Possessed Wolfless: From Rejected to Vengeful Lycans' Queen-Chapter 23: Three Mates?

Lethia blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. She had just broken up with her toxic ex, Varrel, and now she was about to step into another toxic entanglement.

She realised she had been so fixated on herself that she had overlooked the basics.

But she had to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. Besides, her relationship with Renar would only be physical, right?

"Uhm... so... you—"

Before she could finish, a plump, long-haired maroon cat strutted up to Renar and promptly settled in his lap.

Lethia stared, momentarily stunned. She had never seen a cat with such an annoyingly rich maroon coat—the exact shade of her own hair.

Renar, already anticipating her reaction, ran his fingers through the cat's fur and said, "This is Freya. My beloved cat. The queen of this penthouse. My living partner."

Lethia's eyes widened.

"So, when you said I reminded you of a beauty you adored... you meant this cat? And that money-robber plain chicken soup was for this fu—cat too?"

Renar simply arched a brow, lips curling into an infuriating smirk, and nodded.

'For fuck's sake. Fuck this man—no, fuck my own overthinking mind!' Lethia exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping as she sank into the sofa.

"So, you don't have to worry about a girlfriend. I'm single. But I think what I'm about to tell you next might give you something to worry about."

"What?" Lethia scoffed.

Renar rose from his seat, lifting Freya off his lap and setting her down on the floor. "Let's talk about that later. Come on, I'll take you to your room. Ah, and this—try using it."

"What is it?" Lethia took the small spray bottle from his hand.

"This... is a fragrance formulated to suppress an Omega's pheromones when they're in heat."

Lethia's eyes widened as she darted a confused look at Renar.

"Are you trying to mock me? I'm not even an Omega. And—" she sniffed at her arms, frowning, "I don't even smell whatever fucking scent you're talking about. Let alone feel any of that heat-horny shit you said."

She waved the bottle in her hand toward Renar, shaking it in irritation.

Renar stepped closer, his fingers gently closing around her wrist.

"Calm down... Judging by how no other werewolves in the hospital reacted to your scent, it seems I'm the only one who can smell it. That's why I suspect it's a fated mate scent. But—" he leaned in, closing the distance between them.

"I even took a triple dose of suppressants today just to dull my sense of smell, and yet... your intoxicating scent still keeps pulling me in. Do you have any idea how hard I've been trying to resist you—from the hospital until now?"

"Wait... how is that even possible?" Lethia frowned, confusion creeping in. She thought Renar's behavior was, to some extent, influenced by the magic of that slut-fox.

"That's what I want to figure out too. I used this in the car earlier, and it masked your scent—partially, at least. So, until I can do more research on you, just use it, even if you're not an Omega in heat."

"Ah, right... You agreed to be my fucked-mate because you see me as a lab rat. Got it." Lethia sulked, yanking her wrist free and wrestling with the spray bottle's cap, which refused to open easily.

Renar stepped closer, taking the bottle from her hands and twisting the cap open with ease.

"Who says so? Why do you always assume your thoughts are facts? I am a natural beast, and with your scent, I could devour you right here, right now, like a madman. But... wasn't it my protection you wanted?"

The proximity between them sent a shiver down Lethia's spine as she inhaled the raw, carnal masculinity of his scent. Her nerves tightened.

'No, I need us to knot and get this fucking slut-fox out of my body soon.' She gritted her teeth inwardly.

"You... You don't have to hold back, though," she murmured, turning her face away, heat creeping up her cheeks. "I also said I... I can meet your needs."

Renar chuckled under his breath. 'How adorable.' The way she fumbled over her words, all flustered, was ridiculously cute.

"Looks like your pregnancy has messed with your hormones badly. Listen, I was raised as a gentleman. Until I figure out what's wrong with your scent, I won't lay a hand on you."

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Lethia couldn't even argue with that. She cringed at herself, realizing how desperate she must have sounded. Like she was fuck-starved or something.

Maybe she just needed a good night's sleep. Maybe she needed to shake off this goddamn stress that had been weighing on her for too long.

"What a spectacle."

Lethia's hand froze mid-air, the Omega fragrance bottle hovering just above her neck. Both she and Renar turned toward the voice.

"Am I interrupting the lovebirds?"

A man strolled toward them, clad in a loose V-neck T-shirt, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his baggy trousers.

His Green Sage eyes—deep and soothing, like the leaves of a forest after the rain—locked onto Lethia's gaze with quiet intensity.

"Cael? What the hell are you doing here?" Renar demanded, his gaze locking onto the dark silver-haired man whose tousled look only added to his attention-seeking allure.

Caelum ignored him completely, striding straight toward Lethia. In one swift move, he dipped his head, locking eyes with her.

The sudden closeness sent her stumbling backward, nearly losing her balance—until a firm grip caught her waist.

In the span of a breath, she was pulled into his arms, their faces only inches apart.

Lethia's breath hitched, hypnotized—no, stunned—by the sight before her. Caelum Zelinsky.

The rising star actor, the man her subordinates had been obsessing over, was standing right in front of her. Her pulse pounded in her ears as his grip on her waist tightened.

"Well, what a twist of fate. What is my flying wolf doing here?"

The unbearable proximity made her envy how impossibly smooth his skin was—poreless, like porcelain.

Her chest brushed against his obscenely sculpted torso, Lethia could feel beneath the t-shirt each muscle carved like a masterpiece.

"Caelum! What are you doing with her?" Lethia blinked as Renar's voice yanked her back to reality.

In the next second, he grabbed Caelum's shoulder, trying to separate them. The force of it sent Lethia stumbling backward as Caelum's grip slipped from her waist.

"Whoa... calm down, brother. I'm just excited to meet my flying wolf in here."

"Fly what? You know her?"

Caelum turned to Lethia, who was still too shell-shocked to react, and stepped forward—only for Renar to block his path.

Their eyes clashed, the air thick with tension, two dominant forces colliding in a silent battle for control.

"Is there anyone who doesn't know my All-Kill Rank Queen? She's been trending #1 all over the internet for weeks." He flicked his gaze back to Renar, smirking. "Now, can you move, bro? I want to talk to her."

"Talk from there." Renar's voice came out low, sharp, unyielding. Their glares burned into each other, neither backing down, their very presence clashing—two forces warring for dominance over her.

'Wait... are they fighting over me?' Lethia's self-absorption kicked in.

"As if." Caelum scoffed, smirking at Renar.

Determined to break the awkward tension—and admittedly curious about Caelum's bizarre behavior—Lethia reached out to touch Renar's shoulder, intending to speak to them both.

But—

"You smell so good, Flying Wolf."

Lethia's eyes widened in horror.

Caelum was behind her. His chin rested on her shoulder, his breath ghosting against her skin as he inhaled along the curve of her neck.

A whisper, dripping with something dangerously indulgent, curled into her ear.

"It's... hypnotic. I knew I was right. You are my type."

Lethia's horror wasn't because Caelum had somehow appeared behind her—she had heard Lycans could teleport.

No.

It was the fact that her eyes were still watching Caelum, standing in front of her, locking Renar in place by gripping his shoulders—keeping him from reaching her.

There were two Caelums.

Her body tensed, instincts screaming at her to turn around, to confirm what her mind refused to process—

Ding.

The elevator chimed open.

Lethia's head snapped toward the sound.

And met a pair of deep, smoldering blue eyes.

Eyes that held a predatory gleam, dark with dominance.

The man stepped into the penthouse, his presence like gravity itself—pulling her toward him. She moved without thinking, closing the distance as if drawn by an invisible force.

Time... stopped.

Literally.

Lethia's gaze flicked around the room.

Caelum. Renar. The other Caelum. Frozen in place like mannequins in a display. The digital clock on the wall—silent. Unmoving.

Everything was paused.

Except for them.

Just her and him.

A shuddering breath left her lips as something stirred deep in her belly. A familiar, primal vibration—like the kick of her unborn child.

But no—

Her unborn baby was growling.

As the space between them dwindled to mere inches, the man's voice rumbled through the stillness.

"What kind of holy scent is this?"

Lethia's tongue felt thick, words abandoning her. The only thing she could do was feel—the raw magnetism pulling her in.

Then, slowly, deliberately—he reached out.

His fingertip traced a path from her forehead, down her cheek... skimming the length of her throat... trailing lower, over the dip of her cleavage... until he stopped at her lower belly.

His fingers grazed there, sending a jolt down her spine.

Their eyes locked.

Breaths shallow.

Two voices, perfectly in sync.

"Mate?" "Mate?"