The Lycan King Curse

I should've known.

The moment Dylan stepped onto that stage with his tie undone and his lips pressed into a flat, miserable line, I should've known something was wrong. Something was always wrong with Dylan, I just didn't want to see it.

The guests murmured. My heart thumped in my ears. I took a shaky breath and stepped forward in my ivory dress, the veil clutched in one hand. My smile wavered.

He didn't even look at me.

"Dylan?" I whispered.

He turned to face the crowd instead, jaw tight. "I-I can't go through with this."

Silence. Pure, suffocating silence. Then-

"What?" I choked, the word barely leaving my throat.

"I'm sorry," he said, like it meant anything. "But I'm not marrying Quinn."

Gasps broke out across the pack house hall.

My chest caved inward.

"My mate is in the hospital," he said louder now, for everyone to hear. "She's carrying my child. And she's in critical condition."

The room spun. My body turned to ice.

Mate?

Pregnant?

My feet moved on their own. "Dylan, what are you talking about?" My voice cracked, shaking.

"I can't let her die while I stand here pretending to love someone I don't." His eyes finally met mine, hard and cold. "I never loved you, Quinn."

Pain hit like a slap. I stepped back. My wolf whimpered in my mind.

He kept going. "I needed to prove to my father that I was responsible. That I could commit. That's why I proposed. That's why I played along."

Played along?

I laughed. It was sharp and hollow. "You used me."

"I had no choice," he snapped. "You think my father would've let me near the Alpha title if I didn't prove myself with the perfect, obedient she-wolf? You were convenient."

I clenched my fists. "Say that again."

But he turned his back to me.

That was it. No explanation. No guilt.

Just cold-blooded betrayal.

I could hear someone crying in the crowd. I didn't know if it was my aunt, my cousin-or me. My throat burned. I couldn't breathe.

My mother stood at the far end of the room, arms folded, face unreadable.

Of course she wasn't surprised.

Of course she knew.

She always knew everything before I did.

I turned toward her, and for once, I saw what she really thought of me. No pity. Not concerned. Just disgust.

"Don't make a scene," she mouthed slowly.

Don't make a scene?

I stormed down the aisle, ripping off my veil and tossing it to the floor. My father avoided my gaze like getting has always done when things get sour. Coward.

Outside, the wind howled. My hands trembled as I tugged off the heels. I didn't care that I was barefoot on the gravel path. I didn't care that I was still in my wedding dress.

I needed answers.

I needed a name.

I needed to know who Dylan threw everything away for.

So I ran.

The hospital smelled like bleach and betrayal. I charged up to the nurse's station, my voice steel. "I need to know who was just admitted for an emergency pregnancy. Critical condition. The father's name is Dylan Reid."

The nurse blinked. "Ma'am, we can't-"

"I'm his fiancée. Or... I was," I bit out. "Tell me where he is."

The nurse hesitated, then pointed. "Room 213. Maternity emergency wing."

I didn't thank her. I didn't slow down.

I burst through the door like a hurricane.

And there she was.

Cassandra.

My best friend.

In the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, looking pale and beautiful, was the girl I'd grown up with. The girl who laughed with me in high school, shared secrets, painted my nails, and told me Dylan was "just her cousin" when they met two years ago.

She looked shocked when she saw me. But not guilty.

"Quinn..."

I laughed bitterly. "You?"

She blinked, pretending to be confused. "W-What are you-"

I marched to the bed. "Cut the crap. You're the one carrying Dylan's baby?"

Her hands went to her stomach. Protective. Possessive.

Like she had any right.

"He said you'd hate me," she whispered.

"Hate you?" I seethed. "You sat in my house. Ate with my family. Planned my engagement party. All the while, screwing the man I was supposed to marry?"

"He was never yours Quinn, you were just a temporary replacement" she said, a tone of mockery evident in her voice.

"Oh, that makes it okay?" I barked out a harsh laugh.

The door opened behind me, and Dylan stepped in, panting, sweaty, looking like he'd just run a marathon.

His eyes widened when he saw me.

"You," I said quietly. "Told me she was your cousin."

He didn't respond.

"She's pregnant," I continued, voice rising. "With your child. And you introduced her to me as your goddamn cousin."

"Quinn, I-"

I slapped him.

The sound echoed in the room.

Cassandra gasped. Dylan reeled back, but I wasn't done.

"You humiliated me in front of the entire pack," I hissed. "You lied. You used me. For what? To earn Daddy's approval?"

He looked ashamed, but not enough.

"I should've known. You were always a coward."

"Don't talk to him like that," Cassandra said, frowning.

I turned to her. "Shut up. You don't get to defend him."

"Please leave," Dylan said, voice low. "She's not well."

"I don't give a damn." I stepped closer. "You could've told me the truth. You could've broken it off like a man. But instead you waited till our wedding day to throw me away like garbage."

"You were always garbage," he said, his voice rising.

"I gave you people to rely on when no one wants to play with a cursed and weak omega like you so be grateful for that" he said scorn

"I was just a tool to get what you wanted."

He didn't deny it.

My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.

"You're dead to me, both of you."

I turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Dylan? You better pray your father never finds out the truth. Because I'll make sure he does."

"Too bad, his father died this morning and that's why your engagement was broken" Cassandra said with a smirk playing on her lips

My face went pale.

I slammed the door on my way out.

It is raining now. Of course it was.

I stood on the sidewalk, wedding dress soaked, mascara running. People stared. I didn't care.

My phone rang. My mother.

I declined the call.

It rang again.

I picked it up.

"What?" I snapped.

"You made a spectacle of yourself," she said coldly. "We'll never live this down."

"I don't care," I spat. "I'm done pretending."

"I warned you about Dylan. You didn't listen."

"You didn't warn me. You just hated me so much you wanted me to fail."

She was silent.

I continued, voice shaking. "You never loved me. You just tolerated me because it made you look good in front of the pack."

"You're being dramatic."

"No. I'm finally seeing things clearly."

I hung up and tossed the phone into a puddle.

Let it drown like the trust I once had in everyone around me.

I didn't go home. I walked for hours, barefoot, cold, and furious. I ended up at the old training field, the one Dylan and I used to sneak into when we were younger. The gate creaked as I pushed it open.

I let out a scream.

One long, raw, animalistic scream that tore from my throat like a wound being ripped open.

Then I shifted.

The wind stung my face as I tore through the woods, paws thudding against the wet earth. I didn't care where I was going-I just needed to run, to escape the crushing weight in my chest.

Branches snapped underfoot. Trees blurred past. My wolf didn't stop. Not until the pain dulled to a low throb and even she was tired of being angry.

By the time I shifted back, my skin was damp with rain and sweat. My hair clung to my face, and I was somewhere deep in the northern edge of Graybridge-far from the pack, far from home, if I could even call that place home anymore.

I didn't plan on going back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

In the distance, I spotted flickering neon lights-Blue Moon Tavern. Fitting.

I walked barefoot toward it, mud caking my feet, still wearing the tattered remains of my shift clothes from under the wedding dress. A few people outside started, but I didn't stop. I pushed the door open and was greeted with loud music, stale smoke, and the clink of glasses.

The bartender blinked as I approached.

"You alright there?" he asked, eyeing my torn dress and matted hair.

"I need a drink," I croaked. "Something strong."

He poured without another word. I downed the first shot, then the second, then three more. The burn didn't bother me. I wanted it.

I wanted to forget.

"Rough night?" the bartender asked after a while.

I slammed my sixth shot glass down. "You have no idea."

"Maybe a bed would be better than the bar."

"Maybe," I muttered, swaying slightly. "You rent rooms?"

"Upstairs. We've got a few for overnight travelers."

"I'll take one."

He handed me a key. "Room twelve. Down the hall, second left, past the stairs."

"Got it." I nodded... or tried to.

I grabbed the key, slid off the stool like a newborn deer, and made my way toward the hallway. I forgot the number immediately.

Was it ten? Or twenty? No-twelve.

I squinted at the numbers on the doors, my vision dancing. I stopped at a door that looked vaguely right. 210? 201? 120? Who cares.

The key fit.

I turned it and stumbled in.

Dim lights. A warm scent of cedar and something spicy.

I yawned and dropped my purse, letting my dress fall from my shoulder.

Then I heard the door to the bathroom open.

"What the hell?" a deep voice rumbled.

I froze, heart lurching.

A man stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet, water dripping down his abs like a slow tease from the goddess herself.

He stared at me, stunned. "Who are you?"

I blinked. "This is my room."

"No. It's not."

I looked down at the key still in my hand, confused. "Room twelve?"

He raised a brow. "This is twenty-one."

Shit.

"Oh," I mumbled. "My bad."

He walked forward, still dripping, still towel-clad, and just-why did he look like that? The body of a warrior, but the face of a man who could ruin someone without saying a word.

"I'll leave," I said quickly, trying to back up.

But I stepped on the hem of my dress and slipped.

"Whoa-!"

He caught me before I hit the floor, one strong arm around my waist.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Our eyes locked.

There it was. That damn electric snap. Like the universe had grabbed my spine and yanked.

My hands were on his chest. His skin was hot. My head spun-but not from the alcohol anymore.

"Don't," I whispered.

"Don't what?" he murmured, his voice low, steady.

I should've pulled away.

I should've walked out.

But I didn't.

Instead, I leaned in and kissed him.

Hard. Desperate.

He froze for half a second, then gripped my waist and kissed me back-deeper, rougher, like he'd been waiting for something to break him open too.

My dress dropped to the floor.

His towel hit the ground.

There was no name, no promise, no future. Just breath and skin and pain and need.

He pressed me to the wall, lips grazing my jaw. "What's your name?"

I closed my eyes. "Does it matter?"

He paused. Then, "No. Not tonight."

That was all it took.

He lifted me with ease, laid me on the bed, kissed every broken part of me like it could be stitched together by mouth and tongue and fire.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was raw.

And somewhere between the gasps and the tangled sheets, I gave something I'd never given anyone else-my body, my heart, my firsts.

My virginity.

To a stranger.

And I didn't regret it.

Not even a little.

I woke up to sunlight slanting through the window and the weight of an arm draped across my hip.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

Then I turned and saw him.

God, he was even more beautiful in the light.

His face was relaxed, lashes dark against his cheekbones, jaw rough with stubble. He looked peaceful. Untouchable.

I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbing my dress from the floor and wincing at the soreness between my legs.

Last night came back in pieces-drinks, heat, skin, his voice whispering something I didn't understand in my ear as I collapsed on top of him.

I didn't even ask his name.

And I still didn't want it.

Not yet.

I needed the illusion-that just once, I'd done something reckless for myself. That just once, I wasn't someone's pawn.

I scribbled a note on a hotel notepad:

"Thanks for the rescue. No regrets. – Q."

I placed it on the bedside table and slipped out quietly.

I didn't even look back.

Outside, the town was waking. I stood at the corner of the street, unsure where to go. No home to return to. No pack to belong to.

But for the first time in years, I felt something close to free.

Still hurt. Still pissed. Still burning.

But free.

My phone buzzed. I'd forgotten I even had it.

Caller ID: Mom.

I stared at the screen like it owed me a damn explanation.

Caller ID: Mom.

Of course.

The second I picked up, her screech nearly shattered my eardrum.

"Where the hell are you, Quinn? Do you think this is some kind of game? Get back here right now!"

I held the phone away from my face and blinked into the sky. Still gray. Still miserable. I exhaled through my nose, trying not to punch a wall or dissolve into flames.

"I'm coming anyway," I muttered and hung up before she could spit another insult.

I should've tossed the phone into traffic.

I walked the rest of the way home. No one stopped me. No one cared. The stares I got? All pity. The same pity I hated when Dylan rejected me, the same pity I spat on when I ran away, barefoot and broken.

But now? I didn't feel broken anymore. Something inside me had snapped clean, like the last chain unhooked from my ribs. It still hurt, but I could breathe for once.

When the Arledge estate came into view, I paused at the gate and stared up at it like it was a stranger's home. Technically, it always felt like it.

My hand gripped the cold handle of the front door, and just before I pushed it open, I froze.

"...the cursed Lycan King's envoy will be here shortly," my father's voice floated out the open living room window.

I froze. My stomach turned.

"She's lucky," Mother added. "After humiliating us, this is the least she can do."

"Sold," I whispered to myself. "They're selling me off like I'm... livestock."

My nails dug into the door.

"Is this a goddamn joke?" I roared as I burst in, slamming the door behind me.

Father turned, barely blinking. "Watch your mouth, girl."

I marched in. "Tell me what I just heard isn't true."

"It is. You leave today. The King's guard will arrive shortly," he said like he was reading off a weather report.

My chest caved in.

"You're selling me to the cursed Lycan King? The murderer? The one with a trail of blood behind him longer than his shadow?"

"It's an honor-"

"It's a death sentence!" I snapped. "And you didn't even ask me? You didn't think to-"

A flash. A crack. My face whipped sideways as his palm smacked hard against my cheek.

I gasped, tasting iron.

"Be grateful," he growled. "You've embarrassed this family enough."

I blinked at him, stunned for maybe half a second. Then I laughed. Laughed so hard I thought I'd choke.

"You mean after your perfect deal with Dylan fell apart? That's what this is about? Saving face?"

"Don't speak unless spoken to," my mother cut in coldly.

"You hate me so much you're throwing me to a beast," I hissed.

"If you hadn't failed at keeping a man-"

I lunged forward, but one of the guards stepped between us. "Back off."

That's when I noticed the three men by the hallway-pack guards I hadn't seen in years. Muscle-bound, silver-armed, ready for war.

"You're seriously doing this," I breathed. "You're giving me away like a sack of rice?"

My mother narrowed her eyes. "It's done. Accept it."

"No." I spun and bolted for the door.

Before I could reach it, cold fingers yanked my wrist. Mother's grip was steel.

"You're not leaving."

I jerked, twisted, tried to shake her off. But she pushed me toward the staircase, and the guards flanked me.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked.

"Put her in her room!" Father bellowed. "Now!"

One of the guards hoisted me like I weighed nothing and shoved me up the stairs while I kicked and punched and screamed.

"This is illegal! I'm not a damn toy! I'm not-"

They pushed me inside my room and slammed the door shut behind me. A key turned. Then the bolt.

Trapped.

Like always.

I roared, a deep growl tearing from my chest as I punched the wall. My hand ached. Didn't matter. I grabbed the dresser and threw it against the door. Not that it'd stop anyone.

My breaths were ragged. My pulse, wild. My wolf was clawing to the surface, as angry as I was.

They were really going to send me off to the cursed king like some gift-wrapped offering. And no one was coming to save me.

Fine.

I'd save myself.

The window. I ran over, threw it open. Wind howled through, cold and sharp. The branches of the tree beside my room were thinner than I remembered. But they were there.

And I had nothing to lose.

I climbed onto the window ledge, looked down at the drop.

Then I jumped.

The wind snatched my breath as I hit the first branch, bounced, scraped my arm, then landed hard in a pile of dead leaves.

Groaning, I scrambled to my feet.

"GO!" I hissed to myself, feet pounding the dirt as I sprinted away from the house.

I didn't make it far.

Just two blocks down the private trail that led toward the old woods, a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of me.

Four men in dark leather stepped out. Lycans. No doubt about it.

One sniffed the air, checked the picture in his hand and grinned. "She's the one."

I turned on my heel and ran.

Another SUV behind me. They'd blocked both exits but I smirked crazily, "this is my hood bitch".

One of them shifted, mid‑air. Fur erupted, bones cracked, and a massive gray beast landed on all fours, snarling.

I veered into the woods. My legs were on fire. My heart? A thunderstorm.

Branches slapped my face. My foot snagged on a root. I tripped, fell, rolled, and scrambled up again.

Behind me, I heard them yelling. One of them burst through the tree line and lunged.

I ducked just in time. His claws missed my back by inches.

I turned and screamed, "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

He snarled. "We don't want to hurt you, but keep fighting and I can't promise anything."

Another one lunged, this one in human form. He grabbed me by the waist, but I elbowed him hard. He grunted and lost his grip, and I took off again.

Straight toward the old creek.

I leapt over it, almost slipped on the mossy rock, and kept running until my lungs give out.

A hand caught my ankle.

I crashed forward, breath knocked out of me.

He flipped me over and pinned me down.

"You're done running," he said.

I screamed. Bit his wrist. Kicked. He growled, shifting mid‑hold, muzzle snapping toward my face.

Just then, another voice cut through the chaos.

"Let her go."

The man froze.

A shadow moved behind him. One of the guards who'd been quiet this whole time stepped forward, dark eyes locked on me.

"She's the King now. You don't rough her up before she even gets there," he said calmly.

"I was following orders-"

"Then follow them better."

The one pinning me hesitated, then released me slowly and backed off.

I lay there gasping, blood on my lip, knees scraped, heart racing.

"We're taking you now," the calm one said, extending a hand.

I didn't take it.

"You'll have to drag me," I said.

He gave a small smirk. "Then I will."

He stepped forward.

But I was faster.

I yanked the dagger from my boot-one I'd hidden there months ago for emergencies-and stabbed it into his thigh.

He roared in pain.

I jumped back and sprinted into the thickest part of the woods, branches tearing at my skin, hair flying behind me.

They were shouting, chasing me again, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to stop.

Not now. Not ever.

I didn't know where I was going.

But I knew what I was running from.

And that was enough.