MATED TO THE RUTHLESS LYCAN KING

GABRIELLA’S POV

The morning came heavy with noise. One by one, the high-ranking wolves of the Dark Hound Pack filed into the great hall, their footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The place buzzed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the low hum of conversation. For me, it meant endless running—tray after tray, bow after bow, pretending that every forced smile I offered wasn’t burning my lips raw.

At least for today, Luna was too busy. She flitted about like some gracious hostess, all false warmth and polished elegance, greeting every guest as if she hadn’t been spitting venom at me the night before. I told myself to be grateful—grateful that for a few hours, her scorn wasn’t aimed at me. That meant no daggers disguised as words, no deliberate little humiliations in front of the others. But still, even the absence of her cruelty didn’t feel like peace. It only felt like the eye of a storm.

I carried trays to every table—beta wolves puffed up with their own importance, their wives draped in jewels, and their spoiled pups who laughed too loudly, knocked cups over, and barked at me as though I were their personal servant. By the time the sun had barely crept above the treetops, I was already drained. My legs dragged beneath me, aching as though iron chains clung to them. Every step sent a groan slipping past my lips.

When I pushed open the kitchen door again, I froze. Something was wrong. The air itself shifted. It wasn’t just that someone was in there—it was the kind of presence that prickled at the back of my neck. Strong, alive, unfamiliar. Omega.

Impossible, I thought. No outsider could breach the alpha’s house—guards lined every wall, every corner. The kitchen was supposed to be safe.

I eased the door open wider, my fingers tightening on the edge, and slipped inside.

“You maids are really good at cooking, aren’t you?”

The male voice came from deep in the kitchen, smooth but mischievous. My heart leapt to my throat. Instinct took over—I hurled the tray in my hands straight toward the sound.

But he moved. Effortlessly, like he had seen it coming before I even thought to act. The tray clattered against the wall as I stumbled, landing flat on the cold stone. Heat rushed to my cheeks.

“You should watch your step,” he said lightly, a piece of meat dangling between his fingers before he popped it into his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to lose a tooth on a day like this.”

My jaw clenched as I pushed myself upright, fists balled. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Steven,” he replied simply, licking grease from his thumb as if this were his kitchen, not mine. “I came for food. There’s so much here I can’t decide where to start.”

My eyes darted over him—dark blue eyes, so striking they looked carved from polished marble. Black hair fell in silky strands around his face, catching the faint firelight from the kitchen torches. He wore black leather, jacket and pants that clung like a second skin, giving him the sharp, dangerous look of someone who didn’t belong.

I shook myself. Don’t look too long. Don’t let him pull you in.

“This place isn’t for omegas,” I snapped, pointing at the door. “You’re not allowed at the ceremony, and you’re definitely not allowed in here. Get out before you bring trouble on both of us.”

He raised his hands, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright. But at least let me take some stew and meat with me. Call it a favor.”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tell him how stupid it was, how dangerous. But all I managed was, “No. If anyone notices food missing, it’ll be me who pays for it. Now go.” I turned my back, hoping he would listen.

That was my mistake.

By the time I faced him again, he was gone—bowl in hand, slipping through the doorway like smoke.

“HEY!” I shouted, rage boiling through me. My exhaustion vanished. My legs surged with sudden energy, driving me after him. The tray clanged against my thigh as I sprinted through the passages.

But how did he know the way? Every corner he turned, every hall he slipped down, he moved like someone who had studied the place for years. Only servants or family knew the layout this well. My skin prickled with unease.

I stretched out, fingers grazing the edge of his jacket—

And then Luna’s voice cut through the hall.

My blood froze. She was coming closer.

Panic flared in Steven’s eyes, mirroring my own. Without thinking, I grabbed his collar, yanked open the nearest door, and shoved him inside. I followed, slamming it shut just as her footsteps rounded the corner.

The air in the room was thick with dust and the smell of wood polish. Cleaning supplies crowded the shelves, leaving barely enough room for the two of us. His chest pressed against mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

“It’s pretty tight in here, isn’t it?” he whispered, the amusement still in his voice.

“Shut up,” I hissed. “If she finds me slacking off with some freeloader, I’m dead. So stay quiet.”

But even as I scolded him, I couldn’t look away. Our gazes locked, blue to brown, and something inside me cracked open. For the first time in years, I felt my chest lift, felt warmth where only bitterness had lived. My lips curved upward before I could stop them. A smile—real, fragile, mine.

Then the sound of Luna’s steps faded into silence.

The moment shattered. I broke our stare, cleared my throat, and reached for the door behind him.

But he hadn’t noticed. He leaned back, thinking the door was still closed, and toppled straight through it.

The bowl flipped, hot stew spilling down his face and chest.

“AGHHH! IT BURNS!” His cry rang out, and I lunged forward, dragging him upright before the whole house could hear. “Quiet!” I hissed, tugging him back into the kitchen.

I doused him with cool water, scrubbing away the red stew that dripped down his jaw. To my relief, no burns marred his skin. He laughed softly, even as water streamed from his hair.

I couldn’t afford to laugh with him. Every second felt like borrowed time.

“Go,” I urged, shoving him toward the hidden passage by the pantry. “If anyone sees you, it’s over for both of us.”

We slipped through winding tunnels until, finally, the fresh air of the outside world hit us.

At the exit, he paused, eyes on me again, the same smile tugging at his lips—gentle, knowing, dangerous.

“Goodbye, Gabriella.”

And then he was gone.

I stood there, breathless, my hand still raised in a weak wave.

The words formed silently in my head, echoing in my heart with a weight I couldn’t ignore.

I found him. My mate.