," Killorn demanded, his frustration bouncing off the flickering hallways. Each lantern they strolled past, the flames danced back and forth, frightened by his simmering presence.

"No, we're not," Ophelia agreed, feeling a sense of boldness wash over her. She yanked him into their bedroom, catching him by surprise. Slamming him upon the doors, she planted her mouth upon his.

Killorn paused for a split second. Then, she moved her lips against his soft, frozen ones. And immediately, he shared her passion.

Ophelia could feel the frigid tension in Killorn's frame. His arm snaked around her waists, sheer will that held her so tightly against him as his freed hand grasped the back of her head, guiding her against him. She pulled back, gasping for air, and peered into his eyes, a twin storm of fear and fury.

"Don't think you can change my mind—"

"I w-wasn't trying to," Ophelia confessed, rising onto her tiptoes. She curled her fingers onto the fabric of his tunic, pulling him down once more to meet her lips with a desire that spoke of defiance and victory. Their kiss was a unity of flame and ice as if she wished for him to meet her resolve, but he was quick to fire back.

Despite Killorn pressing against the door and Ophelia's initiatives, he was still in control. He always was. As they parted again, breathless, and burning, Ophelia began to tug at his shirt, silently asking for what she could never voice.

"Truly," Killorn groaned, raising her into his arms immediately as she straddled his hips. "I will succumb to insanity because of you, Ophelia."