Page 57 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
And even now, it was the same. My wolf still recognized him, from the moment I stepped out of the carriage and our eyes met.
In that moment, he was no longer a king, and I was no longer an heir. He was Perock, and I was Lilia.
“But that’s all in the past, Perock,” I said softly. “We’re not the same people we used to be.”
Seeing the flicker of disappointment on his face, a wave of bitterness surged in my heart.
I knew I was lying. Those feelings hadn’t truly faded. Even in my most painful moments, I had never truly hated him. I hated his actions, his choices, but never him as a person. Over the past five years, every time Anna’s amber eyes looked at me, I would think of him, of those fleeting moments of sweetness.
“I understand,” Perock nodded, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. “But no matter how much time passes, Lilia, I will always be grateful for the sincerity you once showed me.”
The atmosphere between us suddenly softened, as if some invisible barrier had been broken.
The spring breeze brushed against my cheek, and my wolf whimpered within me, urging me to give him a chance—and to give myself one too.
A piercing howl suddenly shattered the tranquility of the forest. We both turned at the same time, instantly alert, looking toward the source of the sound.
“Rogues?” I whispered in shock. “Here? That’s impossible. This is supposed to be a safe zone…”
Perock’s expression turned grave in an instant. “There’s a trace of dark magic. Be careful!”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a massive black shadow burst out of the forest, charging straight at us. It was an abnormally large werewolf, its eyes glowing an unnatural red, its fur marred with black, corrosive streaks, and a nauseating stench of decay emanating from it.
Our horses neighed in panic, desperately pulling at their reins to flee. The rogue werewolf moved with terrifying speed, closing in on us in an instant.
Almost instinctively, my wolf nature surged to the surface. Years of training allowed me to shift swiftly and flawlessly. A golden light enveloped my body as I felt my bones reshape, muscles expand, and my senses sharpen—my vision and sense of smell becoming razor-sharp.
Perock glanced at me, a flicker of admiration and surprise in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t expected my transformation to be so seamless.
The rogue werewolf was already upon us. It was twice the size of a normal werewolf, its sharp claws glinting with menace and foul-smelling drool dripping from its jaws. Its movements weren’t the instinctive chaos of a typical beast; there was a terrifying purpose in its actions, its red eyes locked directly on me.
Perock immediately positioned himself in front of me, already in his werewolf form. He let out a thunderous roar, warning the rogue to back off. But the monster showed no fear, instead accelerating toward us.
The battle erupted in an instant.
Perock charged forward first, his movements swift and precise, each strike carrying immense power. I flanked to the side, searching for any vulnerability in the rogue werewolf. This was our first time fighting together, yet our coordination was surprisingly seamless.
“Watch out for its claws—they’re laced with poison!” Perock’s voice rang out in my mind, sharp and vivid, as if he were standing right beside me speaking the words aloud. The clarity of it caught me off guard, sending a jolt of surprise through me.
I couldn’t help but be stunned as I realized that a mind link had somehow formed between Perock and me. Under normalcircumstances, this kind of thing was exclusive, reserved only for an Alpha and the members of his own pack. Even more unthinkable was the fact that such a profound link shouldn’t be possible at all unless one of us had marked the other—a sacred act that cemented a bond on a physical and spiritual level.
Then, a memory surfaced—something my mother had once told me. She had spoken of the rare and extraordinary mate bonds that could form between royal bloodlines, connections that transcended the usual limitations of our kind. These bonds were said to be unlike any other, weaving ties that went beyond the ordinary, even beyond the need for traditional rituals. Even without the formal marking ceremony, our mental link was more acute, more profound than what most werewolf mates could ever experience.
“Got it! I’ll flank it!” I replied, my thoughts swift and focused, darting to the rogue’s left, my claws scraping the earth as I positioned myself for an attack.
Our wolves seemed to instinctively know how to fight in sync—when Perock drew the monster’s attention from the front, I seized the opportunity to strike from the side or rear; when the rogue werewolf turned toward me, Perock would immediately lunge forward, snapping at its hind legs or tail.
This teamwork left the rogue werewolf disoriented, its attacks repeatedly missing their mark, its furious roars echoing through the forest. But soon, we discovered a horrifying truth—its wounds healed almost instantly, and it seemed tireless, its strength growing the longer the fight dragged on.
“It’s enhanced by dark magic.” Perock’s tone grim with realization. “We need a killing blow, or it’ll keep getting stronger until it overpowers us.”
I immediately understood his intent and responded, “I’ll distract it. You look for the chance to land a fatal blow.”
Without waiting for Perock’s agreement, I charged toward the rogue werewolf, moving so fast that I left only a golden blur in my wake. I was much smaller than Perock, but far more agile, darting around the monster with rapid movements, constantly harassing its flanks and back, making it impossible for it to focus on a single target.
Perock seized the opportunity, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver a lethal strike. Our coordination was seamless, like a precisely choreographed dance—I advanced, he retreated; I retreated, he advanced; I harassed, he struck with force.
But the rogue werewolf seemed to sense our strategy and suddenly shifted its tactics. It no longer attacked aimlessly but focused solely on me—as if I were its true target.
