Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 82: Chapter 82

Kayla’s POV
“What was that…” The words were barely out of my mouth before I felt them catch at the back of my throat.
Lance straightened slowly from where he stood behind his desk, the glint in his eyes unreadable—like polished steel reflecting nothing but shadow.
“Kayla,” he said, voice low. “You need to calm down.”
Calm.
“I am calm.”
I said it flatly.
And maybe I was on the outside. My voice didn’t tremble, and my hands weren’t shaking. But there was a storm beneath my skin. One that curled like smoke in my ribs, thick and bitter, because if I weren’t calm, if I let that heat rise, I’d scream.
I’d scream until the walls cracked open and forced him to understand what not knowing felt like.
So yes, I was calm. That’s why I asked for the room. That’s why I needed the space so I could try to understand him. Because right now… I didn’t.
And it was like walking into fog with a lantern that barely stayed lit. I couldn’t find my footing. Couldn’t understand why the man who is known for his brutality was now inviting that bastard to dinner. Couldn’t understand why anyone wants that.
I swallowed. My nails dug into my palms.
“You’re going to have to give me more than just cryptic hints,” I said tightly. “I’m kind of waiting for you to tell me the reasoning behind this… idea of yours.”
“You’ll get it,” he said. “If you could just see.”
See.
See what?
I hated it when he spoke to me like that—like I was some innocent thing that couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of war or diplomacy or death. Maybe I didn’t know war the way he did, but…
“See what, exactly?” I said tightly.
Lance didn’t flinch.
“Seeing them only as enemies,” he said, voice calm but hard-edged, “does exactly what Landon wants. It validates everything he says. His cause. His fear-mongering. I can’t just declare war on him and his allies without understanding what’s driving them. Not if I want to win.”
I exhaled slowly, the edges of my vision tight.
So this was it, again.
“You’re the Lycan King,” I said, stepping closer, my voice rising. “The most feared in modern history. Ruler of one of the strongest packs in over a century. As a child, I heard stories about this pack. ‘Never cross them.’ ‘Never enter their lands without permission.’ ‘They’ll destroy you before you even hear them coming.’ That’s what we were taught. So tell me, what is this now?”
His gaze dulled. “How do you think we earned that reputation?” he said.
I said nothing.
“How do you think we held that fear? Do you think it was brute force alone? No. It was control. It was being two steps ahead—always. That’s how my grandfather did it. How my father ruled before me. Meticulous planning. Staying ahead of the fire before it reached the borders.”
He stepped around the desk as I said, “But that’s not what this looks like.”
Lance stopped in front of his desk.
“It looks like you’re letting them in, wolves who’ve pillaged and raped and murdered their way through territories, and you’re offering them wine and a seat at the table.”
Because that was exactly what this was looking like.
I didn’t care if those words came out with more hate than I needed to let out.
Regardless, he was calm when he said, “Meticulous means knowing your enemies before you choose your war.” He sighed. “It means choosing battles you can win—not just survive. Picking fights that give us control. And not just short-term victories.”
I just wanted to understand. I didn't want to be the only one who didn't know… the lone wolf.
“You know sometimes, I just don't get you.”
Lance’s eyes bored into mine, and I knew he understood.
“I know where your feelings are coming from,” he said. No growl, he hadn't done that for a while now, and maybe that meant something.
“Do you?” I asked bitterly. “Because you should have just easily sent people to eliminate Landon and no one will know.”
“You don't get it.”
“Then make me.”
“Landon isn't working alone.”
My breath hitched. His tone had shifted, low and sure, the way it always did when he knew something I didn’t. But at least he was speaking now.
“Alpha Kane’s death was just the start,” he went on. “It was a bait. A test to see how I would react.”
I blinked. “What… what are you trying to say?”
He turned his back to me, crossing the room slowly, then he rolled his neck and I heard it crack.
“What benefit does it give Landon to kill Kane? To take his daughters? To separate them like that? It was strategic.”
I was too busy trying to keep up with him, to even question.
“Landon is just the front wolf,” he continued. “He’s smart—but not that smart. It’s the one lurking in the shadows I need to worry about. And something tells me... they’re from here.”
My skin prickled. His words landed with too much weight and clarity.
And I couldn’t help it…my thoughts spun to Cartier. That damned meeting I’d tried not to think about ever since. I'd buried it, swallowed it whole, but now it clawed its way to the surface like rot from under stone.
But there was no way to connect the males.
“Do you think someone’s trying to kill you?” I asked, my voice tight. Maybe I should shut up.
“It’s not a far-fetched plan.”
It probably wasn’t.
“Fuck.”
I didn’t even realize I’d said it aloud, except Lance’s expression shifted, that faint curl at the corner of his mouth quite a smirk.
“Twice now,” he said, voice cool. “You’ve cursed. It’s becoming a pattern.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m a fully grown woman. I can curse as much as the fuck I want.”
He only raised a brow at that, but it wasn’t the swearing that had my pulse racing—it was what I hadn’t said. I could tell him now. About Cartier. About what he said to me, what he wanted. I could warn Lance.
But if I did… he’d ask how I knew. And if Cartier found out I’d spoken—fuck. I didn’t even want to think about what that could mean.
“Funny you haven’t asked, not once, why I’m also inviting Cartier. Surely you must be curious.”
My heart lurched.
Of course I was curious. I’d been burning with it, but I hadn’t wanted to seem too forward. Hadn’t wanted to expose the fear crawling under my skin now.
So I played it carefully.
“If I ask,” I said slowly, “would you tell me?”
He gave a low, near-silent chuckle. “I will… if you want to know.”
Maybe he already knew of Cartier, he couldn't have not known…
I exhaled. “This is insane,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “And you think they’ll come? You think they’ll respond to your invite?”
Whatever he’d called that letter.
“Oh, I know they will.” His voice had dropped again. “Landon has been bloated with his own ego for far too long. He’s too confident not to flex it. Who am I kidding—” he flicked his eyes toward me “—you know him more personally than I do. Do you think he’ll come?”
He might not. Not if the one behind him demanded him to stay back, unless—
I swallowed. “What does the letter say?”
“Oh, the usual,” he said dryly. “I, the Lycan King of blah blah… invite you and so on.”
“No…” Lance arched a brow at me, but I said, “Add my name to the letter. Make it a celebration. A party.”
I hadn’t planned to say it. Not like that. But now that it was out, I didn’t backtrack. Because maybe, just maybe, before Landon was put in his place, I wanted him to see this.
To see me.
To see that I wasn’t broken like he left me. That I wasn’t barren or discarded or drowning. I was alive. I could have a family. I already had one growing inside me.
Knowing that would force him out no matter his master.
“What’s the party going to be about?” His brows were still pulled together.
“I’m pregnant.”
Lance froze.
It was subtle, no dramatic flinch or sharp gasp, but he did. He studied me then, with that unnerving focus of his, like he was dissecting the shape of my soul through my skin.
“What?” His voice was low. “Are you sure? Has the doctor run tests—”
“Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m sure. I’m absolutely sure. I’ve known for some time now. I thought…” I swallowed, breath hitching. “I thought I could wait a while longer to be sure…”
Something flickered behind his eyes. “How long?”
I met his eyes. “After that night.” I didn't try to clarify and he didn't ask either because he knew exactly what night I meant.
His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something, but I stepped in first.
“Please,” I murmured. “Can we just skip all of that? Like you didn’t already suspect.”
Because I knew he had.
He’d smelled it on me this afternoon, the way his nostrils had flared faintly, how his eyes had lingered on my stomach with a tension he never acknowledged. He’d known. Or guessed.
A faint pull ghosted at his lips, his version of a smirk. “Well,” he said slowly, “I did. But I wanted you to say something first.”
My eyes narrowed into a glare.
But strangely… something inside me eased. The pressure in my chest, the fear of telling him, the weight of carrying it alone—lessened.
That was good. That was… enough.
I parted my lips to speak again, to return us to the conversation, to the strategies and looming war, but before I could form a word, Lance moved.
One moment, he stood across the room. Next, he was in front of me. And then I was sitting on the desk, his hand braced beside my hip.
He’d been too fast, and I barely caught it.
And then…
He smiled.
A real one. Maybe the first I’d ever seen from him.
“Thank you,” he said.
I blinked. “For what?”
His only answer was his mouth on mine.