Kiss. Kill. Mate. Cassian's POV
Description
Cassian is dangerous, unstable-and essential to King Toren's plans. But when Lady Yara panics at the sight of him, calling him unfit, his wolf nearly takes control in front of the entire court. The king is furious. The suitors flee. Then, in the cold perfection of Valen's territory, Cassian finds her. "That scent hits me again, stronger now. She's here." Lucy is presented as a servant, but everything Cassian says, she's more. She's not just beautiful. She's his. "This is either the best thing that's ever happened to me," I mutter, "or I'm about to get spectacularly fucked over." Valen offers her up like property. Their eyes meet. She says yes. And Cassian claims her in front of everyone. "You killed them." "They touched you." But Lucy isn't a gift. She's a weapon. And Cassian doesn't know she was sent to kill him.
Chapter 1
Aug 13, 2025
Three potential brides. One throne room. Zero patience left in my body.
I’m sitting beside Toren like some twisted version of a game show judge, except instead of rating talent, we’re evaluating which she-wolf gets the honor of being legally bound to a walking nightmare. Lucky them.
The first one—Lady Something-or-other from the northern territories—walks in looking like she’d rather be literally anywhere else. Her scent hits me immediately: pure, undiluted terror mixed with lavender perfume that’s probably supposed to be calming but just makes the fear smell flowery. She curtseys so low I’m surprised she doesn’t topple over, keeps her eyes glued to the marble floor like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Smart move, honestly.
Toren goes through the motions—asks about her family’s holdings, their loyalty, blah blah political bullshit. She answers in whispers, voice shaking like autumn leaves. When she finally looks up, her gaze skitters across me for maybe half a second before she practically flinches away.
Yeah, that’s about right.
The second one’s marginally better. Lady Vera from the eastern clans, built like she could probably hold her own in a fight, but the moment she catches sight of me, that warrior posture crumbles. Her fear tastes sharper, more metallic. Desperation tinged with resignation.
She knows she’s fucked either way—marry me and deal with my psychotic father, or refuse and bring dishonor to her entire bloodline. The joys of noble politics.
But then Lady Yara sweeps in, and everything shifts.
This one’s different. Poised, confident, wearing her ambition like expensive jewelry. She’s Toren’s pick—the political power match that’ll strengthen his southern alliances. Smart choice, strategically speaking.
She curtseys with practiced grace, answers his questions with just the right amount of deference mixed with intelligence. Playing the game perfectly. Her scent carries hints of jasmine and something else—calculation, maybe. Ambition with an edge of genuine steel.
For a hot minute, I almost think this might actually work. She’s not cowering, not treating me like some rabid animal they’ve chained up for entertainment. Maybe we’ve finally found someone with enough backbone to—
Then she makes the fatal mistake of actually looking at me.
Really looking. Eye contact and everything.
I watch the exact moment her composure shatters. Her pupils dilate, nostrils flare slightly as my scent hits her full force. The careful mask she’s been wearing cracks, then completely disintegrates.
“I—” she starts, voice higher than before. “Your Majesty, I must speak plainly.”
Oh, here we fucking go.
“This arrangement… I cannot… He’s unstable.”
The word hits like a physical blow. Unstable. Not dangerous, not frightening—unstable. Like I’m some defective piece of machinery that might malfunction at any moment.
Which, to be fair, isn’t entirely wrong, but hearing it said out loud in front of the entire court? That stings in ways I wasn’t expecting.
The fear-scent in the room spikes instantly. Not just from her—from everyone. Guards shifting their stances, nobles whispering behind fans, servants taking subtle steps toward exits.
And that’s when my wolf decides to make an appearance.
The change starts in my chest—a burning, clawing sensation that spreads outward like wildfire. My vision sharpens, colors becoming more vivid, and suddenly I can smell everything. Every person’s individual terror, the metal of weapons, the stone dust in the air, the lingering traces of breakfast from the kitchens three floors down.
My bones start to ache, that familiar prelude to shifting that I usually keep locked down tight. But Lady Yara’s fear is feeding directly into my wolf’s instincts, and control is slipping through my fingers like water.
The first servant screams when my canines extend. Then another. Then chaos erupts as people realize what’s happening.
Chairs scraping against stone. Footsteps pounding toward doors. Shouts of panic echoing off vaulted ceilings.
Through it all, I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, feel my spine beginning to curve, muscles rippling under skin that’s starting to feel too tight.
No. Not here. Not now.
I dig my claws—shit, when did those come out?—into the arms of my chair and force every ounce of willpower I possess into shoving the wolf back down. It’s like trying to stuff a tornado into a bottle, but I manage it. Barely.
The transformation reverses in violent jolts—bones snapping back into human configuration, fangs retracting, the overwhelming sensory input fading to manageable levels.
But the damage is done.
The room is dead silent except for heavy breathing and the distant sound of fleeing footsteps. All three potential brides are long gone, probably halfway back to their respective territories by now.
And Toren… Toren is standing beside his throne, hands clenched into fists, looking at me with an expression I know all too well.
Fury. Pure, royal, barely-contained rage.
“Cassian.” His voice is deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that usually precedes executions.
I’m still gripping the chair arms hard enough to leave permanent indentations in the wood, trying to get my breathing under control. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, to get out before his anger explodes into something we’ll both regret.
But I’m tired of running. Tired of being the monster everyone expects me to be.
“Well,” I manage, voice rougher than usual but steadier than I feel. “That went better than expected.”
His glare could melt steel. "War chamber. Now. Unless you'd rather be caged again."
Kiss. Kill. Mate. Cassian's POV
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