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Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the King

Abigail closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sharp, icy bite of steel against her back.

CLANG!

A sound like thunder exploding inside a cavern filled the room.

The spray of hot blood hit the wall, but none of it was Abigail's.

She opened her eyes.

Standing right in front of the bed, his massive black-armored back forming an impenetrable wall between Abigail and the assassins, was King Torin Cross.

He had caught the merc’s sword bare-handed.

The dark, razor-sharp steel blade was crushed inside Torin’s iron grip, blood dripping from his calloused palm onto the carpet. But Torin didn't even flinch. His face was completely transformed into his half-beast Alpha form—lengthened jaw, lethal white fangs, and eyes that burned like twin molten suns.

"You dare," Torin’s voice echoed, no longer human, but the deep, terrifying roar of a thousand-year-old apex predator, "enter my son's sanctuary?"

With a flick of his wrist, Torin snapped the steel sword in half as if it were a dry twig.

Before the assassin could even scream, Torin lunged forward. His black-clawed hand slammed into the man's chest, tearing clean through his chainmail armor and crushing his heart in a fraction of a second.

He threw the lifeless body aside like trash and turned his glowing eyes onto the lead merc holding the battleaxe.

The lead merc dropped his weapon. He fell to his knees, pissing himself in sheer terror. "Your Majesty... mercy! Lord Vance paid us! He said you were trapped at the lower wall!"

"My wall does not fall," Torin growled.

He stepped forward, grabbed the merc by the skull, and twisted his neck with a quick, brutal snap.

The room fell dead silent again, save for the crackle of the burning tapestries near the doorway and the heavy, ragged breathing of the Alpha King.

Torin slowly shifted back into his human form. The lethal fangs retracted, and his glowing golden eyes softened as his gaze fell upon Abigail, who was still crouching over Finn, holding the boy securely beneath her body.

Torin dropped to his knees in front of them. He reached out, his hand dripping with enemy blood, and pulled both Abigail and Finn into his massive, warm embrace.

"Are you hurt?" Torin asked, his voice rough, shaking with an emotion he hadn't felt in years. "Did they touch either of you?"

"We're safe, Sire," Abigail breathed, her tears finally breaking through as the adrenaline began to fade. She let her head rest against his iron-clad shoulder for just a brief second before pulling back to check on Finn. "Finn is safe."

Finn wrapped his small arms around Torin’s neck. "Daddy! You beat the bad men!"

Torin squeezed his son tight, his eyes snapping shut as he pressed a kiss into the boy’s dark hair. "I did, sweet boy. I did."

He looked up at Abigail. His hand reached out, gently cupping the side of her face, his thumb wiping away a streak of ash from her cheekbone.

"The rebellion at the gates is broken," Torin revealed softly. "Vance’s army broke the moment my vanguard pushed through their flank. But Vance escaped into the dark woods toward the Southern border. He's running for the Shadow Wastes."

Abigail’s eyes darkened. "If he reaches the Shadow Wastes, he'll forge more cursed silver. He'll gather another army."

"He won't reach the border," Torin said, a cold, terrifying smile touching his sharp lips. "Because I am hunting him down tonight. And I want you to come with me, Abigail."

Abigail blinked in surprise. "Me, Your Majesty?"

"You know his dark magic," Torin said, his golden eyes locking onto hers with intense, unwavering trust. "You know his smiths. And my son refuses to be separated from you."

Finn nodded vigorously from Torin's arms, holding onto Abigail’s apron skirt with his tiny hand. "Abi comes!"

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Abigail looked at the little prince, then up at the formidable, lethal Alpha King who had protected them both. The quiet maid who had arrived at Obsidian Ridge two weeks ago was gone. In her place stood a woman who had reclaimed her father's legacy.

"Get me a war horse, Your Majesty," Abigail said, her chin lifting with pride. "Let's hunt down the snake."

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