EX-HUSBAND'S REGRET: DIVORCED AND CLAIMED BY THE LYCAN KING

Niamh' s POV

My cheap black flats were so worn out that I could feel every sharp stone on the driveway right through the sole.

I was married to a billionaire CEO but couldn't even afford decent flats.

My shift at the diner finished half an hour late because a big group of twelve people showed up just as we were closing. My manager knew I needed the money, so he made me stay.

I was beyond exhausted that by the time I finally reached the porch of the huge house I lived in, my legs were ready to disintegrate into dust.

A storm was rolling up ahead as thunder rumbled in the distance, causing the wind to whip my hair.

I pushed through the heavy oak door just as the rain threatened to start.

The silent house smelled of lilies and wax; a familiar, lonely scent. None of my coworkers would ever believe I was married to a billionaire CEO.

I walked toward the living room, hoping to find Marcus so I could tell him about my day; not that he ever really listened. I just wanted to feel like I wasn't a ghost in my own marriage, at least for tonight.

I found him in the living room.

He was sitting on the sofa, perfectly composed, with his mother, Evelyn, sitting in the armchair opposite him.

They looked like they were holding a board meeting. And on the mahogany coffee table was a stack of papers.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Marcus?" I called, my voice sounding small in the high-ceilinged room. "What's going on?"

He didn't look up from the latest iPad in his hands. "Sit down."

"I'm actually really tired, I just got off my shift..."

"I said sit," he repeated. His voice was cold and clipped.

I went to sit down, the greasy feeling from the diner clinging to my skin. It made me feel even more out of place among all the white silk and gold in the room.

I looked down at the papers, and the word DIVORCE leaped out at me in big, black letters.

"I don't get it," I whispered. I searched Marcus's face, looking for any signs of the kind man I had married two years ago. "Is this a joke?"

"Don't be dramatic," Evelyn snapped, her voice dripping with hate.

She smoothened her designer skirt, looking at me with pure disgust. "You've been a guest in this house for two years, Niamh. A charity project that has finally run its course."

"A charity project?" I stared at Marcus, appalled. "Marcus, tell me what's going on. We've been married for two years! I've done everything for you. I've stood by you, I've managed this house, and I've been a good wife while you built your business..."

A sharp sting hit my face before I could catch it.

It was a slap.

The blow was so fast I didn't see it coming. My head snapped to the side, and for a second, all I could see were white spots.

I touched my face, my fingers trembling, and looked up to see Evelyn standing over me, her eyes narrow and hateful.

"Do not raise your voice at my son," she hissed. "You are an orphan who only got married to my son because he pitied you. You should be thanking us for the clothes on your back, not demanding explanations."

"I worked for these clothes!" I cried out, the tears finally starting to fall.

"I tried to get a real job, Marcus! I sent out hundreds of resumes. I have the qualifications, but no one would even call me back for an interview. I took that waitress job because I didn't want to be a burden!"

Marcus set his iPad down. A slow, cruel smirk spread across his face as he finally looked at me.

"Niamh, you really are slow," he said, shaking his head like I am a lost cause.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you honestly think it was just bad luck? I own half the companies you applied to, and I know the CEOs of the other half. I made phone calls. I told them you were...not skilled enough. I made sure no HR department in this city would touch you."

The room felt like it was spinning. "Why? Why would you do that to me?"

"Because a woman like you is easier to manage when she has nothing," he said, his voice completely flat. "If you had a career, you'd have opinions. I wanted a wife who knew her place. But even then, you failed at the one thing you were actually kept here for."

"And what was that?" I asked, my voice breaking.

"An heir," a high, mocking voice came from the winding staircase.

I looked up and saw Chloe.

She was the daughter of Marcus's business partner, a woman I'd always thought was too friendly with my husband. She was draped in a green silk robe. A robe I usually wore to bed.

And she was clutching a glass of red wine.

"Let's be real, Niamh," Chloe said, walking down the stairs with a confident sway of her hips.

"A billionaire needs a son to carry on the name. You've had two years, and your womb is as empty as your bank account, as empty as your existence. You're barren. Honestly, can you even call yourself a woman if you can't do the one thing nature intended?"

"Sign them. You're no woman if you can't give me an heir," Marcus ordered without defending me. "I've already had your things packed into two suitcases. They're by the back door. If you sign now, I'll let you keep the tips you made today. If you don't, I'll make sure the diner fires you by tonight. You'll be on the street with nothing."

I looked at the man I had loved and thought that loved me back.

So ironic that it took Marcus divorcing me to make me realize that he had never loved me at all

With shaky hands, I grabbed the pen and scrawled my name on the lines he pointed to.

"I'm leaving," I announced in a tired voice, standing up.

My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to walk with the last shred of dignity I had left.

"Don't forget your bags, dear," Evelyn called out mockingly. "Though I'm sure the thrift store will appreciate them."

I didn't take the bags. I didn't want anything they had touched. I walked out the door with nothing but my uniform and the twelve dollars in my pocket.

The moment the door closed behind me, the sky broke.

The rain poured down hard, as if crying with me.

Instantly, I became soaked and drenched from head to toe.

The wind picked up, blowing my hair into my face as I started the long walk down the driveway.

I didn't have a car because Marcus always insisted on driving me, which was his way of controlling where I went. I didn't have a phone either because I was saving up to replace my old one and I didn't have any friends.

I was a freshman dropout when I met Marcus. Mom had just passed, leaving me with debts that Marcus later cleared.

I walked for what felt like miles, my wet shoes rubbing my feet raw.

My mind kept replaying the past two years; the meals I'd cooked, the nights I'd waited up for him, the love I thought we had.

Marcus had hated me the whole time.

How was I blind to it?

The rain continued to pour heavily but I didn't care.

I ventured into a road that was hardly trespassed. The road was dark, surrounded by thick woods. I was so exhausted and heartbroken that my legs finally gave out. I tripped over a rock and landed hard on the wet grass.

"Please," I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. "I can't do this anymore," I cried into the rain.

I tried to push myself up, but my hand hit something solid.

It was warm.

I crawled forward, squinting my eyes through the dark. A man was lying face-down in the wet grass.

He was huge, and bigger than anyone I'd ever seen, and he wasn't wearing a shirt.

His back was covered in deep, ugly cuts that were bleeding into the dirt and mixing with the rain.

"Hey!" I yelled over the rain. "Are you okay?"

I reached out and touched his shoulder. His skin felt like it was on fire even with all the rain pouring.

I leaned over him, trying to see if he was still breathing.

"Oh my god," I breathed, my own problems momentarily forgotten. "Hey! Can you hear me?"

"Please be alive," I whispered, leaning over him, my hair dripping water onto his face. "Please don't die out here."

Suddenly, a massive hand shot out and grabbed me by the neck. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to scream. The man in the mud rolled over, pinning me beneath him in the mud with a speed that defied his injuries.

I looked up, and my breath hitched.

His eyes were wide and glowing a fierce, molten amber in the darkness.

He wasn't looking at me like a man in need of help. He didn't look like he needed any assistance but his face contorted into pain as he stared at me, as if I was the reason for his pain. Maybe he was having delusions from his injuries. I tried to speak but then he opened his mouth and beast-like teeth appeared.

Before I could even think to scream, he lunged for me and his mouth crashed against mine, shutting me up with a rough kiss.

Niamhs POV

His lips demanded entrance, and without a thought, I found myself complying.

One second I was trying to save a dying man, and the next, he was devouring me.

The kiss tasted like wild rain and storm; like wet grass, mud and blood.

The tastiest kiss I've ever had.

My hands were trapped against his chest, feeling his slick hot body mixing with the cool rain and the hard muscle underneath.

I couldn't even get a breath in.

My heart was thumping so hard against my ribs I thought it might actually break out and run away, leaving me for dead. Every instinct told me to fight, to scream, but he held me so tightly that I was at the brink of snapping.

And then suddenly, I felt the sharp, unmistakable prick of fangs against my bottom lip.

They weren't like human teeth; they were thick and needle-sharp.

It felt like my skin would break but they didn't break my skin. Although, the pressure was there, as a terrifying reminder that the man holding me was dangerous.

And yet, I couldn't push him away.

Something was making me cling to him, in a way that made me feel not ashamed.

I couldn't see his face but images of him taking him in the mud flashed across my mind.

My palms found their way to the gashes on his back, and that's when the world went sideways.

Under my fingers, his skin began to move in a frantic, bubbling sensation.

I felt the deep, open wounds seal shut in seconds, the ragged edges of his flesh knitting together until the skin was smooth again.

At the same time, the feverish heat left him.

He went from burning hot to ice-cold in a single heartbeat, his skin turning as chilled as the rain hitting us.

And when I found his cold body comforting, when I started to melt into the kiss and forget everything that had gone wrong in my life, the kiss ended just as fast as it had started.

A deep, vibrating snarl ripped through the air, and suddenly, the man was yanked off me.

Two massive shapes tore out of the trees, hitting him with enough force to send mud flying into my face.

They were huge; the size of bears but shaped like wolves, with matted fur and eyes that glowed a dull, sickly red.

The creatures snapped their jaws, lunging for the man's throat while he was still trying to stand up from where they had flung him to the ground.

Dread curled low in my belly as I lay there in the mud, watching the creatures attack the huge man.

"Help!" I tried to yell, but my voice was just a dry croak in the pouring rain.

I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, my heart in my throat.

The three of them were a blur of fur and muscle in the dark.

One of the beasts sank its teeth into the man's shoulder, but the man seemed unaffected. He didn't even make a sound. He just reached out and grabbed the beast by its neck.

Then, I saw his hands.

His fingers changed into claws. Thick, black, long nails that looked like an abyss.

With one violent shove, he grabbed the first beast with his claws, snapped its neck and then threw the beast into a tree with a sickening thud.

The second one jumped at him, its mouth wide, but the man was faster.

He swung his transformed arm in a wide arc, his new claws ripping through the creature's chest like it was made of paper.

There was a wet, tearing sound, and then the pungent smell of iron hit me.

Blood sprayed across the mud and grass, turning the puddles darker.

In less than a minute, both of the creatures were slumped in the mud, their throats torn open and their bodies still.

The man stood over them, his chest not even heaving as he stared down at the carcasses.

He didn't have a single scratch on him. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes still glowing a bright, molten amber.

As I watched him stand a few feet away from me, the black claws on his hands began to shrink, his fingers turning back to normal, though they were still covered in blood.

I just stared at him as fear gripped me.

He's going to kill me and lump my body with the beasts lying behind him.

Suddenly, it all became too much.

My brain couldn't process any of it.

The divorce, the slap from Evelyn, the rain, and now this; it was too much.

The world started to go fuzzy at the edges. The sound of the rain turned into a distant hum, and my legs felt like they were made of lead even as I lay in the mud.

I fought to stay awake, my fingers digging into the wet mud to keep myself upright, but the darkness was faster.

The last thing I saw was the man walking toward me.

Then, everything went black the moment I realized he wasn't wearing any clothes, not even underwear.

Alastairion's POV

I stood over the unconscious woman as my feet sank into the wet grass, watching her chest rise and fall steadily.

Nearby, the smell of blood from the two dead wolves began to fade, washed away by the heavy rain.

The storm tonight was extremely violent and dark enough to keep me paralyzed.

Since that night many centuries ago, the rain had always felt suffocating and heavy. A feeling I couldn't run from, unless I went to another city where there was no rain at that point in time.

It blurred my senses and made me feel as feeble and docile as a human. As 'ordinary' as these beings.

But tonight was different.

The air felt electric, and I could track every single drop that hit the ground.

My predatory instincts were sharper than ever. I could even smell the stench of blood cooling in the dead wolves, and beneath that, the fast, panicked heartbeat of the strange woman at my feet.

Just when I was about to lean down to check if she was running a fever, the sound of footsteps reached me then.

Before he could even draw closer, I smelled the loyalty and concern on him.

Atticus.

He skidded to a halt a few feet away, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

I could hear his heart thudding against his ribs like a panicked drum.

For a long moment, the only sound was the roar of the rain and the distant rumble of thunders clapping.

Lightening streaked the sky, briefly illuminating the woman in the grass.

I could hear and smell it all without feeling a pinch of pain.

Atticus took a sharp intake of breath.

"My... my King..." he stuttered, his voice trembling and was almost lost to the wind.

I ignored him as my attention was entirely focused on the woman.

Her dark hair spread out like a stain of black ink in the wet grass, and I stared at the softness of her throat.

I heard the wet squish of a material before feeling its dampness on the back of my skin as he covered me with it.

It was a long coat.

"You... you killed a human?" Atticus's voice cracked, rising in pitch as shock took hold.

He stepped closer, his steps cautious until he stood just behind me. I could feel the heat of his anxiety and the disbelief radiating from him in waves.

To him, the scene must have been a horror picture: his King, naked and drenched in blood under the storm, standing over the limp body of a small, helpless female human.

My mind, however, drifted back to the moment of my madness. She had touched me when I was at my weakest, and I had instantly lost all control.

The kiss was never my intention; the very idea was ludicrous, a violation of the sacred laws that kept our kind separate from theirs.

I was a Lycan King, of the purest bloodline, and she was nothing more than a stray human I'd stumbled upon in this rain.

But then I recalled the ancient prophecies. They spoke of a rare, near-mythical phenomenon where certain humans whose very presence could call forth a primal desire in a Lycan or other, a hunger not unlike the way our raw power could hypnotize and lure humans to their doom. It was described as a glitch, an act that was meant to be detrimental to the human involved.

But as our lips met, I felt my injuries begin to heal and the darkness in my mind finally cleared.

It was as if I had sucked the energy out of her. That should not have been the case.

She is supposed to be dead.

The shame of the kiss was a bitter, foul taste in the back of my throat, but it was quickly overshadowed by a growing, nagging suspicion.

This couldn't have been a simple human encounter. Surviving that, and the way my own wounds had vanished only led to one possible conclusion.

"She's... not human," I finally spoke to Atticus as the rain poured around us.