Claimed By The Lycan prince

Scarlett povThe road home looked nothing like I remembered.Maybe it was the way the trees had grown taller, or how the shadows stretched longer across the gravel path. Or maybe it was me. Everything looked the same—but I wasn’t.Lucian drove like a man with something to prove, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched tight on the gearstick. The silence between us wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Familiar. Like he didn’t know where to begin, and I didn’t want to ask him to.We passed the old riverbank where we used to skip stones as kids. The clearing where I first shifted. The training grounds where I was taught to fight like an alpha, not just a girl.I felt like a ghost passing through my own memories.“You’re quiet,” Lucian said finally.I shrugged, eyes still on the window. “I forgot what quiet felt like.”He glanced at me, something soft flickering behind his golden eyes. “You don’t have to talk. Just… you don’t have to go back there alone.”Back there. He meant home. If it still

Reed pov I smelt her before I saw her.Juicy, fresh, floral. Crisp apple, lush jasmine, and creamy vanilla. It hit me like a storm—wild, warm, and maddening.Then I saw her.And before I could stop myself, I said it.“Mate.”The room froze.Scarlett Monroe looked as if she had been struck. Her eyes widened, lips parted, breath catching. Her reaction was irrelevant to my purpose here.I approached the center of the hall with measured steps. The scent of lies and ambition lingered here more than any perfume.“Prince Reed,” Alpha Reyes said, his tone polite but tense. “We are… honored by your unexpected arrival.”I nodded once. “Then perhaps you can explain why the Royal House received no formal notice of a succession ceremony in your territory.”A beat of silence.“That’s—” Reyes glanced toward the council members. “We hadn’t finalized—”“You initiated the ritual of succession,” I interrupted. “You called a gathering of Alphas. You allowed your son to take the dais in the absence of th

Scarlett pov He died at our feet.Collapsed mid-aisle, eyes still wide with terror, mouth parted in that last breathless word—“Rogues.”His blood soaked the floor in thick rivulets, trailing from the doorway to the stone beneath his body.No one moved. No one spoke.I stared at the broken warrior—barely more than a boy. I knew him. His name was Ashen. He used to sneak me apples from the kitchen when I trained late. He once cried after accidentally stepping on my foot during a festival dance.Now he was dead. Torn apart. Bleeding out in front of us.Because of me.A cold wind pushed through the broken window behind the dais. It carried the scent of something fouler than death.Rot. Fur. Blood.A low, distant howl pierced the silence.Followed by another—closer.And then—Crash.Glass rained from above as a rogue burst through a side window in a flash of teeth and claws.Screams fractured the room.One heartbeat of stillness.Then everything exploded.More rogues surged through the bro

Reed povThe morning air was cold and clean. Too clean, given the blood that had soaked the floors just hours ago.A letter waited for me on the table in my quarters. Heavy parchment, dark seal, pressed with the sigil of the Lycan King.It had arrived just before dawn. Not by raven or courier, but delivered by one of the King’s personal enforcers—quiet, fast, and already gone before most of the pack had risen.I broke the seal with a practiced thumb and scanned the contents.Three days.That’s how long I had to bring Scarlett Monroe to the capital.No ceremony. No requests. Just a directive.The King wanted to meet her. His words were careful but clear—he knew about the attempted succession, the rogue strike, and the return of a bloodline blessed by the Moon. He also knew about the mate bond. Somehow, word of it had already reached the capital. The King made no mention of surprise—only expectation. The entire Oakwood territory would be placed under watch, and a regiment of elite Lycan

Scarlett pov The first thing I heard that morning wasn’t birdsong.It was the sound of boots—heavy, synchronized—marching through the pack grounds.By the time I stepped outside, the sun was still low, burning pale gold across Oakwood. But the territory didn’t feel like mine anymore.They came in black and silver armor, the Lycan King’s crest stamped over their chests—a crescent moon flanked by twin wolves. Their movements were precise, every step in unison, every glance sharp. There was no mistaking them for ordinary warriors. These were royal sentries. The kind of men who didn’t just defend a kingdom—they enforced it.They came in black and silver armor, the Lycan King’s crest stamped over their chests—a crescent moon flanked by twin wolves. Their movements were precise, every step in unison, every glance sharp. There was no mistaking them for ordinary warriors. These were royal sentries. The kind of men who didn’t just defend a kingdom—they enforced it.The air shifted as they spr