The Girl Without A Scent

The King of the Nightfang Pack, Ragnar Blackwood, Lucien’s father, finally exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Even as a king, he still found himself unsettled by his son’s rage.

He knew that if anything happened to the strange girl, his son’s mate, everyone in the throne room would face the wrath of the True-Blooded Alpha Prince.

“My King… that girl.... s-she is Lucien’s mate, but she doesn’t have a wolf’s scent,” said Queen Vivienne Blackwood, Lucien’s stepmother, her voice trembling. Ragnar stiffened at her words. He, too, had failed to detect any scent from the girl.

“It doesn’t matter whether she carries a wolf’s scent or not. She is our soon-to-be Luna. Thank the Moon Goddess for sending her into my brother’s life,” Lyra, the princess and Lucien’s stepsister, said excitedly. “She is beautiful, ethereal and on top of that, such a skilled fighter. She is fit to be the future queen. Lucien and she look as though they were made for each other.”

“I’m going to Lucien’s chamber. I want to meet my sister-in-law,” Lyra declared, rising from her seat as her two maids hurried after her.

“Her scent felt… human,” the royal adviser, Kael, murmured.

“A human… Lucien’s fated mate?”

Impossible.

A human could not rule a werewolf pack. Still, nothing had been proven. She might be wearing a scent blocker, Ragnar reasoned, convincing himself that his son’s mate could not possibly be human.

Inside Lucien’s chamber....... The Wolf’s Den, an unnatural silence lingered. The Alpha stood a short distance from the bed where his mate lay, her body still, almost lifeless.

Lucien stood in silence, his gaze fixed on the fragile figure lying on his bed. He observed every injury with growing tension. A cut marked her upper arm likely from the sword fight. Another wound on her lower arm still oozed blood. Her wrists were scraped raw from tight ropes, and her palms were stained a deep red from gripping the massive sword.

Then his eyes fell on the wound on her back. It looked worse than all the others, angrier, deeper. The sight tightened his chest. Heat burned behind his eyes as he stared at his mate’s pale, lifeless face.

His inner wolf whimpered in pain, restless and distressed at seeing their mate in such a heart-wrenching state.

“Be careful when you touch her. Mind you… she is your Luna,” Lucien said roughly, his voice low and controlled as the royal healer began examining her.

“My Alpha… Her Highness’s clothes need to be changed, so…” the healer hesitated.

Lucien immediately nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”

He turned to leave, casting one last glance at his mate, but stopped when he saw Lyra entering the chamber with her two maids.

“I brought clothes for Her Highness. Luci, don’t worry, she will be alright,” Lyra assured gently.

Lucien gave her a faint, grateful smile before stepping outside the chamber.

What felt like hours later, the doors finally opened. The royal healer stepped out, her expression tense and uncertain.

“My Alpha… Her Highness… she is a human.”

Silence fell.

“But surprisingly, her body recovered faster than any normal human. Also… the arrow that struck her was poisoned.”

Lucien’s eyes darkened, but he remained silent, listening.

“It was the Venom of the Veil. Yet Her Highness recovered from that poison as well. It is very strange… I believe it may be part of the Moon Goddess’s plan.”

Lucien absorbed every word. He already knew. His fated mate was human. Her eyes hadn’t glowed when they met. He hadn’t felt her wolf. The truth had been clear from the beginning.

Still, her rapid recovery was suspicious. The Venom of the Veil had only one known cure that is the sacrifice of the witch who created it. And yet… she had survived.

His mate was safe. That was all that mattered.

“Thank you for treating my mate,” Lucien said quietly, gratitude softening his usually cold tone.

“You are embarrassing me, my Alpha. It is my duty to heal the royal family. And congratulations on finding your mate. Her Highness is genuinely very beautiful,” the royal healer replied with a respectful bow before taking her leave, handing Theo a list of herbal medicines.

Lucien stepped back into the chamber, drawing a slow breath at the sight before him. His mate lay on his bed, wrapped in clean bandages and dressed in a soft silk robe.

She looked fragile, too delicate for the brutal werewolf world. As if even a harsh touch might break her. Yet the memory of her fighting his royal guards flashed in his mind.

The fierce girl who moved like a blade.....striking, dodging, relentless. Someone who looked capable of slitting throats without hesitation if provoked. Everything about her,her strength, her defiance, her fire, literally everything drove the Alpha Prince dangerously close to obsession.

He sat beside her just as she stirred in her sleep, her breathing shifting as consciousness slowly returned. Understanding the moment, Lyra quietly gestured to her maids, and they slipped out of the chamber, leaving them alone.

Elara woke with a faint groan, clutching her head. Her glossy eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Her body felt heavy, every limb weighed down with pain.

She tried to sit upright but whimpered, collapsing back onto the soft mattress.

“Careful.”

The rough yet strangely soothing voice reached her ears. She turned her head.

In front of her sat an immensely handsome man, his brows drawn together in worry as he watched her. Without realizing it, Elara lifted her hand slightly. Lucien immediately leaned closer, gently taking her hand in his larger, rougher one.

“Hurt…” Elara mumbled weakly.

Lucien helped her sit more comfortably, supporting her carefully. “It will be fine. You’re strong… I’ve got you.”

“Who are you?” Elara asked, staring at the man in front of her.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he studied her, amused by how innocent his mate looked while asking that question.

“I am Lucien Blackwood,” he said quietly. “This is my chamber. You are in my palace… and you are mine.”

Elara slowly nodded at his words, then her eyes widened at his final words, the certainty in his tone leaving no room for doubt. The meaning settling heavily in her chest.