The Lycan King's Forsaken Mate

To save the Pack, my fated Alpha, Loren Vale, had sacrificed the wolf inside me with his own hands.

He had promised to make me Luna. But when the Council of Elders branded me a curse, he had only said one thing.

"Follow the rules," Loren said.

I, Elena Whitmore, was offered up as a trophy to the most brutal Lycan King of Northreach.

On the night of the full moon, he turned into a beast, his power spiraling out of control.

Everyone else ran. Only I walked against the tide, closing the distance between us step by step.

They were all waiting to see how I would die.

But the moment I touched him, silver light erupted.

The frenzy began to subside, and something ancient in the blood awakened.

......

The sound of chains had echoed through the dungeon for three days.

The cold stone wall pressed against my back as I lowered my gaze to my scarred arms.

Skin that once grew soft silver fur now lay bare and lifeless.

Three months ago, I had been the youngest high-ranking Omega of the Silverbrook Pack, pure-blooded and exceptionally gifted.

Until the shadow beasts broke through the Pack's defenses.

I remembered that rainy night when my fiancé Loren held my hand. "Elena, as the future Luna, you should do your part for the Pack. Only your bloodline can be offered to the Moon Goddess to earn her protection."

His eyes had been so sincere that I believed him.

I had stood on the altar, cutting open my wrist with a silver dagger, feeling the wolf inside me being torn away.

It felt like being ripped in half alive. My soul screamed. My wolf howled in agony.

The shadow beasts retreated. The Pack was saved. And I became nothing more than a cursed shell.

The Council of Elders convened overnight, declaring that without my wolf, I would bring misfortune upon the Pack.

I looked to Loren for help, but he wouldn't even meet my eyes. "Follow the rules," he said.

That very night, I became a war offering, sent to the most ruthless Lycan King of Northreach.

The iron door burst open, and blinding firelight flooded in.

"Is that her?"

The voice was low, heavy with authority.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the guard said respectfully. "A gift from the leader of the Silverbrook Pack as a gesture of peace."

I lifted my head.

In the torchlight stood a tall man. He wore black combat leather, broad-shouldered, with two flecks of gold glowing in his eyes—the mark of an Alpha.

No. A Lycan King.

"Lift your head," he said.

My head was already raised, but I knew what he meant. He wanted my neck bared—the posture of an Omega's submission.

I refused.

"I hear you just fine," I said, locking eyes with him. "But I'm not your pet."

The air went still. The guards sucked in a breath.

He fell silent for a few seconds before letting out a cold chuckle. "Interesting. Do you even know what you are? A worthless prisoner of war. And yet you still dare speak to me like that?"

"I've already lost everything." I held his gaze. "At least let me keep my dignity. Otherwise, what's the difference between me and a corpse?"

He stared at me for a long time before rising to his feet. "Good. I like prey with spirit. Makes breaking them more interesting. Untie her. Send her to the wolf slave camp. Since her former fiancé called her useless, let her do what useless things are meant for. Cleaning. Laundry. Scrubbing floors—"

He paused at the doorway, glancing back at me with a cruel smile.

"Remember this. You're nothing but a wolfless failure. Here, your only value is to remind my warriors what happens to those who betray me."

The iron door slammed shut.

I sat in the darkness, my palms slick with sweat.

I thought of the fleeting flash of crimson in his eyes just now—that wasn't something an ordinary werewolf had.

And in that same instant, something long dormant within me had stirred.