My Mate Humiliated Me Until the Lycan Prince Claimed Me

The mirror above my bathroom sink showed a stranger.

My skin was pale and covered in ugly red patches. The silver dust from the outpost cell had eaten into my neck, my collarbones, and my forearms, leaving raw blisters that burned like hot grease. Every breath tasted like tin and ash.

I didn't reach for pain pills. I soaked a clean towel in cold saline and pressed it against my neck. It stung so bad my vision blurred, but I didn't make a sound. I wrapped clean white gauze around my forearms, pulled on a thick wool sweater, and sat down at my desk.

Colt had pushed the ceremony back three days. He claimed he wanted the regional council to witness his triumphant union with a "worthy" Luna, but I knew the truth. He wanted the marks from his silver cell to fade so the elders wouldn't ask questions. Until then, he had reassigned me to perimeter tracker shifts at the northern outpost to keep me out of sight.

I opened my leather-bound tracking journal.

With a black pen, I turned to a fresh page and wrote the date. Underneath, I recorded the exact details: *Seventy-two hours in silver holding cell. Ordered by Alpha Colt Stone. Stated reason: fabricated assault against Poppy Jensen. No medical care, no food, no water.*

I signed my full name at the bottom.

Then I took out my phone. One by one, I took crisp, clear photos of every page. The rogue movement logs. The tactical notes on pack borders. And the sketch I had drawn five years ago—the massive, broad-chested beast with silver-tipped black fur that had nearly died protecting me in Colorado.

I packaged the images into an encrypted file. I attached my personal log.

Then I sent it directly to Cassian Stone’s private address in Silverpine.

It wasn't a plea for help. It was evidence. If Colt thought he could erase me quietly, he had forgotten that trackers keep receipts.

Ten minutes later, the screen lit up.

*I have it. It's safe. Three days.*

As I read the words, a strange warmth flickered behind my ribs. Across the fragile, unbonded link that had sparked while I was locked in the dark, I caught the faint, distant scent of cedar and bitter smoke. Miles away in Silverpine, I could almost feel his presence—a quiet, heavy stillness, like a great wolf opening its golden eyes in the dark.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel alone.

***

The next afternoon, the northern outpost smelled like wet pine and rot.

A light drizzle fell through the canopy. I was checking a boundary sensor when a pack truck rumbled up the gravel path. Colt stepped out, looking sharp in an Ironclaw field jacket. Poppy hopped out of the passenger side wearing designer boots, holding an insulated coffee thermos like she was on a weekend hike.

"Making sure you're actually doing your job, Averie," Colt called out. His voice was cold, carrying that casual cruelty he used whenever Poppy was watching.

Poppy linked her arm through his, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on her, Colt. She must be so tired after... everything."

Before I could answer, a loud siren shrieked through the trees.

The border alarm.

Branches snapped fifty yards out. Two massive wolves broke through the brush, their dark coats matted with mud. Behind them came two more. They moved with terrifying speed and rigid military precision—far too organized for ordinary, half-starved rogues.

"Raid!" Colt barked.

His eyes flashed amber. Muscles surged beneath his jacket as his reddish-brown wolf fought to the surface. He was an Alpha. His duty was to form a line and defend his pack.

The lead wolf lunged directly toward us, fangs bared, letting out a roar that shook the damp needles off the trees.

Poppy screamed, dropping the thermos and falling to her knees in the mud. "Colt! Help me!"

I stood ten feet away, my hand already dropping to the silver-tipped skinning knife at my belt. I was wolfless, but I was a tracker. I knew how to hold a position.

Colt didn't even glance my way.

He didn't assess the threat. He didn't order me to fall back. Without a split second of hesitation, Colt threw his body completely over Poppy. He scooped her up in his arms, turned his back on the attackers, and sprinted straight for the armored truck.

The steel door slammed shut. The engine roared. The tires spun in the mud, and he was gone.

He left me behind. Just like that.

The lead wolf hit me before I could raise my blade.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I slammed into the mud, rolling hard against the roots of an old spruce. I drove the blunt handle of my knife into the beast's snout, twisting my hips to avoid its throat-strike.

I fought with everything I had. My muscles burned, and my human body screamed under the weight of an apex predator. The wolf snapped, its claws raking across my ribcage. The fabric of my sweater shredded, and a deep, fiery gash tore across my side.

Another wolf lunged from the left, its jaws clamping down hard on my shoulder. Sharp pain exploded into my collarbone. Warm blood soaked through my sleeve, hot against the freezing rain.

Then, a sharp, piercing whistle echoed from deep in the timber.

The wolves froze instantly.

The beast pinning my shoulder didn't tear my flesh. It released its grip, stepped back, and exchanged a quick, deliberate glance with the others. Without another strike, without a single growl, all four wolves turned and vanished into the thick fog as quickly as they had come.

I lay in the dirt, gasping for air.

Blood pooled beneath my ribs, staining the dead pine needles black. The rain hit my face, cold and clean.

I stared down the empty logging road where Colt’s truck had sped away.

For five years, I had believed I owed him my breath. I had swallowed every insult, accepted every demotion, and endured his cruelty because I thought he had bled for me in Colorado.

I looked at the blood on my own hands.

My shoulder throbbed. My ribs burned. But deep inside my chest, the heavy chain that had bound me to Colt Stone snapped clean in two.

The debt was paid. In blood. In full.