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Julian Matthias Friedrich Lycanthen
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-09-17 01:55:35
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From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess Prisoners Don't Pack
The council has barely begun when the pain hits. It isn't physical. It's a tear in my chest, as if someone has cut a cord I'd stopped noticing because it was always there. For a heartbeat I can't breathe. Caspian goes rigid across the table and snarls, a low, wounded sound that makes the advisors flinch. He feels it too, the hollow where his mate used to be. "Livana," he says. "Freya." I'm already running. We take the road at a speed that would terrify any human, Caspian, Darius, Silas, and me in the first car, the others behind. Three hours becomes ninety minutes. The valley is silent when we reach it. The burial site is a graveyard of its own. The pyre stands cold. Royal Army guards lie scattered across the snow, drugged or dead. Beckett is on his knees by the riverbank with a dart still in his neck, hauling himself upright by sheer will. Two cars sit abandoned, doors open. A few villagers weep in a huddle by the ruined cabins, and when Darius asks about the old woman who
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess The Burial
The western valley is gray and white and silent under a low sky. We drive for three hours, the road narrowing, the pines pressing closer, until the last signs of the palace vanish behind us. Livana sits beside me in the car in a black wool coat, her hand folded over her middle. Julian kissed me at the palace steps for so long that Aurelia whistled. Caspian held Livana's face in both hands and said nothing at all. Beckett rides in the front seat. Two cars of Royal Army guards follow behind. The village is a scatter of blackened cabins. Smoke still drifts from a few of them, and under the smell of ash is the other smell, the one that never leaves. Livana's breath catches. I take her hand. A crowd of survivors waits near the frozen riverbank, wrapped in dark shawls. Bodies lie in neat rows on a long timber pyre, each wrapped in white linen. I stop counting at forty. An old woman with a face like creased leather steps forward and bows. "Your Majesties. You honor us." "We're so
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess The Ball
My makeup is subtle, just the way I like it. Diamond earrings glitter at my ears, and the necklace and bracelet sit snug against my throat and wrist. My hair is swept into a sleek bun, crowned with the simple diamond tiara from the second velvet box. Julian's mark on my shoulder is bare for the whole world to see. The King Emeritus has agreed to a smaller event than planned, cutting the guest list in half. The ball is in full swing, and it doesn't look small to me. "You look breathtaking, Meine Prinzessin," Julian murmurs in my ear. He looks devastating in his tuxedo. His hand strokes my back, easing the knots in my muscles, and it hasn't left my waist all night. Our pack surrounds us. Livana, Selene, and Aurelia are gorgeous in their gowns, and Caspian, Silas, and Darius look sharp in black tie. My cousins Caleb and Corbin hover close, and I've never seen them look so good. Beckett, the bodyguard who walked me through the snow this afternoon, stands a few paces behind my shoulder
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess Stop Beating Yourself Up
The eight of us look like the living dead when we reach the Palace, covered in blood from head to toe, our clothes torn and filthy. Even the Queen Dowager looks alarmed when her eyes land on us.Caspian, Julian, Silas, and Darius vanish into the office with the King Emeritus, while the women are taken off to get cleaned up and have our injuries seen to.I feel better once I'm washed and changed. The medication they gave me has dulled the pain.I run a hot bath for Julian for when he returns, then sit on the edge of the tub watching the water swirl, thinking about tonight and tomorrow. It's been a long, brutal night. I doubt tomorrow will be any better.I test the water with my hand, then walk out of our ensuite and find Julian's tall, lean, muscled frame sprawled across the sofa. One foot is on the floor, the other hooked over the armrest. A drink sits forgotten on the carpet. His golden hair is tousled, his head tipped back against the cushions, and he's glaring moodily at the glass
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess The Rebels
We travel in half phase, caught between human and lycan. In this form we smell and see far better than we do as humans and keep a lycan's speed and agility, but without the full claws and long fangs we'd need to fight like true lycans. We follow their faint scent past the Royal grounds, into the woods, and down into the valley. Moonlight bounces off the snow until everything looks bright as day. "Stop!" Selene's voice is guttural, her jet-black eyes sweeping the landscape. She knows this land better than any of us, so we follow her lead. "We're getting close to a werewolf pack's territory." "Look," says Livana, pointing at a small house barely visible through the trees. We're standing on a low rise above the valley. The house is about a hundred and fifty yards off, and I think it marks the edge of the pack's land. I can already smell unfamiliar scents on the wind. "Do you smell that?" I ask, sniffing the air. The other three lift their noses. "Blood!" Aurelia snarls. Blood, smoke
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess Dinner
I look around the table. Here we are again in the Formal Dining Room, having dinner with the King Emeritus, the Queen Dowager, the Duke. Lady Seraphina sits among them, awfully quiet. I'm determined to enjoy my meal this time. I lived in constant hunger at the pack house, and I'll never take food for granted. Besides, I'm starving. I loved the run back to the palace from the forest this evening. All eight of us ran together, but I pulled far ahead of everyone, even faster than my mate, who's supposed to be the fastest in the pack. I'm glad that in the werewolf and lycan world, males admire strong females the way females admire powerful males. A bond with a powerful mate makes us stronger still. Needless to say, Julian was extremely proud. The appetizers have come and gone. Now they're serving some kind of roasted fowl, garnished with chopped parsley and drizzled with yellow and red sauces across gleaming china stamped with the royal crest along every rim. I slice into the me
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