Chapter 3 A Ruthless Beast
Roth
There is a reason why I was given the nickname Gravemaker.
I send people, shifters and humans alike, to their deaths without blinking or thinking twice. I’ve destroyed legions of clans, I’ve taken down kings and queens of foreign kingdoms, and raised wolves and Lycans that can never be defeated.
I am the Malrek. The most powerful beast in all of Kaelmoor. Leader of the shifter armies. Brother to the Lycan king. I didn’t earn my reputation by being soft or doubtful, which is why I don’t think twice before slicing the neck of fifty of my own soldiers, setting a perfect example with them.
They kneel in a long line across the training field, hands bound, mouths gagged so their pleading doesn’t ruin the silence I want. Word reached me three days ago that this unit sold intelligence to a rival kingdom, information about troop movement that cost me twelve he-wolves in an ambush. Twelve good men who trusted that their command wouldn’t get them killed by their own side’s greed.
I walk slowly, letting every one of them look at my face before I decide whether they get to keep theirs. “You were given one job,” I say, my voice carrying easily across the field without needing to rise. “Loyalty. That’s all this army has ever asked of you. And you sold it for… coin.”
Nobody answers. Nobody ever does. not with anything that changes the outcome.
I pull out my long blade and in a swift movement, I slice their necks one by one in the efficient way my father taught me. By the time I’m finished, the field smells like copper and my men are watching me with the same expression they always wear afterward. Not disgust, but respect laced with fear. Which is exactly the reaction I need from them.
This is what happens when you defy the orders of the Malrek.
The army was my father’s creation, expanded under my hand into something no kingdom can match. When I took over command and the security of the crown years ago, I made sure to cut every loose end. Weaker wolves. Rogue Lycans who thought their bloodline excused their discipline. I have zero tolerance for incompetence, because incompetence is what gets good men killed in ambushes they never saw coming.
I clean my blade and head toward the palace, leaving the bodies left for my trusted men to deal with. My mind wanders, the way it always does anytime I’m here, back to a childhood I don’t like to visit on purpose. My father built an empire out of nothing but brutality, and he built me the same way. I don’t remember a time he was ever soft with me. I don’t remember him praising anything I did. I was fighting before I could properly shift to my Lycan, bleeding before I understood why, and somewhere in all of that, the boy I might have been got replaced with whatever this is now.
I don’t mourn him. You can’t mourn something you don’t remember having.
The palace gates open before I even reach them, guards snapping to attention so fast you’d think the ground itself ordered it. Inside, servants and courtiers press themselves against the walls as I pass, eyes down, some of them visibly trembling. I feel nothing looking at it except satisfaction. Let them tremble. Fear is just respect that hasn’t been tested yet, and mine has been tested plenty.
I find my brother’s chambers exactly and I don’t bother knocking. I never do.
I push the door open and stop.
The king of the shifter realm is draped on the bed, with two women wrapped around him like he has nothing better to be doing today. One is kissing him with her fingers tangled in his hair. The other kneels between his legs, her head buried deep in his crotch.
I stare at the scene for a long moment, then a bored sigh escapes me.
I fold my arms before speaking. “Is this what you call preparing for war, brother?”
Torren startles, his eyes snapping toward the doorway as my voice echoes through the room. The she-wolf between his legs pauses, her dark eyes widening in instant terror at the sight of me, but Torren just grins, unbothered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh, you’re back, brother,” Torren says, leaning back against the pillows. “I was wondering if you’d gotten yourself wasted away in the underworld. I was even preparing my escape.”
I just shake my head at him. Torren might be my half-brother, but no one would ever guess we share the same father’s blood. Perhaps the blame lies with our mothers. Where Torren’s mother was soft, warm, and welcoming, my own mother was a ruthless, cold-hearted bitch who abused me just as savagely as my father did. When she finally bled out and died, I felt nothing. Not a shred of grief. If I ever felt anything close to affection for a parental figure, it was for Torren’s mother, never my own.
I walk over to the mahogany table and pour myself a glass of champagne.
“We are in the middle of a war with demons,” I say, taking a slow sip as I look down at him, “and all you care about is getting your dick wet? Sometimes I wonder how the hell you became king.”
Torren laughs loudly as he slaps the bare ass of the lady still engorged in pleasing him.
“Well,” Torren chuckles, entirely unashamed, “I’m only king because a certain older brother of mine prefers slaughtering people to sitting on a throne.”
Well…He’s right.
Our father, King Demus, had originally intended for me to take the crown. But I refused it. A throne binds a man to politics, and I needed the freedom to Drago, my beast’s insatiable bloodlust. So I surrendered the royal mantle and took command of the army instead.
“Anyway, I don’t blame you,” Torren continues. “I only blame the Moon Goddess for not giving you a mate at your big age.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, swirling the liquid in my glass. “Who needs a mate when you can have multiple women at once?”
“If anyone in this realm needs a mate, brother, it’s you. You need someone to thaw that block of ice in your chest.”
A deep chuckle escapes my throat. I would rather have my own head severed from my shoulders than be shackled to some fragile, demanding female because of a useless mate bond. I am glad the Goddess has spared me from finding one, and I pray she never does.
“I heard you just massacred a portion of your own unit,” Torren says after a few minutes of silence.
“I had to,” I reply coldly. “They lacked basic discipline and loyalty. They were assigned to infiltrate a demon camp and failed the command, selling out their own men for a handful of coin and cheap women.”
Torren laughs, shaking his head. “Well, maybe the right soldiers for that specific operation would have been the female unit. Have you even inspected them yet? I hear the she-wolves are exceptionally fearsome and resilient.”
My brows furrow in immediate disgust. “No chance. Women will only mess up the entire chain of command and ruin the operation.”
I can’t believe he’s even bringing it up.
“Well, as your king,” Torren says, sitting up slightly and faking a look of authority, “I’m commanding you to at least give them a try. I’m a firm advocate for women’s empowerment. I believe they’re quite strong.”
I chuckle, eyeing him over the rim of my glass. “Or is it just because you like their pussy?”
Torren bursts out laughing. “Stop acting like you don’t as well, brother. Matter of fact, you look like you deserve to have some of your own stress relieved right now.”
He leans down and whispers something into the ear of the she-wolf who had been kissing him. She pulls away from Torren and turns to glance over at me.The moment her gaze meets mine, a brief flash of fear fills her eyes.
The sight makes my cock twitch slightly inside my trousers.
I love it when women are afraid of me. As they should. When I fuck, I fuck the exact same way I fight…brutal, ruthless, and unyielding.
And with the size of my cock being almost as huge as my arm, they are never the same after I am done with them.
The girl tries to act bold, stepping off the bed and taking a slow walk toward me.
“Stop,” I command. The word cuts through the air like a crack of a whip.
She freezes instantly in her tracks, her lips parting and terror pooling in her eyes.
I take a seat in the large leather armchair beside the table, leaning back, spreading my knees, and resting my arm on the armrest.
“Crawl to me,” my voice drops into a low rumble. “Slowly.”
Torren chuckles, standing up and grabbing the other girl by the waist. “I’ll leave you to it, brother. Try not to break her completely. I still have use for her later.” He pulls his girl toward his private chambers, leaving us alone.
The remaining she-wolf drops to her hands and knees. She’s half-naked, with long dark hair spilling down her shoulders. She is undeniably beautiful, but all I see is a toy waiting to be ruined. My jaw tightens as I grow harder by the second at the thought of breaking her.
Drago growls with fury within me. He doesn't want her because he believes his mate is out there somewhere, but I don't. He wants to be shackled to one soul, I don't.
She slowly crawls on the floor, coming to a stop right between my boots. I reach down, sinking my fingers deep into her hair, and drag her up onto my lap with a harsh tug.
“Are you scared?” I ask as I trace the sharp line of her trembling jawline with my thumb.
She swallows hard, looking up at me through thick lashes, trying to sound brave. “No, Malrek... I want you. Please make love to me.”
A mocking laugh rumbles in my chest. I tighten my fingers around her throat, forcing her face just inches from mine, squeezing enough to let her feel the deadly power coiled in my hand.
“Oh but I don’t make love,” I whisper viciously against her lips. “I fuck hard. Like the beast that I am.”
