Rewriting Her Destiny With The Lycan Kings

"Relax," a deep, husky voice murmured, so close his breath brushed against her ear.

"Don't make a sound."

Zara's heart raced as recognition dawned.

"Denzel," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and disbelief.

He was right behind her, impossibly close. She tried to pull away, but his hands tightened, holding her in place. His presence was overwhelming, his scent a mix of pine and something darker, more intoxicating.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low but sharp. Fear mingled with something she couldn't quite name, sending her pulse into a frenzy.

Denzel chuckled, the sound low and dangerous.

"I thought I'd check on my Luna. Word is, she found her trainer a bit too charming today," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Zara's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

"I didn't—"

"Didn't what?" he interrupted smoothly, his hands beginning to knead her shoulders with deliberate pressure.

"Didn't admire him? Or didn't realize I'd notice?"

Her breath hitched as his fingers worked over her tense muscles, the sensation both soothing and maddening.

"I wasn't—"

"Wasn't what?" he pressed, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed her ear.

"Tell me, Zara. How handsome is he? Handsome enough to make you forget your kings?"

The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable, his touch firm but growing possessive. Zara bit her lip, torn between outrage and the undeniable pull of his presence.

"No," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper.

Denzel's lips curved into a smirk she couldn't see but could feel.

"Good," he murmured, his hands sliding lower, sending a shiver through her.

The intensity of his touch left Zara breathless, the tension between them crackling like fire.

"You're mine, Zara," he growled softly, his voice laced with both possessiveness and an unspoken threat.

Her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, her instincts warning her of the dangerous line he was toeing.

"I promise it won't happen again," she said, her voice trembling but steady enough to convey submission.

Her words seemed to soothe him. The punishing pressure of his hands softened, his touch becoming gentler, almost reverent.

"Good," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"Don't forget who you belong to, Zara," he said, his tone dangerously soft.

Her heart stuttered at his words, the quiet authority in them wrapping around her like a chain.

"Because your kings don't take kindly to their queen being drawn to anyone else. It makes us… ruthless."

The warning in his tone was sharp enough to slice through her resolve. Zara nodded quickly, understanding the gravity of his words.

"I won't forget," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Denzel lingered, his presence heavy and suffocating. Then, without warning, he leaned down and placed a featherlight kiss on her bare shoulder—a gesture far gentler than anything she expected.

And just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he was gone.

As the door clicked shut, Zara exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling as she tried to calm the storm within her. The weight of his touch and the ferocity of his jealousy clung to her like a brand.

She clutched the edge of the tub, her fingers trembling slightly. "It's okay," she whispered to herself, willing her body to relax. But the memory of his touch lingered, the possessiveness in his voice echoing in her mind.

The door creaked open, and Lilly bustled in with a tray of herbal oils and dried petals, blissfully unaware of what had transpired.

"Hibiscus leaves would be better for the first wash," Lilly said cheerfully.

"Yes, that sounds perfect," Zara replied, her voice calmer, though her heart was still a tempest.

As Lilly prepared the bath, Zara sank deeper into the water, the warmth soothing her trembling body. Yet no amount of comfort could wash away the memory of Denzel's searing touch—or the warning that burned in his words.

••

Denzel stepped out of Zara's chamber, the faintest trace of a smile curling on his lips. a rare expression for someone as composed as him. The satisfaction in his eyes was undeniable, but he quickly schooled his features into his usual impassive mask as he spotted Devonte striding toward him.

Devonte's expression was anything but calm. His sharp gaze locked onto Denzel, a storm brewing in his dark eyes.

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice low but laced with warning.

Denzel shrugged, feigning innocence as he leaned casually against the stone wall.

"Nothing. Just a talk," he said smoothly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Devonte's brows shot up, his jaw tightening.

"Really? Just a talk?" His tone dripped with disbelief as he took a step closer, the air between them thick with tension. "Dare to have any moment with her without me, Denzel, and I swear—"

Denzel raised a hand, cutting him off with an uncharacteristic chuckle. "Calm down, brother. I didn't do anything inappropriate." His voice softened, but there was a teasing edge that only fueled Devonte's suspicion. "Besides, I know better than to push boundaries before we speak with our master."

That seemed to mollify Devonte slightly, though his eyes remained narrowed. "Good," he said, though his tone carried a hint of warning.

Denzel straightened, his easy demeanor giving way to something more serious. "Speaking of our master, I assume you have news?"

Devonte nodded, his expression darkening. "He's here. Just arrived."

The weight of the words settled over them both, and whatever rivalry lingered between the brothers was momentarily pushed aside. The questions that had plagued their minds, the answers they desperately sought—they could no longer wait.

Without another word, the two brothers moved in unison, their steps purposeful as they headed to their mentor's chambers. Though they didn't speak, the tension between them was palpable, each man's thoughts racing.

For Denzel, the memory of Zara's vulnerable gaze lingered in his mind, fueling his determination to understand her role in their lives. For Devonte, the fear of losing control—losing her, gnawed at him, making his questions all the more urgent.

They reached the heavy wooden door of their mentor's study, its intricate carvings illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Exchanging a brief glance, they nodded to each other and pushed the door open.

Inside the chamber, the mentor exuded an aura of authority, his presence commanding immediate respect. His robes, a blend of rich fabrics and wolf hide, swept across the floor as he turned to greet the Lycan brothers.

"Denzel. Devonte," he acknowledged with a slight nod, his piercing gaze flicking between them. "Your urgency suggests the Moon Goddess's decision weighs heavily on your minds."

Devonte, always the more forthright of the two, stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "Tell us, Master," he began, his voice edged with frustration, "why would the Moon Goddess choose her? A human? What reason could there be for such an unusual match?"

Denzel remained silent but watchful, his sharp eyes locked on the mentor, awaiting his answer.

The master stroked his beard thoughtfully, his golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of wisdom and mystery. "The Moon Goddess's will is rarely without purpose," he said, his voice deep and measured. "A human as your mate is indeed unorthodox, but such a choice is never random. There must be something about her. something she carries, perhaps, or a role she is destined to fulfill. that binds her to you both."

Denzel tilted his head, his skepticism evident. "Something she carries? What could a human possess that makes her worthy of the Lycan Kings?"

The master's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "That is the question, isn't it? And one I cannot answer until I meet her."

"You wish to meet Zara?" Devonte asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

"Indeed," the master replied, his voice unwavering. "Before I can predict or discern the significance of her bond to you, I must observe her. Her aura, her spirit. these will tell me more than any prophecy or ancient text. There is something about this woman the Moon Goddess trusts, and I must see it for myself."

The brothers exchanged a glance. Denzel spoke first, his tone pragmatic. "Then we'll arrange it. Tonight. We'll host a dinner in her honor and invite you to join."

"A wise decision," the master said approvingly, his gaze sharp as it flicked between the two kings. "But tread carefully, my kings. If she truly is destined for greatness within your world, others may not take kindly to her presence. Protect her, for her journey has only just begun, and it will not be an easy one."

Devonte's jaw tightened, his protective instincts flaring. "She's ours to protect. No harm will come to her while she's under our care."

Denzel nodded in agreement, his voice quieter but no less resolute. "We'll ensure she's ready for whatever lies ahead. And we'll find the answers we need."

The mentor inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Very well. Tonight, then."

With that, the brothers left the chamber, their determination renewed. As they walked side by side down the dimly lit corridor, the weight of their responsibility settled heavily on their shoulders. Whatever the Moon Goddess had planned, they would uncover it together. and Zara, their unexpected mate, would be at the center of it all.