I Was Saved By the Lycan King Who Claimed Me

The feral wolf's teeth snapped inches from my throat.

I twisted left, drove my blade up through its ribcage, and felt the hot spray of blood across my knuckles. It dropped with a gurgling whine. Around me, the Rogue Lands stretched in endless gray—dead trees, cracked earth, and the constant stink of decay.

"Arielle!" Silas's voice cut through the chaos. "Three more on your six!"

I didn't turn. I could hear them—the scrape of claws on stone, the ragged breathing of wolves who'd lost their humanity years ago. My wolf, Kira, surged beneath my skin, eager and vicious. She'd only awakened two years into my exile, born from rage and survival, and she was nothing like the gentle creature I'd imagined as a child.

I spun, caught the first attacker mid-leap with a kick that sent it sprawling. The second lunged low. I sidestepped, grabbed its scruff, and slammed it into the third. Bone cracked. They didn't get up.

Silas appeared at my side, blood streaking his jaw. "That's the last of them."

"For now." I wiped my blade on my thigh, scanning the camp. Twelve rogues—my pack, though we'd never call it that—were checking the perimeter. We didn't trust easily. Couldn't afford to.

I was Arielle Hoffman, the girl the Moonshadow Pack threw away. Now I was the Queen of Rogues, and I trusted no one.

Two hours later, I was patrolling the northern border when Kyler's scent hit me.

Pine and arrogance. My stomach twisted, but I kept walking. Kira snarled in my head. *He's here. Let me rip his throat out.*

*Not yet,* I told her.

"Arielle." His voice came from the shadows, smooth and commanding. Alpha tone, like he still had any right to use it on me.

I stopped. Turned. Kyler stepped into the dim light, flanked by six enforcers. He looked the same—sharp jaw, cold eyes, the kind of face that made people forget he had no soul.

"You're trespassing," I said.

"I'm here to bring you home."

Home. The word was a knife between my ribs. "I don't have a home. You made sure of that."

His jaw tightened. "Reyna's dying."

I laughed. Couldn't help it. "And?"

"She needs your blood. You're the only one with the right type."

"Let her die."

Kyler's eyes flashed. "You don't mean that."

"I mean every word." I took a step closer, let him see the scars on my arms, the coldness in my face. "You threw me to the wolves, Kyler. Literally. Now you want me to save the woman you chose over me? Go to hell."

He raised his hand. Red dots appeared on my chest—sniper lasers. I froze.

"Look around," Kyler said quietly. "My men have your entire camp in their sights. Silas. The others. One word from me, and they're dead."

Kira roared, but I forced her down. My hands shook with the effort. "You're bluffing."

"Try me."

I stared at him. Saw the desperation beneath the Alpha mask. He wasn't bluffing.

"You come back," he continued, "give Reyna what she needs, and I let your rogues live. Simple."

Nothing about this was simple. But I thought of Silas, who'd taught me to fight. Of the others, who'd become something close to family. I couldn't let them die for my pride.

"Fine," I said. "But if you're lying—"

"I'm not."

The ride back to Moonshadow territory was silent. I sat in the back of Kyler's SUV, wrists zip-tied, watching the Rogue Lands disappear behind us. The enforcers kept their distance. Smart.

When we pulled up to the pack house, I felt the weight of a hundred stares. Wolves lined the driveway, whispering. I recognized some of them—the ones who'd laughed when Kyler rejected me, who'd called me worthless.

Now they looked at me like I was a ghost.

I walked through the front doors with my head high, ignoring the way my heart hammered against my ribs. The house smelled the same. Lavender and wood smoke. It made me sick.

Kyler led me to the pack hospital, a sterile wing on the east side. We passed empty rooms, a nurse who wouldn't meet my eyes, and finally stopped at a door marked "Private."

Inside, Reyna lay in a hospital bed, pale and trembling. She looked up when I entered, and her eyes widened.

"Arielle," she whispered. "Thank the Goddess—"

"Save it." I turned away from her, and that's when I saw the second bed.

Elder Jackson.

She was barely recognizable—skin like paper, hair gone white, her breathing shallow and labored. Tubes ran from her arms. Machines beeped softly.

My chest tightened. Elder Jackson had been the only one who'd ever loved me. The only one who'd tried to stop Kyler that night.

"What happened to her?" My voice came out rough.

Kyler shifted behind me. "She's been sick for months. The healers can't figure it out."

I moved closer to her bed, ignoring Reyna's whimpering. Elder Jackson's eyes were closed, but her lips moved slightly, like she was trying to speak.

I reached for her hand. It was cold.

"Arielle." Kyler's voice was impatient. "We need to start the transfusion. Now."

I looked at Reyna, then at Elder Jackson, then at Kyler. Something was wrong here. Something beyond the obvious.

But I didn't have a choice.

"Fine," I said. "Let's get this over with."

As the nurse prepared the IV, I kept my eyes on Elder Jackson's face, and I made myself a promise: I'd find out what was really happening here.

And someone was going to pay.