Rejected By The Prince, Hunted By The Lycan

Kimberley Oliver POV:

A foul stench of sour ale and stale sweat slammed into my senses the exact second my eyes snapped open.

A heavy, suffocating weight crushed my ribs.

My skull throbbed like someone had driven an iron spike straight into my brain, but the sharp surge of adrenaline instantly wiped away the haze. A hulking body was pinned over mine on a sagging, damp mattress.

Rough, calloused hands gripped the frayed collar of my linen tunic, ripping the fabric down with a violent jerk.

"Hold still, you little wolfless bitch," a man grunted against my neck, his hot breath thick with the rank odor of cheap rotgut. "Second Madam paid me good coin to ruin you tonight, and I aim to get my fill."

In this kingdom, being born wolfless was considered worse than being a common slave. Without an inner beast, you had no strength, no mind-link, and no status in a wolf pack.

Memories flooded into my mind in an instant-the deeply buried memories and all my skills fully awakened within me at that moment.

My uncle's greedy second wife had taken charge of the estate while my parents were missing, and tonight they sent an executioner to strip me of my last shred of dignity.

Before my conscious mind even had a chance to finish processing the thought, my instincts took over everything.

I did not scream.

I did not plead.

I drove my right knee upward with every ounce of force this scrawny body possessed, aiming directly between his splayed thighs.

A wet, sickening crunch echoed in the tiny bedroom.

"Aaargh!"

The man, Cletus-a low-ranking rogue thug hired by the second branch-screeched like a slaughtered pig. His face went instantly pale, his grip tearing free from my shirt as he tumbled off the bed. He hit the stone floor in a pathetic heap, curling into a tight, shuddering ball with both hands clamped between his legs.

I rolled off the wooden frame, landing on light feet, my gaze sweeping the room like a thermal scope.

Standing by the foot of the bed was Brenda.

She was the personal maid assigned to me, an Omega servant who had traded her loyalty to the second branch weeks ago. In her trembling hand, she clutched a long, wicked silver needle meant to pierce my pressure points and keep me paralyzed for the assault.

"You... you filthy cripple!" Brenda shrieked, panic morphing into vicious fury across her pointed face. "How dare you fight back!"

She lunged at me, driving the needle straight toward my carotid artery.

The silver glinted in the gloom.

I did not flinch. I did not step back.

I waited until the needle was two inches from my flesh, tilted my head a fraction to the left, and watched the thrust slice harmlessly through empty air.

"Die already! Second Madam said you must be disgraced before the Crown Prince arrives!" she snarled, clawing at my face with her free hand.

A cold, razor-thin smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

My right hand shot out like an iron clamp. I seized her wrist, twisted her arm outward against the natural hinge of the joint, and wrenched downward.

Crack.

The clean sound of breaking bone snapped through the silence of the room.

Brenda did not even have the breath to scream. Her jaw dropped in silent agony, her eyes bulging as her wrist folded backward at an unnatural angle.

Before the needle could hit the floorboards, my left hand snatched it out of midair. I drove the blunt silver point deep into the numbing node beneath her collarbone.

Her eyelids fluttered, her knees liquefied, and she dropped to the stones like a sack of grain, unable to muster more than a wet whimper.

Behind me, the floorboards groaned.

Cletus was staggering back to his feet, eyes bloodshot with murderous rage. He dragged one foot, drool leaking from his lips as he scooped up a broken table leg from the debris.

"I'll tear your throat out, you cunt!" he roared, lunging forward with a clumsy swing.

I watched his telegraphed strike with detached precision.

As the wood descended, I dropped low beneath his guard. My heel whipped around, kicking hard into the side of his right knee.

The joint popped out of alignment with a dull thud.

Cletus crashed downward onto both knees, his heavy momentum driving his chin straight into the path of my rising boot.

Three blood-stained teeth flew across the dark room.

He slammed onto his back, gasping for air as my boot pinned his throat against the cold stone, pressing just hard enough to crush his windpipe without snapping it entirely.

"You're... you're not her..." he wheezed, terror finally overtaking the madness in his pupils. "The wolfless trash... can't move like this..."

I leaned down until my eyes were inches from his.

"You got it wrong," I whispered softly. "I've always been Kimberley."

I picked up the splintered table leg beside me and brought it down hard against the side of his skull.

His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp.

I tossed the wood aside, wiped the grime from my palms onto my pants, and stood up straight. My lungs burned from the exertion; this body was severely malnourished and weak, but the neural pathways of a veteran operative were entirely intact.

My aunt, Gertrude Oliver, had orchestrated this ambush. She had laced my evening broth with a heavy sedative, intending to catch me in bed with a common street thug so my betrothed, Crown Prince Jovanni, would have every legal right to tear up our royal marriage pact.

I walked over to the tarnished bronze mirror hanging on the rotting plaster wall.

The reflection showed a pale face with sharp cheekbones, tangled silver-white hair, and violet eyes that burned with absolute venom.

I murmured to the glass. "Every single debt they owe me, I'm collecting in blood."

I turned back to the two unconscious bodies sprawled across the floor.

A brutal, satisfying blueprint formed in my head.

If the second branch wanted a scandalous show of illicit lust to present to the royal family tonight, I was more than happy to stage the performance for them.

I knelt beside Cletus, seized the collar of his grease-stained woolen shirt, and ripped it completely off his torso.

Kimberley Oliver POV:

The sour stench of sweat and stale beer clung to the brute's clothes, turning my stomach as I stripped the filthy trousers off his heavy frame.

I dragged Cletus by his ankles toward the wooden bed.

This body lacked the raw muscle I was used to, and my biceps burned with sharp, stinging exhaustion by the time I hoisted his two-hundred-pound deadweight onto the stained mattress.

Next came Brenda.

I gripped the hem of her black maid uniform, tearing the fabric down the seam until she was completely bare. I hauled her onto the bed, arranging her limp arms around Cletus's neck and slinging his heavy leg across her bare hips in an unmistakable tangle of sweaty limbs.

To finish the scene, I grabbed a half-empty jug of sour blackberry wine from the rickety side table and tipped it across the sheets, letting the dark red liquid pool like the messy remnants of a drunken orgy.

The hurried clatter of boots and the crackle of pine torches echoed from the courtyard outside.

They were coming.

I hurried to the shadowed corner between the wardrobe and the crumbling wall. I dragged my fingernails through my tangled silver hair, making it a wild, disheveled mess, then pinched my thighs hard enough to bruise, forcing hot tears to well up in my eyes.

I pulled my knees tightly against my chest, lowered my chin, and let my shoulders tremble like a cornered rabbit facing a pack of wolves.

"Move! Break the latch!" Gertrude's shrill, grating voice carried through the oak panels. "The shameful little whore is inside with her street mongrel! Let the whole pack see what kind of trash Jeremiah left behind!"

A heavy boot slammed into the weakened wood.

The door burst inward with a splintering crash, bouncing off the stone wall and showering the entryway with dust.

Gertrude marched into the room like a vulture spotting fresh carrion, flanked by five armed house guards holding flaming torches and two stout washerwomen.

Her broad, heavily powdered face was twisted in triumphant malice.

"Kimberley, you wretched disgrace! Tonight the Oliver family strips you of your name and beats you within an inch of-"

The words choked in her throat.

The bright orange glare of the torches illuminated the bed, painting every inch of pale, naked flesh in stark relief.

There lay Brenda and Cletus, wrapped together in a grotesque, naked embrace, surrounded by dark stains and discarded clothing.

Gertrude's watery yellow eyes bugged out of their sockets. Her jaw went slack, the heavy layers of white cosmetic powder cracking around her gaping mouth.

"What... what is this?" she shrieked, her voice cracking into a high-pitched squeal. "Brenda? Cletus?"

A muffled snicker broke out among the guards behind her. Two of the men cleared their throats, hastily averting their gazes from the maid's exposed backside while still trying to steal a look.

From the dark corner, I let out a tiny, broken sob.

"Aunt... please..." I whimpered, keeping my voice raspy and choked with terror. "They... they broke in... they went crazy..."

Gertrude spun around, staring at me huddled in the shadows.

Her expression was pure disbelief. I was certain she remembered personally slipping a lethal dose of paralytic powder into my tea just three hours ago. By all accounts, I should have been pinned beneath that thug, weeping and ruined.

"You... you little monster!" she hissed, pointing a quivering, ring-laden finger at my face. "What did you do?"

Before she could step forward, a woman stepped out from behind the guards.

Martha Hayes, the second branch's favored concubine and Gertrude's primary enforcer in the household, narrowed her sly eyes.

"Madam, do not listen to her lies," Martha said smoothly, stepping into the light with a cruel smirk. "This wolfless runt must have used some vile hedge-witch poison on them! Look at Sadie and Ruby-they are strong enough to drag her to the cells right now. We will beat the truth out of her before the Crown Prince arrives."

Gertrude grasped at the lifeline like a drowning dog.

"Yes! Sadie! Ruby!" she barked, her flabby jowls quivering with venom. "Bind this filthy creature! Drag her to the dungeon and hang her by her wrists until she confesses to bewitching my servants!"

Two massive, barrel-chested servants stepped forward from the back of the escort.

Sadie and Ruby were notorious in the estate for beating young maidservants with leather laundry paddles. Both carried thick hemp ropes, their sneering faces lit by the firelight as they stalked toward my corner.

"Get up, little lady," Sadie grunted, reaching out a massive, calloused hand to seize my torn collar. "You're going to regret waking up today."

I kept my head down, letting my body shake with pathetic spasms.

But beneath the shadow of my silver hair, my tears dried instantly, replaced by a gaze as cold as arctic ice.

Kimberley Oliver POV:

Sadie's thick fingers gripped my shoulder, her heavy nails digging through the torn fabric of my tunic.

No doubt she expected a sobbing, paralyzed girl who would collapse into the dirt.

The moment her weight shifted forward, my body coiled like a steel spring.

I didn't pull away. I stepped into her reach, seized her thick wrist with my left hand, and drove the heel of my right palm directly upward into the back of her extended elbow.

Crack.

The dry, sickening snap of the joint breaking echoed louder than the torchlight crackling against the stone.

Sadie threw her head back, letting out a shriek so raw it rattled the window panes. Her massive bulk buckled under the shock of the compound fracture, her twisted arm dangling uselessly as she collapsed toward the floorboards.

Beside her, Ruby's sneer vanished into stunned shock, but her brawler instincts kicked in. She raised a thick hemp noose, aiming to whip it around my throat.

"You wolfless rat-!"

I didn't let her finish the curse.

Before Sadie even hit the stones, I pivoted on my left heel, driving a front kick with the steel-toed tip of my worn leather boot straight into the lateral side of Ruby's right kneecap.

A wet popping sound tore through the air.

"Impossible!" Martha shrieked from the doorway, her manicured fingers clawing at her throat. "She has no beast! How can she move like that?"

Ruby's leg folded sideways at an impossible angle. She crashed onto one knee with a choked gasp of agony.

I grabbed a handful of her greasy hair, yanked her head down, and brought my knee smashing up into the center of her face.

Her nose exploded in a spray of dark blood.

Ruby's eyes rolled back into her skull, and she dropped face-first onto the stones beside Sadie, completely unconscious.

The room fell dead silent.

The guards stood frozen in the doorway, their hands hovering over the hilts of their iron broadswords, their eyes wide with sheer terror. None of them dared take a step across the threshold.

I rose to my full height, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness.

The cold, lethal pressure radiating from my stance was not the invisible dominance of an Alpha wolf-it was the pure, concentrated killing intent of an operative who had ended dozens of lives in close-quarters combat.

Gertrude stumbled backward, her heavy velvet skirt catching on the door sill. Her round face had turned the color of curdled milk.

"What... what kind of demon are you?" she stammered, raising her trembling hands to shield her flabby throat.

I walked toward her, step by deliberate step.

Each footfall was entirely soundless against the dusty stone.

"Aunt Gertrude," I whispered, my voice flat and hollow, carrying a chill that made the hair on the guards' arms stand on end. "Did you bring the entire household here at midnight just to admire your loyal servants rutting like beasts?"

"Don't... don't you dare touch me!" she squealed, pressing her back flat against the doorframe. "The Crown Prince is already entering the gates! When His Highness sees your depravity, you will be executed on the royal block!"

"The Crown Prince?" I tilted my head, letting a ghost of a smile touch my lips.

Right on cue, the synchronized, heavy thunder of iron-shod boots echoed from the paved courtyard outside, accompanied by the sharp clinking of royal cavalry plate.

"Make way for His Highness, Crown Prince Jovanni Burnett!" a herald's voice boomed through the damp night air.

A burst of feverish triumph flashed across Gertrude's sweating face. She looked at me like I was already on the execution scaffold.

"You're dead, you little monster!" she hissed under her breath, hastily rearranging her shawl to look like an abused, grieving matron.

I didn't waste a second.

The lethal aura vanished from my posture like smoke in a gale.

I dropped my center of gravity, stumbled back toward the cold stone corner, and let my knees hit the floor with a painful smack. I buried my face in my trembling hands, forcing ragged, suffocating sobs to tear from my chest as fresh tears flooded my cheeks.

Sadie, who was still conscious and clutching her ruined wrist on the floor, stared at my sudden transformation with absolute horror, as if watching a ghost put on human skin.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped across the threshold, flanked by six silver-armored royal knights.

He had golden hair that caught the torchlight, an impeccably tailored crimson doublet, and amber eyes filled with supreme, unyielding arrogance.

Jovanni Burnett.

The Alpha heir to the Silvermoon throne, and the man who had treated my predecessor like dirt beneath his gilded boots for seven long years.

Behind him trotted Frances Oliver, my younger cousin from the second branch, dressed in an extravagant silk gown, her pretty face barely hiding a gloating sneer.

"Madam Gertrude," Jovanni spoke, his deep voice laced with the heavy, suffocating pressure of a royal Alpha command. "You sent word that my honor was being dragged through the mud here. Where is the filthy spectacle you promised?"