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When it Rains it Pours
publish date:
2026-09-14 01:58:29
EmarcSorry I talked a lot in this chapter lol..... Just needed to explain for those that are new into the Trilogy lol. Also I already gave a spoiler about the next Story in this to keep you guys interested. 🤭🤭
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From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Marking Bet
My chest ignites the second his scent reaches me on the wind. It floods through me, leaving me shivering with heat and anticipation. Old Mr. Thorne is close. Earlier, Lord Grayson had ordered the children and Corbin taken away. Corbin wasn't thrilled about it, but I'm grateful he isn't here to see this. Some people stayed behind while others retreated to the pack house. When they wheel the old man into the clearing, I can barely hold myself together. This vile man killed my Nana for his twisted agenda and sick pleasure. Because of him, I lost her. Everything turns the color of scarlet. He looks good in red, better than in any other color. Blood red suits him best. His body looks frail, but I know his mind is sharp and fully aware. Fear crosses his face as I stalk closer, dragging my tongue over my sharpened teeth and elongated canines. Footsteps scatter somewhere around me. The man pushing his wheelchair has already vanished. Thud, thud, thud... his heartbeat hammers harder. The
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Festival of Execution
"Owww, watch the hand, buddy!" I complain as the guard hauls me roughly by the upper arm, up the squeaky steps out of the dungeon, er, holding cell, I mean. "You really need to learn to keep your hands to yourself," I tell him. I swear I felt his hand on my ass at some point back there. "Jerk!" I mutter. Corbin's shaking his head at me. I notice his guard isn't having nearly as rough a time as mine.Sure, I'm cranky, starving honestly, but that doesn't mean they need to manhandle me like this. "Trust me, I don't want to be down here either," I grumble. Really, all they'd need to do is unlock the doors, look away for two seconds, and I'd be gone before anyone noticed. Win-win, easiest job in the world.The guard pretends he can't hear me, still dragging me toward the basement door leading out to the pack house's massive backyard.He throws the door open with a loud bang, and suddenly everything's too much. Too much light, sound, smell, everything all at once, almost painful. My knees b
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Battle with Hunger
Light streams in from outside as the door swings open, wooden stairs creaking under heavy footsteps. Alpha Thorne descends the stairs, trailed by Delta Roche and a burly guard. He walks straight to my cell without sparing Corbin a glance. Cold eyes locked entirely on me. Danger. Whatever this newly awakened part of me is, it's wide awake now, fully alert. Alpha Thorne's in his late twenties. Looks nothing like his father except for the hard eyes and that same cruel way of ruling the pack. His father used to look at me with lust; Alpha Thorne's expression usually sits somewhere between mild irritation on his better days and something closer to hatred on the rest. I think he despises how badly I fail at following orders, how I'm apparently too stupid to feel proper submission toward his authority like everyone else in this pack manages. Love definitely isn't what's radiating off him right now. He's furious. His eyes flash like he's a hair's breadth from phasing to tear me apart. But
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Podunk Town
It seems like the whole house has erupted into chaos. The old man's at my feet, writhing, screaming in agony. Blood froths from his mouth, pours from his nose and ears. Every so often the screaming cuts into violent coughing, more blood sputtering out.Outside, footsteps pound, frantic voices demanding the door open, fists hammering against it relentlessly.The bleeding from my neck has stopped, but my white gown is soaked crimson now. I look like I just walked straight out of a horror movie.Honestly, I don't fully get it. One second I was screaming in agony because the old fool was tearing into my neck trying to mark me, hurt so badly I saw pure red. The next, he's the one on the floor, bringing the house down with his own screaming. Shouldn't I be the one doing that? Such a diva.Outside, the pounding intensifies, the yelling growing louder, demanding entry. Yeah, no thanks. I'd much rather keep watching him thrash and claw at his own throat like he's trying to rip it open himself.
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Broken Patience
JULIAN'S POVRoyal Palace, GermanyI catch the commotion before we've even reached our own wing. Caspian and I are just getting back from a tedious, endless, thoroughly pointless meeting with the King Emeritus and the Council of Lords, powerful nobles who govern lands and werewolf packs across the region."How dare you! I was sent by the queen dowager herself!" a shrill, grating voice echoes across the massive hallway. Our footsteps get swallowed up by the thick gold, cream, and red carpet lining the entire entrance corridor. "Are you deaf? Get out of my way right now, or she'll be hearing about this!"I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. Exactly what I needed.Caspian claps my back, flashing me a rueful grin. "Good luck, cousin.""Wait, you're bailing on me? Now?""I'd charge into war beside you without blinking, but this particular battle, you're on your own." He's smirking. Absolute smug bastard.He ducks straight into our media room, where the rest of the pack is either restin
From Pack Slave to Lycan Princess A Broken Filter
"Hello, my sleeping beauty. Welcome home," he says. "You've been away far too long, my dear girl." A shudder of revulsion runs through me. Old Mr. Thorne. He pushes the door wider, and a small woman shuffles in timidly, carrying a tray of food. "Even more beautiful than I remember," he says, stepping toward the bed, eyes crawling over my face and body. "Or maybe you've simply grown more beautiful since I last saw you." The woman keeps her head bowed, setting the tray on the nightstand, movements stiff and nervous. She lifts the cover off a plate, and the smell of food drifts through the room. I can't shake the fog clouding my head, but I manage to crack one eye open toward the tray. Meatloaf, potatoes, vegetables. My stomach growls loudly. Last thing I ate was a handful of Cheetos those men tossed me somewhere during the drive. Old Mr. Thorne laughs. "You must be starving," he says. "Famished," I tell him, my voice coming out way too loud and inexplicably cheerful, despite the
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