Alpha King Doesn’t Know I Can Hear Him Talking to His Wolf About Me and It Is the Sweetest Thing

Alpha King Doesn’t Know I Can Hear Him Talking to His Wolf About Me and It Is the Sweetest Thing

Without so much as a blink, the terrifying alpha king of the north just ordered a traitor executed.

But as he turned his icy, blood-flecked glare on me, a booming, phantom voice echoed unexpectedly in my mind.

“Look at her little nose.”

His wolf whined.

“Give her a strawberry.”

He had absolutely no idea I was listening in.

The northern kingdom of Ethelred was a brutal place built of black stone, iron, and the blood of those foolish enough to challenge its ruler.

King Leander was a monster of legends.

At 26, he had conquered the rebellious southern territories, slaughtered the usurpers, and brought back a political hostage to ensure the south’s obedience.

That hostage was me.

Rowena of House Artois, my uncle, Duke Arthur, had surrendered me to the alpha king to save his own skin.

I was stripped of my silks, dressed in the heavy, scratchy wools of a castle ward, and assigned to clean the king’s private study.

The court whispered that Leander was heartless, that his inner wolf was a rabid, feral thing incapable [clears throat] of mercy.

When he walked into a room, courtiers dropped their gazes.

When he spoke, his voice was a whip of frost.

But I knew a secret.

A secret that would have me burned at the stake if discovered.

I was a hearer.

It was a latent, ancient magical bloodline passed down from my grandmother, Elena.

I could hear the spiritual tethers of the world, and more dangerously, I could hear the telepathic bonds between shifters and their wolves.

It started on my third day in the king’s study.

I was on my knees scrubbing the stone hearth.

My fingers raw from the ash and cold.

The heavy oak doors slammed open.

King Leander strode in bringing the scent of pine, winter wind, and copper.

He was massive, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.

His dark hair swept back from a face carved from granite.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto me.

I immediately bowed my head, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Leave the ashes.”

Leander snapped, his spoken voice deep, rough, and entirely devoid of warmth.

“You’re in my way, girl.”

I scrambled to my feet grabbing my bucket.

“Forgive me, your [clears throat] grace.”

I murmured, keeping my eyes glued to his muddy boots.

Suddenly, a deep rumbling voice vibrated through the very center of my skull.

It wasn’t spoken aloud.

It was entirely mental, vibrating with a chaotic, animalistic energy.

“She is shivering.”

The voice whimpered.

It sounded like a massive, deadly beast reduced to a whining pup.

“Why did you yell at her?

You scared her.

Apologize right some right now.”

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat.

Then a second mental voice, cooler, distinctly Leander’s, but laced with a heavy sigh, responded.

“I am the king.

I do not apologize to political wards.

Besides, if I show her favor, the court will tear her apart.”

“I will tear the court apart.”

The wolf growled back, a terrifying sound that made my knees weak.

“Look at her hands.

They are red.

Ash is ruining her soft skin.

Wrap her in our furs.

Build the fire.

Build it now.

Control yourself.

Leander’s mental voice snapped back.

Though I could hear the ragged edge of restraint in it.

She smells of lavender and fear.

If I step closer, I will lose my mind.

I stood there, paralyzed, my hands gripping the wooden bucket so tightly my knuckles turned white.

He thought I smelled like lavender.

The fearsome alpha king, the butcher of Ethelburg, was standing 5 ft away, looking at me with an expression of pure, unadulterated disdain.

Yet inside his head, he and his wolf were having a frantic argument about my cold hands.

I said, “Leave.”

Leander commanded aloud, his jaw clenching.

I bowed hastily and scurried out the door, my mind reeling.

Over the next month, this became my daily torment and my greatest amusement.

Outwardly, Leander ignored me.

He assigned me exhausting tasks, cataloging his massive library, polishing his armor, serving his wine.

The court took his icy demeanor as a sign that I was worthless, a mere dog kicking around the castle.

But in the silence of his chambers, I heard everything.

When I wore a slightly tighter bodice, sent by my friend Beatrice, Leander walked past me without a glance.

But internally, “Mate,” his wolf purred, a sound like grinding boulders.

“Look at the curve of her waist.

I want to bite the tailor who made that dress for touching her.

Then I want to take the dress off her.”

“Look away,” Leander mentally groaned, pouring himself a goblet of wine with a hand that slightly trembled.

If I look at her for one more second, I am going to throw her over my shoulder and lock us in the bedchamber for a month.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to blush scarlet.

To keep my face completely blank as I continued dusting the shelves.

The dichotomy between the terrifying scowling king who ordered executions before breakfast and the desperately smitten man and beast inside his head was intoxicating.

But it was also incredibly dangerous.

I was falling for a man who refused to show his heart to the world and I was playing a game of deceit just by listening.

The real danger began during the winter solstice banquet.

The great hall was draped in crimson banners and lit by a thousand beeswax candles.

The entire northern nobility had gathered, a den of vipers dressed in velvet and furs.

I was positioned near the high table tasked with refilling the wine goblets of the king’s inner circle.

It was a humiliating position for a duke’s niece orchestrated by Lord Richard, Leander’s slick silver-tongued advisor.

Richard despised the south and wanted me broken or dead.

Alongside him sat Lady Genevieve, a stunning venomous she-wolf from a powerful northern clan who had long sought the title of queen.

As I approached the table with a heavy silver pitcher, Lady Genevieve subtly shifted her chair sticking her foot out into my path.

I saw it at the last second but with the heavy pitcher in my hands, I couldn’t stop.

I stumbled, the pitcher slipping from my grasp.

I braced for the crash, for the humiliation of red wine splashing across the stone floor and onto the nobles.

In a blur of motion, faster than the eye could track, Leander was out of his chair.

He caught my arm with one hand, steadying me instantly, and caught the heavy silver pitcher by its handle with the other.

Not a single drop of wine was spilled.

The hall fell dead silent.

The king touching a servant, catching a pitcher.

He released me as if my skin burned him, slamming the pitcher onto the table.

His face was an absolute mask of furious ice.

He glared down at me.

“Clumsy.”

He spat loudly, making sure the entire hall heard.

“If you cannot manage a simple pour, you belong in the stables.”

A few nobles laughed, Lady Genevieve smirking into her goblet.

I lowered my eyes, bowing.

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

But inside his head, an absolute inferno had erupted.

“I will rip her throat out.”

The wolf was roaring, thrashing against Leander’s mental restraints.

“Genevieve tried to hurt our mate.

Did you see her ankle?

Did she twist it?

Kill the she-wolf.

Rip out her spine and feed it to the crows.”

“Quiet.”

Leander’s mental voice was equally frantic, though laced with cold calculation.

“If I execute Genevieve for tripping a servant, her clan will rebel.

Rowena is not safe here.

She is surrounded by enemies.

Did I grab her arm too hard?

Is she bruising?

Gods, her skin is so soft.

I am a monster.”

I stepped back to the shadows against the wall, my heart swelling painfully.

He had publicly humiliated me to maintain the illusion that I meant nothing to him, to protect me from the political fallout.

Later that evening, the deception grew darker.

As the banquet raged on, I slipped into the adjacent corridor to fetch more wine from the cellars.

The stone hallways were quiet, lit only by flickering torches.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to find Lord Richard stepping out of the shadows.

A long way from the warm south.

Aren’t you, little bird?

Richard sneered, stepping too close.

He smelled of sour ale and malice.

You play the meek servant well, but I intercepted a letter from your uncle, Duke Arthur.

He expects you to find the king’s battle plans.

I know nothing of any plans, I said, keeping my voice steady, though fear iced my veins.

It doesn’t matter.

Richard smiled, a cruel twisting of his lips.

He pulled a small, sealed parchment from his cloak and shoved it into the pocket of my apron.

Because when the guards find this forged map on you tonight, the king will have no choice but to execute you for treason, a southern spy.

Before I could react, heavy footsteps echoed at the end of the hall.

Richard quickly stepped back, arranging his face into a mask of polite concern.

King Leander turned the corner.

His dark eyes locked onto Richard, then darted to me.

Outwardly, his expression remained impassive, an unreadable block of ice.

What is the meaning of this?

He demanded, his spoken voice low and dangerous.

Your grace.

Richard bowed smoothly.

I was just questioning the girl.

She was lingering in the halls.

I suspect she is up to no good.

I held my breath, terrified.

If Leander searched me, he would find the map.

But then the mental voices flooded my mind.

He is too close to her.

The wolf snarled.

He smells of deceit.

Tear his arms off.

Richard is plotting, Leander [clears throat] thought rapidly, his brilliant tactical mind whirring.

He is trying to trap her.

If I defend her now, he will know I favor her and use it against me.

I must play his game until I have proof.

Leander stepped closer, towering over both of us.

He looked at me with immense disdain.

She is a foolish servant girl, Richard.

Scarcely able to read, let alone plot.

Leave her to her duties.

But son, Richard protested.

Are you questioning my judgment, Lord Richard?

Leander’s voice dropped an octave, radiating alpha command.

Richard paled and bowed deeply.

No, your grace, of course not.

He shot me a venomous look before retreating down the hall.

Leander and I were left alone in the flickering torchlight.

He didn’t look at me.

He just stared straight ahead.

Get back to the kitchens, he ordered coldly.

Take the paper out of your pocket, Rowena.

Leander’s inner voice whispered in a desperate mental prayer.

Whatever he planted on you, burn it in the kitchen fires.

Please be smart, my brave little bird.

Please survive this until I can make it safe for you.

My breath hitched.

I bowed low.

Yes, your grace.

As I walked away, I felt the heavy protective weight of his gaze on my back.

The Alpha King thought he was fighting this war alone, bearing the burden of a secret mate while playing a deadly political game.

He thought I was just a fragile girl, completely unaware of his devotion.

It was time to show the King of the North exactly what a southern girl could do.

I did not run to the kitchens immediately.

Instead, I ducked into the alcove behind the armory, my hands trembling as I pulled the forged parchment from my apron.

It bore my Uncle Arthur’s exact seal in crimson wax.

Inside, a painstakingly drawn map detailed the weak points of Ethelred’s northern watchtowers, complete with a forged signature in my own handwriting.

Lord Richard had spared no expense in sealing my death warrant.

I thrust the map into a nearby iron brazier, watching the flames curl the edges, consuming the treacherous ink until nothing remained but ash.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Richard would not stop here.

If his forged map failed, he would resort to a blade in the dark.

I realized then that my survival and the survival of the Alpha King, who secretly agonized over my cold hands, depended entirely on the ancient forbidden magic dormant in my blood.

I had to become a true hearer, not just a passive listener.

Over the next 2 weeks, I weaponized my silence.

While scrubbing the stone floors of the Great Hall or mending tapestries in the corridors, I cast my mind outward, tuning into the spiritual tethers of the castle’s inhabitants.

The minds of ordinary humans were silent to me, but the shifters were loud, a cacophony of primal instincts and telepathic whispers.

I quickly learned to filter the noise, focusing my mental net entirely on Lord Richard and his inner circle.

It was during the eve of the great winter hunt that I uncovered the true depth of the rot.

I was polishing the silver candelabras in the darkened antechamber when Richard entered the adjoining hall with Commander Cedric, a high-ranking officer of the royal guard.

I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold stone wall, and listened.

Outwardly, they spoke of supply lines and grain shortages, but beneath the surface, the telepathic bond between Cedric and his wolf was vibrating with dark, nervous energy.

“The silver-tipped arrows are hidden in the hollow oak near the frozen river.”

Cedric’s wolf growled internally, a sound like scraping iron.

“Are we certain the king’s beast will not smell the poison?”

Through their tether, I heard Richard’s smug mental reply, channeled through Cedric’s pack link.

“Wolfsbane masked in deer blood.

The king’s senses will be overwhelmed by the hunt.

When he separates from the main party to track the white stag, we strike.

We end his reign, blame the southern rebels, and I take the throne as regent.”

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

Assassination.

They were going to kill Leander tomorrow in the whispering woods.

Panic surged through me.

How could I warn him?

I was a hostage, a ward of the crown.

If I approached the king’s guards with claims of a conspiracy, Richard would have me thrown in the dungeon before I could even utter Cedric’s name.

If I confessed to my hearer abilities, the church would demand my execution for witchcraft.

I needed to be at the hunt.

I needed to protect him myself, somehow.

The next morning, the courtyard was a frenzy of barking hounds, stomping steeds, and fur-clad nobles.

The air was bone-chillingly crisp, the sky a bruised, heavy purple.

I stood near the stables, wrapping my thin wool cloak tighter around my shoulders, desperately trying to find a way into the hunting party.

Fate, it seemed, wore the bitter face of Lady Genevieve.

“You there, southern rat!”

Genevieve barked, riding up on a sleek black mare.

She sneered down at me, her eyes flashing with petty malice.

“My ladies and I require a servant to carry our spare cloaks and fetch our hot wine.

Keep up or freeze in the snow.

I care not which.”

It was a cruel, degrading order meant to humiliate me before the court.

But to me, it was a lifeline.

I bowed my head.

“Yes, my lady.”

I mounted an old swaybacked mule at the rear of the procession.

Up ahead, at the vanguard, King Leander sat atop a massive warhorse.

He wore dark leather armor reinforced with steel, a thick direwolf pelt draped over his broad shoulders.

He looked every inch the merciless conqueror.

But as the procession began to move, his chaotic internal monologue flooded my mind.

Where is she?

I did not see her in the courtyard.

Leander’s wolf was pacing frantically inside his mind, whining with high-pitched anxiety.

Did she eat this morning?

The kitchens only gave her porridge yesterday.

Porridge?

I am the king.

I will order them to bake her a mountain of sweet pastries.

Focus.

Leander’s cooler, strategic mind commanded.

Though I could hear the underlying thread of deep concern.

She is safer within the castle walls.

Richard has been too quiet.

I smell a trap today.

Keep your senses sharp.

I smell her!

The wolf suddenly roared, a burst of pure, unadulterated joy echoing in my skull.

Lavender and sweet milk.

She is here, in the back.

Look at her, Leander.

Turn around and look.

I cannot, Leander groaned internally.

If I look at her, Genevieve will see.

Richard will see.

I cannot put a target on her back.

We ride forward.

We keep her safe by ignoring her.

I gripped the reins of my mule, my throat tight with unshed tears.

He was riding into an ambush, entirely focused on my safety, while his own life hung by a thread.

I swore to the old gods right then, I would not let the king of the north fall.

The whispering woods were a labyrinth of ancient pines and snow-draped branches.

The hunt progressed deep into the forest, the baying of the hounds echoing off the frozen trunks.

As predicted, a massive white stag broke from the brush, darting toward the frozen river.

“The king’s quarry!”

Richard shouted, his voice ringing with fake enthusiasm.

“Stand back!

Let the king take the beast!”

Leander spurred his warhorse forward, separating from the main group, plunging into the thicket after the stag.

Cedric and three other guards seamlessly broke off, flanking him from a distance.

The trap was springing.

Without hesitating, I slipped off my mule.

Ignoring Genevieve’s sharp, indignant shouts, I darted into the trees, hiking up my heavy wool skirts as I trudged through the knee-deep snow.

I followed the fresh tracks, my lungs burning in the freezing air, my mind wide open.

I tuned out the wind.

I tuned out the hounds.

I listened for the dark, metallic taint of Cedric’s wolf.

“Draw the bows,” I heard Cedric command through the mental link.

“He is entering the clearing.

Aim for the gaps in his armor.

Wait for my signal.”

I broke through a line of frosted holly bushes and saw the frozen river.

Leander had dismounted, his massive frame perfectly still as he tracked the stag’s footprints in the snow.

He was utterly exposed.

Up on the snowy ridges flanking the river, I spotted the glint of silver arrowheads peeking through the pine needles.

There were four archers, completely hidden by the terrain.

Leander’s wolf, overwhelmed by the overwhelming scent of deer blood masking the wolfsbane, suspected nothing.

“Take him!”

Cedric’s mental voice snapped.

“Leander!”

I screamed at the top of my lungs, bursting from the tree line.

The king whipped around, his blue eyes widening in shock at the sight of me.

“Archers on the ridge!”

I shrieked.

The sound of snapping bowstrings echoed through the clearing.

Leander reacted with the terrifying speed of an alpha.

He threw himself to the side as four silver-tipped arrows buried themselves deep into the snow exactly where he had been standing.

Chaos erupted.

Leander roared, a sound that shook the snow from the branches.

In a blur of monstrous power, his bones snapped and shifted, his human form ripping away to reveal a massive midnight-black wolf.

He launched himself up the ridge, a streak of pure vengeance.

I heard the screams of the assassins as the king tore through their ranks.

I scrambled toward the frozen riverbank, desperately scanning the trees.

Three archers were down, but where was Cedric?

I cast my mind out frantically.

The beast is distracted.

I have the shot.

I will put this silver through his eye, Cedric thought, drawing his heavy crossbow from a high branch in the ancient oak directly above Leander’s blind spot.

Leander’s black wolf was standing over a fallen traitor, breathing heavily, entirely unaware of the lethal bolt aimed skull from above.

I didn’t have time to shout.

The wind was howling and the distance was too great.

I had to do the one thing I had never done.

I had to project my own mind into the alpha king’s tether.

I closed my eyes, focused every ounce of my willpower, and slammed my voice directly into Leander’s mind.

Above you, the oak tree.

Dodge left.

The massive black wolf flinched violently as if struck by lightning.

He didn’t look back.

Trusting the mental command implicitly, he threw his massive body to the left just as the heavy silver bolt slammed into the earth, burying itself completely in the permafrost.

Leander’s head snapped up.

He saw Cedric in the branches.

With a terrifying leap, the alpha king clamped his massive jaws around the traitor’s ankle and dragged him plummeting to the snow.

The fight was over in seconds.

Cedric’s neck was snapped, the assassination thwarted.

The woods fell deathly silent save for the howling wind.

Leander shifted back into his human form, crouching in the blood-stained snow.

He didn’t bother pulling on his clothes.

He turned slowly, his chest heaving, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto me across the frozen river.

He took a step toward me, then another.

Inside his head, it was absolute pandemonium.

She spoke in my head.

She spoke to us.

The wolf was howling, pacing in circles, entirely losing its mind with adoration and shock.

Our mate is a witch, a magic bird.

She saved us.

Kiss her.

Scent her.

Make her ours.

How is this possible?

Leander’s internal voice was reeling, his brilliant mind struggling to compute the impossible.

A Hera.

The bloodline is extinct.

She knew.

She knew the whole time.

Gods, how much did she hear?

Did she hear me?

He stopped 3 ft away from me.

The cold air practically sizzled between us.

I stood shivering in the snow, my cloak ruined, my cover entirely blown.

I was a dead woman walking, a confessed witch in a kingdom that burned them.

You Leander’s spoken voice was a raspy whisper.

He reached out, his massive blood-flecked hand hovering inches from my face.

“How did you know he was in the oak?”

I looked up into his terrifying, beautiful face.

I took a deep breath, resigning myself to my fate.

“Because,” I said softly, looking him dead in the eye, “I can hear him, too.”

Leander froze.

“Hear who?”

I offered him a small, trembling smile.

“Your wolf.

And for the record, your grace, I like strawberry pastries much more than porridge.”

Leander’s eyes went impossibly wide.

For the first time since I had met the butcher of Ethelgard, the icy mask utterly shattered.

A deep flush of red crept up his neck and across his sharp cheekbones.

The fearsome alpha king was blushing.

“She heard the strawberries.

She heard me calling her beautiful.”

The wolf was practically vibrating with chaotic glee.

“I told you, Leander.

I told you she was perfect.

Grab her.

Wrap her up.”

Before I could say another word, Leander lunged forward.

He didn’t strike me.

He swept me off my feet entirely, pulling my freezing body flush against his burning chest.

He wrapped his thick direwolf pelt around us both, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.

“You absolute, terrifying, reckless menace.”

Leander muttered aloud, his voice trembling with an emotion so fierce it broke my heart.

“You could have been killed.”

“You were the one being shot at.”

I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck, finally letting myself sink into the safety of his brutal strength.

“I don’t care about me.”

He growled, pulling back to cup my face in both of his large hands.

His thumbs stroked my freezing cheeks.

“I have loved you since the moment you stepped into my study with those ash-stained hands.

I thought I was protecting you by keeping you in the shadows.”

“Your wolf.”

I murmured, a tear slipping down my cheek, “was much better at expressing it.”

Leander let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

The kiss was desperate, burning hot, tasting of winter wind and absolute devotion.

It wasn’t the kiss of a conqueror, but the kiss of a man who had finally found his soul’s counterpart.

When we finally broke apart, the rest of the royal guard, having heard the commotion, burst into the clearing.

Lord Richard was among them, his face draining of all color as he saw Cedric’s broken body and the king, very much alive, holding me in his arms.

“Treason.”

Leander commanded, his spoken voice returning to the icy whip that terrified continents.

He didn’t even look at Richard, his eyes entirely fixed on me.

“Arrest Lord Richard.

Put him in irons.

If he resists, kill him.”

The guards immediately swarmed the treacherous advisor, dragging him away as he shouted empty protests into the snow.

Leander lifted me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me toward his warhorse.

“She is cold.”

The wolf hummed happily inside his mind, content and purring.

“Take her to the royal chambers.

Build the biggest fire.

And banish Genevieve.

I never liked her.”

For once, Leander thought back, a profound sense of peace settling over his mind.

“We are in complete agreement.”

Leander looked down at me, a genuine, breathtaking smile finally gracing his lips.

“Come, my little bird.

It is time the north met its true queen.”

And as we rode back to the black stone castle, the only thing I listened to was the steady, overwhelming sound of a king and his wolf completely and utterly in love with me.

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