The Alpha King's Maid is the Moon of Vengeance

KARIS ROMERO POV:

My fingers brushed against the cold silk of the ribbon. Humiliation was a physical thing, a toxic sludge filling my throat, making it hard to breathe. My hand trembled, poised to pull the knot and let the last of my dignity fall away.

Then, before I could move, a hand shot out of the darkness and clamped around my wrist, yanking my hand away from the ribbon. A startled gasp escaped my lips as I was pulled forward, my body tumbling against his. His other hand found the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my face up toward his.

His mouth crashed onto mine.

There was no warning, no hesitation. The kiss was brutal and demanding, his lips bruising against mine, his teeth scraping my lower lip. I tasted copper—blood—and I wasn't sure if it was his or mine. His tongue invaded, claiming, plundering, as if he were trying to consume me whole.

I froze beneath the assault, my body rigid with shock. My hands pressed against his chest, pushing uselessly against the wall of muscle beneath his shirt. He didn't budge. He didn't even seem to notice my resistance. His grip on my neck tightened, holding me in place as he took exactly what he wanted.

Then his other hand moved. It slid from my wrist, trailing down my arm, across my ribs, my hip. It found the hem of the silk nightgown and began to push it upward, his fingers cold against the bare skin of my thigh.

Panic surged through me like ice water.

My mind, paralyzed with fear, suddenly sparked to life. I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't let him take this from me. I had to stop him. I had to do something, say something, anything.

I tore my mouth from his, gasping for air. His hand froze on my thigh. I felt his breath on my face, hot and ragged, his frustration a palpable force in the darkness.

"Alpha King," I gasped, my voice a trembling whisper. "Please—forgive me for tonight."

The shadow above me went utterly still. The silence that followed was different. It wasn't impatient anymore. It was sharp, heavy, and full of pressure. The Alpha pheromones in the air thickened, a clear signal of his displeasure. My Omega instincts screamed at me to apologize, to grovel, to do whatever he wanted. I forced them down.

"Give me a reason," his voice was colder than the marble floor, a blade of ice in the dark.

His hand was still on my thigh, still poised to push higher. I could feel the heat of his fingers burning against my skin, a reminder of how close I had come to losing everything.

I took a shaky breath, preparing the lie. "I... I am on my cycle."

It was the only excuse I could think of, the only female condition that might, in some packs, grant a moment's reprieve. I lowered my head, my hair falling over my face like a curtain, and waited for the explosion. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of terror.

His hand slowly withdrew from my thigh. I felt the absence of his touch like a release from a cage.

A low, humorless chuckle echoed from the darkness. It was a sound of pure disbelief.

He leaned down. I felt a shift in the air, a subtle warmth as he drew near. His breath, smelling of the cold night air and the faint trace of my own blood on his lips, ghosted across my forehead. There was no desire in his proximity, only clinical assessment. Only danger.

"You think I can't tell?" he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel straight through my bones.

The words struck me like a physical blow. Of course. An Alpha of his power could scent the hormonal changes in an Omega from across a room. My lie was pathetic. Amateurish.

A wave of icy despair washed over me. I was caught. The punishment for lying to the Alpha King would be far worse than simply obeying his initial command. I braced myself for pain, for rage, for him to rip the gown from my body.

But it didn't come.

He straightened up, the warmth of his presence receding. He took a step back, the pressure in the air lessening just slightly.

"You have more courage than I thought," he stated, his voice returning to that flat, unreadable tone. The calmness was more unsettling than any anger could have been. It meant he was thinking, calculating.

I didn't dare move or speak. I remained a statue of feigned submission, my head bowed.

I heard him move away, the soft sound of his boots on the rug. He shed his outer layers, the rustle of expensive fabric a stark contrast to the silence. Then, the mattress on the far side of the bed dipped.

He was in the bed.

"Come here," he commanded.

My body moved before my mind could process it. I shuffled across the vast, cold expanse of the sheets, stopping at the very edge, keeping as much distance between us as the bed would allow. I lay stiff as a board, my back to him.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He was a furnace in the frozen room, yet his presence offered no comfort, only a different kind of cold. A cold that came from pure, predatory power.

The space between us felt like a mile-wide chasm, yet his existence filled every inch of the room, every breath I took.

The night passed in agonizing silence. I didn't sleep. I lay there, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, every nerve alight with tension. I was acutely aware of every tiny shift he made, every rustle of the sheets.

Just before the first hint of dawn painted the sky in shades of gray, the mattress shifted. He was up.

In the pre-dawn gloom, I watched his dark form move with silent efficiency, dressing without a wasted motion. He was a phantom, preparing to melt back into the world outside this room. I thought he was going to leave without another word. I prayed for it.

But his voice cut through the silence, right beside my ear. He had moved without making a sound.

"Do not lie to me again," he warned, his tone low and sharp. "The next time you try such a pathetic trick, you will regret it."

My entire body went rigid. The blood drained from my face.

He knew.

He had known all along my excuse was a lie. He had let me think I'd succeeded, only to deliver this cold, final threat. It was a game to him.

The door clicked shut. His footsteps faded down the hall.

Only then did I dare to suck in a ragged breath. My back was drenched in a cold sweat, the silk nightgown clinging to my skin like a second, terrified layer.