I Drugged My Secret Lover To Prove He Wasn’t A Monster — But I Trapped Us Both With The Real Killer
Part 2
“I’ll be the undisputed hero of this pathetic village,” Craig hissed, his foul breath hot against my ear.
He twisted my arm sharply behind my back, making me gasp against his calloused palm.
He confessed he had been murdering his business rivals and blaming the mythical beast to seize control of the docks.
“Once I cut your pretty throat, I’ll claim the monster got you too,” he sneered.
He nodded to his crony, Brian, who was hovering nervously in the tree line.
“Go down to the boat shed and gut that useless blacksmith apprentice while he sleeps,” Craig ordered.
Absolute panic electrified my veins as Brian sprinted off toward the docks.
Tyler was heavily drugged, bound tight, and completely defenseless.
I thrashed wildly, stomping my heavy boot down onto Craig’s foot with everything I had.
He cursed violently, the serrated blade slicing a shallow line across my collarbone.
He shoved me hard against the rough bark of a pine tree, knocking the wind from my lungs.
“You should have just married me when I asked nicely,” he spat, raising the knife for a fatal strike.
A deafening, unnatural roar shook the very leaves of the forest canopy.
A massive blur of bone-white fury erupted from the undergrowth.
The wolf hit Craig with the force of a falling boulder, taking him to the forest floor.
Craig’s terrified scream was abruptly cut short as heavy jaws clamped over his knife arm.
The sickening crack of snapping bone echoed through the clearing.
The beast didn’t hesitate, immediately lunging for his throat with primal, ruthless efficiency.
Craig’s lifeless body slumped into the blood-soaked moss in mere seconds.
The wolf staggered backward, its sides heaving desperately for air.
It turned its massive head toward me, its golden eyes dimming with profound agony.
A deep, jagged laceration stretched across its left flank, pouring dark blood onto the ground.
Tyler had somehow broken through the sedative and the ropes just to save my life.
I dropped to my knees beside the magnificent creature, pressing my trembling hands over the fatal wound.
The sudden roar of shouting men shattered the quiet night.
A dozen villagers burst into the clearing, their torches illuminating the bloody scene.
My father stood at the front of the mob, his eyes wide with horror as he took in Craig’s mutilated corpse.
“Kill the beast!” someone screamed from the back of the crowd.
Spears and axes were instantly raised toward the bleeding animal.
I stood up, spreading my arms wide to shield the wolf with my own fragile body.
The entire village raised their weapons at the bleeding wolf, but how could I make them understand the monster they were hunting was the only innocent one among us?
Part 3
Megan planted her heavy, mud-caked boots firmly into the blood-soaked earth of the forest floor.
She spread her arms out wide, creating a desperate, fragile shield between the massive white wolf and the advancing mob.
Dozens of iron torches flickered furiously against the dark, suffocating canopy of the ancient woods.
The dancing orange flames cast long, menacing shadows across the faces of the men she had known her entire life.
They were fishermen, carpenters, and farmers, but tonight they looked like ruthless executioners.
“Get out of the damn way, Megan,” her father bellowed, his voice rough with panic and fury.
He stood at the forefront of the pack, his heavy, iron-tipped fishing spear trembling violently in his calloused grip.
“That beast just murdered Craig right in front of us,” another villager shouted, hefting a rusted wood axe over his shoulder.
Megan shook her head frantically, refusing to yield a single inch of ground.
Hot tears cut clean tracks through the thick layer of dirt and blood smeared across her pale cheeks.
“Craig was the real murderer,” she screamed, her voice cracking painfully under the strain of absolute terror.
“He confessed everything to me just moments ago.”
She pointed a trembling finger toward the mutilated corpse lying in the shadows.
“He killed Dan and the others to frame the wolf, and he just tried to slit my throat.”
The villagers exchanged uncertain, fearful glances, their conviction momentarily wavering.
But the intoxicating bloodlust of the hunt was too strong to be broken by logic.
“She has gone completely mad,” Brian yelled from the back of the aggressive pack.
“The beast has corrupted her mind!”
“Kill the monster before it takes another innocent life!”
The men surged forward with a collective, terrifying roar.
The sharp tips of their weapons glinted brightly in the wavering firelight.
Megan squeezed her eyes shut tightly, bracing herself for the fatal impact of the spears.
She was fully prepared to die defending the creature that had just saved her life.
A low, vibrating groan suddenly rumbled from the broad chest of the dying wolf beneath her.
The heavy, violent tension in the clearing instantly shifted.
The air thickened unnaturally, pressing down on them until it felt like trying to breathe deep underwater.
A blinding, ethereal light erupted from the wolf’s prone, bleeding body.
The aggressive villagers stumbled backward in shock, throwing their arms up to shield their retinas from the sudden glare.
Megan dropped to her knees in the damp moss, watching the impossible spectacle unfold right before her eyes.
The thick, coarse white fur began to melt away into the soil like snow exposed to a roaring furnace.
The massive, intimidating animal anatomy contracted and reshaped with violent speed.
The agonizing, wet crunch of shifting bone echoed through the completely silent forest.
Within a matter of seconds, the terrifying apex predator was entirely gone.
Tyler lay perfectly still in the bloody dirt, his bare human chest barely rising with each shallow, ragged breath.
A collective, horrified gasp ripped through the stunned crowd of fishermen.
The heavy iron spear slipped completely from her father’s loose, numb grip.
It clattered loudly against the forest stones, the sound sharp like a gunshot.
Megan threw herself over Tyler’s shivering, naked body without a second thought.
“Please,” she sobbed openly, looking up at the frozen, terrified faces of her neighbors.
“He was only trying to protect me from Craig.”
Her father stared down at the blacksmith’s humble apprentice, his mind clearly struggling to comprehend the impossible reality.
The deep, jagged laceration that had felled the massive wolf now wept dark crimson blood across Tyler’s human ribs.
Megan pressed her trembling, blood-slicked hands desperately against the horrific wound.
She pushed down with all her weight, trying to stem the catastrophic arterial flow.
“Help me,” she begged, her voice dropping to a hoarse, broken whisper.
“Please, you cannot let him die out here.”
Her father finally snapped out of his paralyzed, fear-induced stupor.
He shoved his way past the stunned, unmoving fishermen.
He dropped to his knees in the mud right beside his weeping daughter.
He didn’t ask any of the million questions clearly burning behind his eyes.
He simply slid his strong, weather-beaten arms firmly under Tyler’s broad shoulders.
“Grab his damn legs,” her father barked at the nearest villager.
The man hesitated for a long moment, his eyes darting nervously toward the dark trees.
But the sheer authority in her father’s voice compelled him to obey.
Together, they lifted Tyler’s dead, bleeding weight from the cold forest floor.
Megan followed closely behind them, her hands stained a vibrant, terrifying crimson all the way up to her wrists.
The tense, terrified procession marched silently back toward the edge of the sleeping village.
No one spoke a single word about the mutilated corpse of the town bully they left behind in the clearing.
The only sound was the heavy crunch of boots on dry leaves and Tyler’s ragged, struggling breaths.
They bypassed the main market square entirely, avoiding the prying eyes of anyone awake.
They headed straight for the small, cluttered wooden cottage at the far edge of the woods.
Brenda stood waiting on her front porch, holding a flickering oil lantern.
Her weathered, lined face was completely devoid of surprise, as if she had expected this exact outcome.
She pushed her heavy oak door open wide, gesturing urgently toward the long wooden table in the center of her kitchen.
“Lay him down gently, you clumsy fools,” the old healer commanded sharply.
She was already reaching for her vast collection of glass jars and dried herb bundles.
The men deposited Tyler onto the hard wood table, stepping back quickly as if he might suddenly bite them.
The village chief shoved his way through the narrow doorway, his face purple with absolute outrage.
“We need to bind this creature in heavy iron chains immediately,” the chief demanded.
He pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at the unconscious, bleeding man.
“He is a dangerous, unnatural monster living right under our noses.”
Brenda spun around on her heel, slamming a heavy mortar and pestle down onto her counter.
The loud crack made the village chief jump back in surprise.
“You will do absolutely no such thing in my house,” Brenda snapped, her dark eyes flashing with pure authority.
“The boy is completely unconscious and actively bleeding out on my dining table.”
The chief opened his mouth to argue, puffing his chest out to assert his dominance.
Brenda pointed fiercely toward the open door before he could utter a single syllable.
“You can post fifty armed guards outside my windows for all I care.”
“But you will leave my patient in peace, or I will stop treating your gout.”
The men grumbled under their breath, exchanging deeply uncomfortable looks.
Slowly, reluctantly, they shuffled backward out into the cold, damp night air.
Megan’s father lingered near the wooden threshold, his eyes full of complex, unsaid emotions.
He looked at the blood covering his daughter, then at the dying man on the table.
He gave Megan a long, meaningful nod of solidarity before softly pulling the door shut behind him.
The sudden, heavy silence in the small cottage was broken only by the gentle crackle of the hearth fire.
Megan sank heavily onto a low, three-legged wooden stool.
Her adrenaline-fueled strength finally evaporated, leaving her limbs feeling like lead.
She watched Brenda carefully wash away the dirt and blood from the horrific wound on Tyler’s side.
The laceration was incredibly deep, exposing the pale white bone of his ribs.
“Is he going to survive this?” Megan whispered, terrified of hearing the truth.
Brenda smiled softly, her calloused hands working with practiced, incredible speed.
She applied a thick, pungent green paste of crushed leaves directly to the torn flesh.
“Shifters possess an incredible, almost miraculous capacity for cellular healing,” the older woman explained calmly.
“By tomorrow morning, there won’t even be a faint pink scar to prove this ever happened.”
Megan let out a shuddering, tearful breath, burying her exhausted face in her bloodstained hands.
The sheer relief was almost as overwhelming as the terror had been.
Brenda pulled a thick, woven wool blanket over Tyler’s exposed chest.
She tucked the edges securely around his broad shoulders to trap his body heat.
“You should go wash up and get some rest, child,” Brenda advised gently.
She moved toward her own small cot situated in the far corner of the room.
“I will keep a close watch on his breathing until dawn.”
Megan shook her head stubbornly, refusing to move a single inch from her spot.
She pulled her wooden stool much closer to the edge of the table.
She reached out and took Tyler’s cold, completely limp hand in both of hers.
She wasn’t going to leave his side, not after everything they had just violently endured.
The night stretched on in agonizingly slow, silent increments.
The dying orange embers in the stone hearth cast flickering, warm light across Tyler’s pale features.
Megan reached out with a trembling hand, tracing the strong, familiar line of his jaw with her thumb.
She sat in the quiet dark and thought back to that freezing, fateful morning on the desolate beach.
She remembered the absolute, naked terror in his glacial blue eyes when he realized his memory was entirely gone.
She recalled the desperate lie she had told the village elders to keep them from tossing him back into the brutal tide.
She thought about the countless hours she had spent watching him work at the village forge.
She remembered the intense, radiating heat of the fire, the brilliant shower of orange sparks flying from the anvil.
She remembered the effortless grace of his muscles bunching as he hammered hot iron into shape.
He had drawn the attention of every single unmarried woman in the settlement.
They had giggled and preened, touching his arms and demanding his attention with bold, shameless flirtations.
Megan had burned with a quiet, jealous agony, hiding behind her father’s fish stall because she felt too plain to compete.
He had been a complete mystery, a handsome blank slate dropped directly into her lonely, monotonous existence.
Yet, she had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with him almost immediately.
Then, her thoughts drifted to the massive, terrifying white beast who waited for her at the dark edge of the woods.
She remembered the overwhelming, primal fear of their very first encounter under the full moon.
But that fear had melted away the moment the predator had bowed its massive head to her.
She remembered the coarse, comforting warmth of its thick fur beneath her freezing fingertips.
She thought about the tiny, delicate sea shells the predator had brought her night after night.
Those smooth, iridescent pieces of glass had been silent, devoted offerings from a creature incapable of human speech.
She had poured all her secret, embarrassing feelings about the blacksmith out to the attentive animal.
She had loved the gentle man, and she had loved the wild beast, keeping them in separate compartments of her heart.
She had never once suspected they shared the exact same fractured soul.
Tyler had suffered through the agonizing, bone-breaking transformations entirely alone in the terrifying dark.
He had woken up day after day covered in forest dirt and unexplained blood.
He had lived in absolute terror of what monster he might secretly be.
And yet, his only core instinct had always been to fiercely protect her from harm.
He had fought through the heavy, paralyzing sedative just to track her scent into the woods.
He had traded his own safety to tear a murderer away from her throat.
Fresh, hot tears welled up in her eyes again, dripping silently onto their firmly joined hands.
She rested her heavy forehead against his knuckles, letting the steady, rhythmic thump of his heartbeat ground her racing mind.
Gray, hesitant morning light finally began to filter through the narrow cracks in the wooden shutters.
The village outside remained eerily, unnervingly quiet.
The normal, bustling sounds of the morning market and the shouting fishermen were completely absent.
Megan blinked her heavy, gritty eyes open, her neck painfully stiff from sleeping hunched over the hard table.
She slowly lifted her head and found Tyler quietly staring back at her.
His pale blue eyes were entirely clear, completely stripped of the persistent confusion that had clouded them for months.
“Megan,” he rasped, his vocal cords rough and dry from disuse.
A wave of pure, unfiltered relief washed over her entire body.
She let out a wet, breathless laugh, squeezing his warm hand as tightly as she could.
Tyler pushed himself up into a seated position with an effortless, fluid grace.
Megan’s eyes immediately dropped to his ribs, searching for the fatal injury.
The horrific, gaping wound on his side was completely, miraculously gone.
It left behind nothing but perfectly smooth, unblemished skin, exactly as Brenda had promised.
Tyler didn’t seem to notice or care about his miraculous, impossible recovery.
His intense, unwavering focus was locked entirely on her exhausted face.
He reached out slowly, his warm, strong fingers gently cupping the side of her jaw.
His thumb brushed away a dried, crusty streak of mud and blood from her cheekbone.
Then, his sharp eyes dropped to the thin, angry red laceration slicing across her delicate collarbone.
Craig’s serrated hunting blade had left a permanent, visual reminder of his malice.
A dangerous, feral shadow instantly passed over Tyler’s handsome features.
“That bastard actually hurt you,” Tyler growled, the animalistic sound vibrating deep within his broad chest.
“It doesn’t matter,” Megan said quickly, leaning her face into his comforting touch.
“You stopped him before he could do anything worse to me.”
Tyler’s dark, angry expression softened into something incredibly, painfully vulnerable.
“Did I terrify you last night?” he asked, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper.
“When I was the beast, when I ripped a man apart right in front of you.”
Megan shook her head immediately, her gaze locking fiercely onto his.
“I have never been afraid of you, Tyler, not for a single second.”
“Not when you washed up half-dead on the beach, and not when you brought me sea glass in the dark woods.”
Tyler let out a ragged, emotional breath, pulling her roughly against his bare chest.
He buried his face deep in her tangled, dirty hair, holding her tight.
He held her like she was the only real, solid thing left in his entire world.
“I remember absolutely everything now,” he murmured softly against her ear.
“The suffocating fog in my mind is completely gone.”
Megan pulled back slightly, searching his eyes in the dim, dusty morning light.
“Do you remember exactly who you were before you washed ashore here?” she asked hesitantly.
Before Tyler could open his mouth to answer, a piercing, ceremonial trumpet blast shattered the quiet morning.
The brassy, echoing sound bounced off the coastal cliffs, completely foreign and demanding.
Confused, panicked shouting immediately erupted from the village square right outside the cottage window.
“What in the world is happening out there?” Megan asked, her heart kicking into a sudden, frantic rhythm.
Tyler smiled, displaying a confident, regal expression she had never once seen him wear.
“It is all right, my love,” he said smoothly, his voice radiating absolute calm.
“They are finally here for me.”
He swung his long legs off the edge of the table, completely unbothered by his utter lack of clothing.
Megan’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson from her neck to her hairline.
She scrambled to grab an oversized, itchy wool tunic from Brenda’s rocking chair.
She threw the garment directly at his chest, quickly turning her back to him to give him privacy.
“Please put some clothes on,” she stammered, staring intently at the wooden wall.
Tyler chuckled softly, the sound rich, deep, and genuinely amused by her modesty.
He pulled the rough tunic over his head, adjusting the coarse fabric over his broad, muscular shoulders.
“I am thoroughly decent now,” he announced, stepping up quietly behind her.
He reached down and gently, deliberately intertwined his long fingers with hers.
“Come outside with me,” he requested, gently leading her toward the heavy wooden door.
They stepped out onto the creaky porch just as a massive, intimidating royal procession flooded the muddy village square.
Megan gasped aloud, her eyes widening at the incredible, overwhelming display of immense wealth and military power.
Dozens of elite, armored knights mounted on massive, snorting warhorses formed a tight, defensive perimeter around the town well.
Vibrant silk banners bearing an intricate, silver wolf crest flapped wildly in the salty ocean breeze.
The entire population of the village was pressed nervously against the outer edges of the square, staring in absolute, terrified awe.
An ornate, heavily gilded wooden carriage rolled to a stop right in the center of the muddy cobblestones.
The carriage door swung open violently, and a woman stepped out with terrifying, commanding grace.
She wore a breathtaking gown of shimmering emerald silk, completely alien in their grim, impoverished little town.
A delicate, glittering silver crown rested perfectly upon her dark, intricately braided hair.
Megan recognized the sharp shape of the woman’s eyes immediately.
They were the exact same piercing shade of glacial blue as Tyler’s.
“Where is he?” the royal woman demanded, her voice cutting through the silent crowd like a freshly sharpened blade.
“What have you ignorant, filthy fools done to my brother?”
The village chief stumbled forward on trembling legs, falling heavily to his knees in the wet mud.
He was visibly shaking, his wrinkled hands clasped together in a desperate gesture of supplication.
“Your Majesty,” the chief stammered, pressing his sweaty forehead dangerously close to the dirt.
“We swear we do not know where your brother is.”
The princess took a threatening, purposeful step forward, her eyes flashing with absolute, murderous fury.
“Do not dare lie to me, peasant,” she hissed, her tone promising horrific violence.
“If a single hair on his royal head has been harmed, this entire miserable settlement will burn to ash before noon.”
Tyler squeezed Megan’s hand reassuringly, his grip warm and steady.
“That is quite enough theatrics, Heather,” Tyler called out, his voice echoing with undeniable, innate authority.
He stepped down from the wooden porch, pulling Megan along firmly beside him.
The very moment he stepped into the morning sunlight, the entire royal guard dropped to one knee in perfect, practiced unison.
The deafening clatter of heavy steel armor hitting the cobblestones sent a physical shockwave through the terrified villagers.
“Your Majesty,” the elite soldiers chanted together, their helmeted heads bowed low in absolute reverence.
The villagers stared in horrified, frozen confusion for a split second before hastily throwing themselves face-first into the dirt.
Megan stood completely frozen, her hand still tightly gripped in the hand of a man everyone was suddenly treating like a living god.
Princess Heather let out a choked, thoroughly unroyal sob of relief.
She abandoned all strict court decorum, sprinting across the muddy square and throwing her arms securely around Tyler’s neck.
Tyler let go of Megan’s hand for just a moment to return his sister’s desperate, tight embrace.
“Where have you been all this time?” Heather cried openly, burying her face in his rough wool shoulder.
“I could not feel our pack bond at all; we all truly thought you were dead.”
Tyler pulled back gently, resting his large hands reassuringly on her silk-covered shoulders.
“I was under a dark curse, little sister,” he explained calmly, his tone remarkably even.
Heather’s blue eyes narrowed dangerously, a lethal, protective anger instantly replacing her tears.
“Who would dare curse the reigning Alpha King?” she demanded, her voice echoing off the stone buildings.
The village chief, still groveling pathetically in the mud, let out a pathetic, high-pitched squeak of mortal terror.
“The Alpha King?” the chief whispered into the dirt, his face draining of all remaining color.
Megan felt her stomach drop completely out of her body, her mind struggling to process the revelation.
The quiet, gentle blacksmith who had collected tiny sea shells for her was the supreme ruler of the entire shifter realm.
Tyler completely ignored the groveling chief, keeping his intense focus entirely on his fuming sister.
“It was Queen Vesper of the Northern Coven,” Tyler revealed, his jaw tightening slightly.
Heather scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes with obvious, aristocratic disgust.
“The bitter witch you publicly rejected at the winter solstice ball?” she asked incredulously.
Tyler nodded, a faint, regretful grimace crossing his handsome, aristocratic features.
“She did not take the public humiliation of rejection well,” he admitted quietly.
“She cursed me to completely forget my own existence, to wander the earth as a blank slate.”
He turned slowly to address the kneeling crowd of villagers, his voice projecting easily across the silent square.
“I forgot that I was a reigning king, but I also forgot that I was born a wolf.”
“Whenever my inner beast forced a transformation purely to survive, my human mind would completely black out.”
“I was violently trapped between two separate lives, completely ignorant of both identities.”
Heather frowned deeply, reaching out to gently touch his muscular forearm.
“Why couldn’t our royal seers track your location through the ancient pack bond?” she asked.
“The dark magic was incredibly specific and thorough,” Tyler explained, his eyes drifting slowly back toward Megan.
“It severed all my magical ties to the pack until someone could organically break the spell.”
“And how exactly was the curse broken?” Heather pressed, looking around the miserable village with disdain.
Tyler smiled, a soft, immensely tender expression that made Megan’s breath catch painfully in her throat.
“Someone had to unconditionally love both halves of my soul without knowing they belonged to the exact same man.”
A stunned, heavy silence fell over the muddy, crowded square.
The villagers slowly lifted their heads from the dirt, exchanging bewildered, comprehending glances.
Then, the eager whispers started rippling through the crowd like a rising ocean tide.
“He obviously means Megan,” Brenda’s raspy voice called out confidently from the shadows of the porch.
“She has been hopelessly in love with him since the day she pulled him from the surf.”
“She physically protected the wolf last night when the rest of us wanted to mount its head on a spike,” her father added loudly.
Megan desperately wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole body right then and there.
Her deepest, most embarrassing secret was brutally obvious to everyone in town.
And now she was standing in front of an elite royal court completely covered in dried mud and old blood.
Heather slowly turned her piercing blue gaze toward Megan, assessing her critically from head to toe.
The princess’s beautiful expression remained perfectly polite, but her eyes were undeniably cold and dismissive.
“We owe you a great debt of gratitude, peasant girl,” Heather stated, her tone dripping with quiet, polished condescension.
“You will be compensated very handsomely in gold for your service to the royal crown.”
A deep, terrifying, primal growl ripped through the morning air, vibrating the very ground beneath their boots.
Tyler stepped directly between Megan and his sister, his eyes flashing a brilliant, predatory, glowing gold.
“You are addressing my fated, true mate, Heather,” Tyler snarled, his sharp fangs elongating slightly over his bottom lip.
“You will show your future Queen the absolute respect she deserves right this instant.”
Heather’s haughty, aristocratic expression shattered into a million pieces instantly.
Her blue eyes widened in genuine shock before breaking into a brilliant, thrilled smile.
“Your true mate?” Heather gasped, clapping her manicured hands together in pure delight.
“Oh, that changes things entirely; please forgive my terrible rudeness, sister.”
Megan’s overwhelmed mind went completely, utterly blank.
She stared up at Tyler, her heart hammering frantically, painfully against her ribs.
“Mate?” she repeated softly, the heavy word feeling clumsy and foreign on her tongue.
Tyler turned to her, his glowing golden eyes softening immediately back to their natural pale blue.
He closed the short distance between them, taking both of her trembling, dirty hands in his large, warm ones.
“You found me broken and drowning in the freezing surf, and you gave me a name when I had none,” he said softly.
“You sat with a terrifying, massive monster in the pitch dark, and you never once showed an ounce of fear.”
He lifted one of her hands, pressing a reverent, lingering kiss against her bloodstained knuckles.
“You loved the gentle man, and you loved the wild beast, expecting absolutely nothing in return.”
His beautiful, sincere words washed over her, filling the hollow, lonely spaces that had lived inside her chest for years.
“I am an Alpha King by birth, but I am absolutely nothing without my other half,” Tyler declared loudly.
His strong voice carried to every single listening ear in the crowded square.
“You are my true mate, Megan, chosen by the fates themselves.”
He reached up carefully, cupping her filthy face with incredible, worshipful gentleness.
“If you will have me, I want you to rule by my side forever.”
The entire village was watching them with bated, anxious breath.
The royal guard remained perfectly still like statues, waiting for the command of their new queen.
Megan looked down at her stained, ruined clothes, at the thick mud caked on her boots, at the dried blood stuck under her fingernails.
She looked back up at the incredibly powerful, devastatingly beautiful man who was offering her the entire world.
She didn’t have the sophisticated, elegant vocabulary of a highborn royal court.
She didn’t know how to make a sweeping, dignified, historical speech.
“I am completely covered in blood and fish guts,” Megan blurted out nervously.
A moment of absolute, stunned silence stretched across the entire square.
Then, Tyler threw his head back and laughed, the sound bright, uninhibited, and entirely joyful.
“I will happily take that as a yes,” he grinned, his blue eyes dancing with pure mischief and love.
Megan didn’t waste another single second overthinking the impossible reality.
She threw her arms tightly around his neck, launching herself up onto the tips of her toes.
She pressed her lips fiercely against his, kissing him with all the desperate, burning longing she had hidden for months.
Tyler caught her effortlessly, his strong, muscular arms wrapping tight around her waist to lift her right off the ground.
The elite royal guard erupted into deafening cheers, drawing their gleaming swords to salute the newly united royal couple.
The bewildered villagers joyfully joined the celebration, their loud shouts echoing over the crashing ocean waves.
Megan held tightly onto her wolf, her king, knowing with absolute certainty that she had finally found her true home.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
