Breaking the Curse of the Lycan Prince

Hattie's POV

My head throbbed with pain as my hand flailed about, desperately trying to silence the blaring alarm beside my bed. My heavy eyelids reluctantly fluttered open, and I grumbled angrily under my breath. The intrusive noise had yanked me from my slumber so abruptly that I lunged at the accursed device, shutting it off with more force than necessary, as if it were the root cause of my troubles. I yearned to smash it against the floor, but I knew all too well the consequences that would follow such an act.

My bleary eyes traced the room's walls to the slightly ajar window, revealing the first light of dawn. It was far too early for anyone to be up except for me. An audible hiss escaped my lips as I lowered my head, weighed down by the heavy heartache that had gripped me. A surge of both anger and sorrow coursed through my veins, and I battled to hold back tears.

Although it had been just a couple of hours since I had gone to bed, it felt as if mere seconds had passed, given the fatigue that had settled in my bones. I sat on the edge of my bed, leaning against the wall, and yawned repeatedly, rubbing my eyes.

My body protested every movement, yearning for nothing more than to return to the welcoming embrace of sleep. I was too feeble to extricate myself from the bed's gravitational pull. The house was eerily silent, as if it were uninhabited, but appearances were deceiving; everyone else was sound asleep. They were all enjoying their rest while I had been roused at this ungodly hour to tend to household chores, despite being the last to retire for the night.

Another yawn escaped me, and I stretched, wincing as the welts from the previous day's lashings on my upper arms and back throbbed with a fiery sensation. My eyes flicked toward the clock, and I gritted my teeth. It had been over a minute since the alarm had gone off, and I dared not linger in bed, lest I incur the wrath of my stepmother and face a beating for my perceived laziness and disobedience.

The thought of enduring another round of physical punishment, on top of the torment I had suffered the previous day, spurred me into action. Hot tears welled up in my eyes as a pounding headache assaulted me.

My legs ached with sharp spasms, serving as a painful reminder of my frail health. Every inch of my body pleaded for rest, but I knew that was a luxury I couldn't afford. I felt groggy and weighed down, my scrawny legs struggling to support me, while the bed seemed to leer at me, a menacing trap ready to ensnare me.

I sensed my heavy-lidded eyes fighting to close as I grappled to keep them open, caught between exhaustion and the urge to surrender to sleep. All I longed for was the solace of my bed, but I knew better. I was acutely aware of the torment I would invite if I dared to lie down and doze off after the alarm had sounded. The last time I had attempted such defiance, I had been left with an indelible scar on my back from the slash of my stepmother's wolf's claw.

You might be wondering who I am and what I could have done to endure all this suffering. Allow me to introduce myself.

I am Hattie Goleman, the daughter of Alpha King Hugo Goleman, one of the most formidable and feared Alphas among all the packs.

History held a chilling account of his unparalleled military prowess, where victory was a constant companion, and the very pack responsible for his parents' tragic demise during his childhood had met its end at his hands. His growth was marked by an astounding surge in power, rendering him an unstoppable force on the battlefield.

The origins of his enigmatic abilities remained a mystery to all, shrouded in obscurity. His combat skills were as swift as the wind and as elusive as unseen phantoms. His wolf, an embodiment of terror, was infamous for its unrelenting brutality, consuming adversaries with ruthless efficiency.

One would expect that being the sole offspring of his Luna should have bestowed upon me reverence and awe for the rest of my days. However, my fate diverged dramatically from that expected trajectory. Instead, I found myself relegated to the status of a slave, scorned and loathed by everyone, forbidden from mentioning the Alpha as my father or appending his surname to my own.

Inexplicably, I was cast out and stripped of my royal heritage, reduced to a status beneath even the omegas. My father, too, had turned his back on me, publicly disowning me in front of the entire pack, threatening my expulsion. He subjected me to relentless torment, turning my life into a never-ending nightmare. All of this was the consequence of an unimaginable and horrific act I had committed.

I had murdered his mate, the Luna, my own mother. But it had been an act born out of sheer survival. It transpired three years ago when I was a mere 15 years old.