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The Marked Mate of the Lycan King.
img img The Marked Mate of the Lycan King. img Chapter 1 The Scars and the Silence
1 Chapters
Chapter 6 Political Education img
Chapter 7 Rhys Volkov's Warning img
Chapter 8 The Snare img
Chapter 9 The Constant Aching (Demetrius POV) img
Chapter 10 Mate Fever Spike img
Chapter 11 The War Room Test img
Chapter 12 Search for the Silver-Eyed img
Chapter 13 Failed Escape Attempt img
Chapter 14 The Shared Map img
Chapter 15 Damon's Legacy img
Chapter 16 The Strategic Asset img
Chapter 17 The Isolated King img
Chapter 18 The First Gift img
Chapter 19 The Clandestine Meeting img
Chapter 20 Near Discovery img
Chapter 21 The Soft Spot img
Chapter 22 The Argument img
Chapter 23 The Hidden Door img
Chapter 24 The Scent of Pain img
Chapter 25 Preparing for the Road img
Chapter 26 The War Camp img
Chapter 27 The Night's Pull img
Chapter 28 Shared Nightmare img
Chapter 29 The Unbearable Relief img
Chapter 30 The Discovery (Part 1) img
Chapter 31 The Corrupted Shard (Part 2) img
Chapter 32 Hatred Complicated img
Chapter 33 Coded Message img
Chapter 34 The Unstable King img
Chapter 35 Confronting Rhys img
Chapter 36 The Scars Explained img
Chapter 37 The Herbal Preparation img
Chapter 38 The First Act of Care img
Chapter 39 The Sweet Numbness img
Chapter 40 The Near Confession img
Chapter 41 A Small Confession img
Chapter 42 Canyon Scouting img
Chapter 43 Shared Danger img
Chapter 44 The Protective King img
Chapter 45 Training Touch img
Chapter 46 THE FALSE LUNA img
Chapter 47 THE COLD FRONT img
Chapter 48 THE SILVER TEST img
Chapter 49 THE WATCHER img
Chapter 50 THE STOLEN KISS img
Chapter 51 FINN'S TRUTH img
Chapter 52 DAMON'S SHADOW img
Chapter 53 THE SILVER EYED SURGE img
Chapter 54 THE SELF INVESTIGATION img
Chapter 55 THE SHARED MEMORY img
Chapter 56 THE FORCED EMBRACE img
Chapter 57 CONFESSION TO FINN img
Chapter 58 DEMETRIUS AWAKENS img
Chapter 59 THE HUNTERS STRIKE img
Chapter 60 THE AFTERMATH img
Chapter 61 THE SHIFT IN DESIRE img
Chapter 62 STRATEGIC CONFLICT img
Chapter 63 THE NEAR CONFESSION img
Chapter 64 THE HIDDEN MAP img
Chapter 65 PLANNING THE RETURN img
Chapter 66 THE CODED ORDERS img
Chapter 67 THE CONFESSION img
Chapter 68 THE FEAR OF LOVE img
Chapter 69 THE FIGHT img
Chapter 70 THE IMMINENT STRIKE img
Chapter 71 THE SECRET RUN img
Chapter 72 THE CITADEL INFILTRATION img
Chapter 73 THE SECRET CHAMBER img
Chapter 74 THE KING HEALERS img
Chapter 75 THE TWISTED TRUTH img
Chapter 76 THE KING HUNTS img
Chapter 77 THE RETURN TRIP img
Chapter 78 RHY'S BETRAYAL img
Chapter 79 THE IMPRONSINEMENT img
Chapter 80 THE IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE img
Chapter 81 AMBUSH AND AGONY img
Chapter 82 THE CELL img
Chapter 83 BLIND LOYALTY img
Chapter 84 FINN'S HELP img
Chapter 85 FLEEING THE CAMP img
Chapter 86 DESPERATE RUN img
Chapter 87 HUNTER ENCOUNTER img
Chapter 88 THE COLLAPSING KING img
Chapter 89 REFUGE img
Chapter 90 THE PLEA img
Chapter 91 THE PLEA img
Chapter 92 DAMON'S BETRAYAL img
Chapter 93 THE RALLY img
Chapter 94 FINN'S DECISION img
Chapter 95 THE POINT OF NO RETURN img
Chapter 96 THE PRISONER img
Chapter 97 THE SHADOW PATH img
Chapter 98 THE SMALL LOYAL PACK img
Chapter 99 THE WHISPERS IN THE BARRACKS img
Chapter 100 CLOSER TO HOME img
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The Marked Mate of the Lycan King.

Author: Blessyn _Elowen
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Chapter 1 The Scars and the Silence

Esmeralda Pov

The iron taste of copper and the sour stench of stale blood always clung to the corners of the kennel block, but today, the grime felt personal. I scrubbed the stone floor, my knuckles raw against the rough, freezing surface, careful not to look up. In this part of the Black Hills pack territory-the dregs, the slums, the place where failed omegas were shuffled off to die quietly, invisibility was the only comfort I could claim.

It had been four years since Alpha Damon Vane said those three words that ripped the ground out from under me: I reject you. Four years since my mate bond, which had felt like liquid gold in my veins, solidified into dead, useless iron.

"Well, look at the beast of burden. Still scrubbing for a crust, Esmeralda?"

The voice was thin and sharp, belonging to Luna Leona. She stood in the doorway, framed by the pale, winter sun, wearing silks that shined with the color of freshly shed blood. Damon had mated her six months after rejecting me, a tactical move to shore up his dwindling power. Leona was short on true Lycan strength, but long on cruelty.

I didn't pause my scrubbing. "Good morning, Luna," I murmured, my voice sandpaper-rough from disuse.

"Don't waste your breath on me. I just came to ensure you haven't misplaced the new whelp's bedding. It's too good for you, of course, but the pups need comfort." She sniffed dramatically, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled the failure radiating off me. "Honestly, Damon should have just exiled you. You're a stain on the pack. A living, breathing failure to his poor judgment."

The words were meant to sting, and they did, settling heavily in my chest where the Mate Mark used to burn.

I am not a stain, I thought, gripping the stiff brush. I am a survivor. You are just a parasite clinging to a failing Alpha.

But I kept the thought locked behind my teeth. Silence was safety.

Leona moved closer, her expensive boots clicking against the wet stone. "Oh, and your scars. Really, Esmeralda. Try to cover them. They distress the other omegas. A constant reminder that some wolves are simply born to be broken."

She wasn't talking about the small scars from Damon's previous punishment; she was talking about the deep, faint, almost silver-white lines that patterned my forearms, marks I couldn't explain and couldn't fully hide, marks that always seemed to subtly shift hue under certain lights.

I finally lifted my head, offering a vacant, blank stare. "Understood, Luna. I will procure a tighter sleeve."

Leona sighed, bored by my lack of reaction. She hated that she couldn't break the small piece of resistance that still lived behind my intense, brown eyes. "See that you do. The Alpha will be back soon, and I don't want him reminded of his trash collection." She turned, disappearing into the sunlight.

I sank back onto my knees, resting my forehead against the cold stone floor. Trash collection. That's all I was. The unwanted thing, the broken thing.

The sun had climbed halfway up the cold sky before I managed to slip away. I had an hour before I was expected to mend fishing nets, and I used it to walk the perimeter, moving toward the edge of the forgotten pine forest. It was a place where the scent of other wolves was thin, and I could almost pretend the world was empty.

My thoughts drifted, as they always did, to the feeling of being rejected. It wasn't just emotional pain; it was physical, like my soul had been scooped out and replaced with sand. I still saw Damon sometimes-bloated, arrogant, shouting orders. And every time, the dead, hollow feeling of that severed bond was a testament to the destruction he'd wrought.

Just as I reached the massive, jagged cliff face that marked the boundary of our forgotten territory, I saw him.

Old Man Silas.

He was the oldest living elder in the pack, a frail, hunched shadow who mostly stayed hidden. He was slumped against the cliff base, his breathing shallow and rattling. His threadbare tunic was soaked dark with fresh, wet blood, thick and matted against the rough cloth.

I rushed to him, fear overriding my instinct for invisibility.

"Silas! Gods, you're bleeding. What happened? Where are you hurt?"

His cheek was split open and a deep, rattling choke escaped his lips. He was in terrible shape, but his eyes, clouded with age, focused on me with disturbing clarity.

"Don't waste breath on me, child. No time for healers or lies." His voice was a dry whisper, but the intensity in his gaze was terrifying. My mind screamed: He's insane. He's dying.

He didn't acknowledge my words, instead reaching into the folds of his blood-soaked tunic. He pulled out something that looked like a crudely carved piece of black obsidian, fitted into a worn leather cord.

"Listen, Esmeralda." He lunged forward, grasping my wrist with surprising, iron strength. His touch was sticky with his own blood. "They call your lineage the Silver-Eyed Rogues. A curse, the fools say. But it is salvation. And it is knowledge."

I stared, unable to form words, fixated on the blood staining my skin. "Silas, please, what are you talking about? You're hurt, you need help."

"You have the blood! The memory! When you look at the Shadow Canyons, you don't see stone! You see the path! The ancient, true path!" He was shouting now, the sound agonizing in his lungs. His words were a confusing jumble of mythology and logistics.

I shook my head violently, trying to pull away, convinced the trauma had broken his mind. "The Shadow Canyons are an illusion! King Demetrius's territory, it's impenetrable! That's madness!"

"Only the ignorant are blocked! He is trapped! The Hunters are closing in, Esmeralda! And he needs this path to breathe!" Silas jammed the obsidian talisman directly into my palm, forcing my fingers to close around it.

It was cool and smooth, but as my skin touched it, a faint, almost musical thrum vibrated through me, settling strangely right into the pale, silver-white scars on my arm. I flinched, pulling my hand back and staring at the object with absolute dread.

Silas fixed me with one last, desperate, lucid look. "They will come for the path. They will come for the killer. Hide this. Trust your eyes. Your eyes, Esmeralda. They are not what they seem."

With a final, gasping breath, the strength left him entirely. His grip loosened, and his eyes went slack, now truly empty. Old Man Silas was gone. I remained hunched there, the cold obsidian burning in my hand, staring at the jagged cliff face. Silver-Eyed? Killer? The words were nonsensical, yet the weight of the secret felt impossibly heavy, far too big for a mere omega to carry. I felt dizzy with shock and disbelief.

I eventually scrambled back to the slums, my mind reeling. The Silver-Eyed? A true path? I quickly wrapped the obsidian talisman in an oily rag and buried it beneath a loose floorboard in the kennel. Safety first. Always.

It was just as I straightened up that I felt it-not through scent, not through sight, but through the earth itself.

A deep, continuous thrumming.

It wasn't the chaotic noise of a typical wolf pack fight, our pack's usual howling was sharp and disorganized. This was low, methodical, and heavy. It sounded like a massive, disciplined army marching in formation, and the sound was coming directly for the Black Hills.

Panic, cold and nauseating, seized my throat. I pressed myself against the kennel wall, trying to fade into the shadows.

A moment later, the noise began. Not howls, but the brutal, metallic clash of weaponry, the sharp cracks of bone, and the deep, guttural roar of Lycans that dwarfed anything Alpha Damon's pack could produce.

I risked a peek around the corner.

It wasn't wolves. It was soldiers. Towering figures in dark, reinforced armor, moving with unnerving precision. They were Lycans, yes, but they were the elite Guard of the Iron Citadel. They moved like machines, executing Damon's scrambling pack members with swift, decisive force.

King Demetrius. The Lycan King. He never left his Citadel. He never dealt with petty packs like ours.

I saw Alpha Damon, utterly pathetic, trying to shift and run, only to be intercepted by a large, granite-faced Lycan whose uniform indicated he was high-ranking, the King's Beta, Rhys Volkov. Damon was slammed against a tree, his whimpering cut short.

The King's forces weren't taking slaves, weren't demanding tribute, and weren't interested in the territory. They were executing every male combatant on sight, clearing the area. They were searching for something specific, and they were tearing my world apart to find it.

My breath hitched as I realized the terrifying truth: Silas hadn't warned me about a future threat. He'd warned me about a threat that was already here.

A shadow fell over my hiding place. A set of heavy, polished boots stopped just inches from my face. I held my breath, closing my eyes, praying for that cherished invisibility to hold.

A deep, powerful voice, cold and devoid of inflection, cut through the clamor of the massacre.

"The King commanded the Omega in these dregs. Rhys, where is the woman who belonged to the rejected Alpha?"

The voice was not Rhys's, and it was too close. The voice was heavy with authority and power, a voice that could command mountains to crumble.

I realized, with a horrifying, sickening dread, that the King's forces weren't here for the land. They weren't here for revenge.

They were here for me.

            
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