08
1340 Words
Tyrant Luciano Zarkov:
The relentless tik—tik—tik of the antique clock carved through the silence, each second a quiet reminder of who owned the time in this room.
Alpha Henry—Governor by the Republic’s designation, nothing more—sat rigid at the head of the table. Sweat gathered along his hairline despite the cold. His fingers twitched once against the polished wood before going still again.
His Betas and Elders flanked him, but whatever authority they held outside this room had already been stripped away.
Here, they were nothing.
“Your Majesty…” Henry’s voice faltered, forcing steadiness he didn’t feel. “We’re… grateful for the blood donations to our hospitals. Truly. Lives are being saved because of you.”
A pause.
“May we know why you requested our presence?”
Requested.
Not summoned.
I let that word sit between us.
Then I said nothing.
Silence stretched—thick, deliberate. Long enough for discomfort to bloom, for posture to falter, for the illusion of control to crack at the edges.
Only when the air turned heavy did I move.
I leaned forward, slow, deliberate. Elbows resting on the table. Fingers steepled.
“Alpha Henry,” I said quietly, almost conversational. “I found my mate.”
The reaction was immediate.
A collective inhale. Eyes widened. A ripple of whispers broke out before being hastily smothered.
A mate.
The Tyrant’s queen—something most of them had begun to believe would never exist.
“That is—” an Elder leaned forward, too quickly, too eagerly. “That is extraordinary news, Your Majesty. We should prepare something fitting. A ceremony—an official welcome into the pack—”
I gave a single nod.
Then reached into my coat, withdrew a cigarette, and lit it. The small flare of the lighter briefly illuminated their faces—tense, expectant, afraid.
“I appreciate the thought,” I said, drawing in a slow breath. Smoke curled lazily from my lips. “However… there’s a complication.”
No one spoke.
“It seems,” I continued, voice softening into something far more dangerous, “that someone in this pack has been mistreating my queen.”
The shift was instant.
Fear didn’t creep in—it dropped.
Henry went pale. “That—Your Majesty, that cannot be true. No one here would dare—”
“Stop.”
The word wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Henry’s mouth snapped shut.
“You don’t know what your people would dare,” I said, almost gently. “That’s the problem.”
No one breathed.
“But it’s not a concern,” I added after a beat. “She will decide how to handle them.”
A faint tilt of my head.
“And if she decides their families should answer with them…” A small, humorless smile touched my lips. “Then so be it.”
A chair creaked somewhere down the table.
Henry swallowed hard. “Understood.”
Good.
I reached for the whiskey, drained it in one motion, and set the glass down with quiet finality.
The clock ticked on.
“Is there… anything else, Your Majesty?” Henry asked, the title coming faster this time.
I watched him. Let the question sit. Let the dread build properly before I gave it shape.
Then—
“Yes.”
The single word landed like weight.
“I’ve also been informed,” I continued, leaning back now, “that there are operations running within this territory.”
A pause.
“Unregistered. Unsupervised.”
Another.
“Untaxed.”
Henry’s composure shattered.
“That’s—there must be some misunderstanding—”
“Is there?”
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t need to.
The question alone locked him in place.
I let the silence stretch, watching it sink in—watching fear take root properly this time.
Then, slowly—
“You’re going to find out who’s behind it,” I said, voice calm, almost bored. “Every name. Every account. Every hidden coin.”
Henry nodded too quickly. “Of course—”
“And when you do,” I cut in softly, “you’ll strip them of everything.”
A beat.
“Title. Territory. Blood-rights.” My gaze sharpened. “Every last privilege they think protects them.”
The room held its breath.
“This will be done before the welcome ceremony,” I added.
Another pause.
“Or don’t bother hosting one at all.”
A low sound left me then—not quite a laugh, not quite a warning. Something darker. Something that settled under their skin.
My eyes drifted—slow, deliberate—until they landed on one of the female Elders.
She froze.
Then looked away.
Good.
I stood.
No one dared speak.
And I left them there—choking on the weight of what I’d just handed them.
---
The drive back was quiet.
Too quiet.
By the time I reached the house, the tension hadn’t left me. It had only shifted—coiled into something tighter. Something sharper.
The lights were on.
I stepped inside.
And there she was.
Katherine.
Right in the center of the room.
My sunshine.
An unexpected, dangerous kind of light in a life that had never needed one.
“You’re awake,” I said, my voice lower now, roughened at the edges.
She turned, pushing herself up slowly. “I couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes searched mine as she moved closer. “Where have you been?”
I arched a brow.
“Are you questioning the Tyrant?”
“The Tyrant…” she murmured, closing the distance until her hands rested against my chest, soft, warm—too warm. “Doesn’t feel like a Tyrant right now.”
My body went still.
Her touch lingered.
“You feel…” she continued quietly, her fingers pressing just slightly, like she was testing something only she could sense. “Close. Like I know you.”
A dangerous thing to say.
“Do you?” I asked, stepping into her space now, closing what little distance remained. “How close, Katherine?”
Her breath hitched.
“Very.”
She pulled back—too quickly—turning away like she needed the space more than I did.
“Did you find out who Sebastian is? I mean, the—”
“Don’t.”
The word came out sharper than intended.
She paused.
Then, slowly, she turned her head just enough to glance at me over her shoulder.
“Why?” she asked, a hint of something teasing slipping in. “Are you jealous?”
I took a step closer.
Another.
“Have you eaten?” I asked instead, voice quieter now—but heavier.
“Are you jealous, Luciano?”
I stopped right behind her.
Close enough to feel the heat of her body. Close enough that if she leaned back even slightly, she’d feel exactly what she was doing to me.
“It’s Tyrant Luciano Zarkov,” I corrected, low and controlled.
She turned then.
Too close.
Her lips curved faintly, eyes steady on mine.
“Out there, maybe,” she said softly.
Her fingers curled into my shirt again, pulling me just enough to break whatever restraint I still had.
“But right here…” her voice dropped, brushing against my mouth, “you’re just Luciano.”
A beat.
“Or maybe…” her gaze dipped briefly, then rose again, slow and deliberate, “Luci.”
Something in me snapped—quietly, completely.
My hand came up, catching her chin, tilting her face just enough to hold her there.
“Careful,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper now. “You don’t get to decide what I am.”
Her lips parted slightly.
But she didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even try.
“And you,” I added, leaning in just enough for my breath to ghost over her skin, “should be very careful how close you stand to me when you say things like that.”
- Writer
