Page 215 of The Delta's Rogue
“NO!”
A cruel, triumphant grin gleams on Lyall’s face.
Brenna leaps to her feet. “No, please!” she begs. “Please don’t do this!”
Moonlightstreams from Selene’s hands, her magic already at work to fulfill her end of their bargain.
Brenna makes a broken, desperate noise and whirls towards us. “Don’t let him take me,” she sobs. “I can’t— I won’t—”
A howl from behind her cuts her off. Brenna screams a heart-wrenching wail, then collapses and curls in on herself near Sarina’s feet, tears overtaking her and ruining her ability to speak. Brenna’s despair adds to mine—to everyone’s—and riles up my lycan, bringing out his protective instincts.
I lunge forward, but Micah beats me to Brenna and scoops her up. Brenna flinches at first, wrapping her arms around her stomach, as she stares into Micah’s earnest expression. Her face twists and warps with the force of her distress, and she throws herself forward, tucking herself against Micah’s chest and under his chin as sobs tear from her throat.
A few yards from us, Lyall inhales. He takes slow breaths that flare his nostrils and expand his chest, like most shifters do when they’re scenting their mate for the first time. A disgusting moan of pleasure escapes him as he exhales, bringing bile into my mouth and forcing Brenna to burrow further into Micah’s embrace. Sarina tenses next to me as Lyall opens his eyes to reveal irises swirling with the shimmering, dark gray presence of his wolf.
Now that Brenna’s spell on him is gone, now that he can see again, Lyall prowls forward, his greedy grin growing. But he cuts himself short with a gasp. He doubles over. His hands clutch his chest, his throat strains, and his face contorts with agonizing pain.
“What is happening?” he asks between his panting exhales. “Why does my heart feel like it’s going to implode? Why is my wolf howling in agony?”
“Because your mate is on death’s doorstep.” Selene wipes her palms on her dress. “I estimate she has only a few minutes left. Or less.”
“What did you do to Brenna?!” Lyall snarls, stumbling drunkenly from the force of his severing mate bond.
Selene’s eyes twinkle, and she laughs. “Not Brenna.Amara.”
Sure enough, as we all glance at Amara, her chest expands with one painful, shaky breath. Then she’s unmoving again for several long moments before another, shallower breath flows into her lungs. It’s nearly undetectable, but she isstillalive.
All the tension in Brenna’s body releases with another enormous sob, and her face floods with relief. But even with her relief, her tears and shaking continue, her body in shock from the stress.
“That was not our deal!” Lyall says. “I asked for a mate bond with Brenna.”
“No. You asked for a mate bond with ‘the witch’. You didn’t specify which witch.”
“You bitch!”
Lyall launches himself forward, shifting in midair to a dark gray wolf with white paws. His jaws open, ready to clamp around Selene’s body, but Sarina lifts her chin and releases my hand from her grasp to stand beside Selene.
“Stop,” Sarina orders him. Her voice is a near whisper, but it’s laced with every ounce of power she holds within her.
Lyall drops to the ground mid pounce. His paws collapse underneath him with a snap, and he yelps.
Sarina wrinkles her nose at his pathetic cry of pain. “Shift back.” She stares at him without lowering her chin as he unwillingly changes from his wolf form to his human form. “Kneel,” she commands him, spitting the words through her clenched teeth.
Lyall promptly drops to his knees and gapes at her. “How— How is this possible?” he asks through giant gasping breaths of pain. “You’re a rogue. He’s just a delta. Neither of you have any real rank or power.”
Sarina’s shoulders straighten. Her aura doesn’t pulse from her. It floods the grounds, extending to the furthest borders of Crescent Lake and beyond. It’s an ocean of power, the vast depths of which remain unexplored. It’s a galaxy of power, glittering with stars of vengeance.
It’s not a suggestion anymore but a full-blown, unavoidable, undeniable command. It passes over every wolf and forces their heads into submissive bows with its tenacity.
Everyone except me.
Her voice, unwavering and regal, rings across the grounds. “I amnota rogue. I am a direct descendant of Conan, first of the lycans, first king of the werewolves. My name is Sara Anaís Goodrich Cisneros, and I am the alpha of all alphas. I am yourqueen.”
Behind me, the eyes of all three of my friends bore into my back. Their befuddlement is palpable, and I wink at them over my shoulder, their matching expressions of surprise at this ace up our sleeve giving me some brief, much needed comedic relief.
“Queen?” Wes murmurs. “She took over already?”
I nod. “Her dad transferred the title to her in secret earlier today.”
