Page 71 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

His speed was incredible. Wind roared past my ears, streets and buildings blurred into streaks flying backward. I heard fans' shouts and running footsteps behind us, but those sounds grew fainter and fainter, finally disappearing into the wind.

He ran for about ten minutes.

When he finally stopped, I found myself in a dense forest. Towering trees surrounded us, branches interlocking, blocking most of the sky. Mist rose from the ground, thick and white, visibility under ten meters.

He shifted back to human form.

That's when I noticed he was wearing nothing—his clothes had torn during the shift. He seemed completely unbothered, but I couldn't pretend I hadn't noticed. I pulled off my jacket and tossed it to him. He caught it, wrapped it around his waist, movements casual like he did this all the time.

"Where are we?" I asked, voice colder than I intended.

He looked around, brow furrowing. "Mist Forest."

"What?"

"Mist Forest." He repeated, tone carrying an uncertainty I rarely heard from him. "A primeval forest on the border between Silverpine Kingdom and Moonhowl Kingdom. Always shrouded in fog. People who go in get lost easily."

I stared at him for three seconds.

"You're saying," I spoke slowly, each word squeezed through my teeth, "you brought me to a famous primeval forest where people get lost?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't mean to?" I raised my voice. "You're telling me, as a king, you didn't know there was a dangerous forest here, and you're saying you didn't mean to?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. That expression—a mighty werewolf king standing before me, my jacket around his waist, hair a mess, face carrying the guilt of a kid who'd done something wrong—if the situation weren't so fucked up, I probably would've laughed.

But I didn't laugh.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the rising anger. "Fine. Shift into your wolf, howl for your betas. They'll come find you."

He looked at me.

"Come on," I said impatiently. "Howl. Get your people to pick us up."

He didn't move.

He stood there, looking at me, expression shifting from guilt to something more complex—like shame, like pain, like someone forced to face their greatest deficiency.

"I..." He spoke, voice barely audible. "I can't."

"What?"

He took a deep breath, shifted back into his wolf, then opened his jaws.

I watched him. His chest heaved, veins bulging in his neck, every muscle straining—that effort wasn't faked; it was real, the kind of desperate exertion like trying to squeeze out your lungs.

Then—

Nothing.

Just air leaking from his throat, making a pitiful, barely audible raspy breath. Like a deflating balloon. Like a mute person trying to scream.

I'd been mute for twenty years. I knew what that meant.

My heart lurched.

I looked at him. That massive wolf hung his head, shoulders trembling slightly, like a statue just struck by lightning. The man whose howl had shaken the entire valley at the Howling Ceremony, that alpha whose voice used to sound like war drums—