The Rogue with Too Much Attitude

If someone had told me last year that I’d be dragged into the middle of the Lycans’ royal court, I would have laughed, flipped them the bird, and gone back to binge-watching crime documentaries while eating nachos in my crappy apartment.

But here I was, on my knees on polished marble, hands tied, in front of the so-called King of the Lycans.

For the record, my name is Riley Ashford. Rogue werewolf. Professional trouble magnet. Twenty-six years old with a talent for making bad choices look intentional.

I wasn’t always a rogue. Once upon a time, I had a pack. A family. A future.

My father was Beta of the Ashwood Pack. Loyal second-in-command. His word was law right after the Alpha’s, and he loved reminding me of it. “Discipline builds respect, Riley,” he’d say while drilling me through endless training sessions. Except “discipline” often meant “obedience at all costs.” And I—sarcastic, stubborn, allergic to authority—was a terrible student.

My mother was the opposite. A healer, gentle and patient, always smelling faintly of herbs. She used to whisper while tucking me in, “Your wolf is wild because she’s strong. One day, she’ll protect you in ways you can’t imagine.” But when the pack elders turned against me, she didn’t protect me. She stayed silent.

My first shift came at fourteen—early, violent, unforgettable. My wolf exploded out of me, all fire and defiance, while the other kids were still fumbling with their claws. She was powerful, stubborn, and didn’t give a damn about tradition. The elders called her untamable. My father called me a disgrace.

By eighteen, I was done. Or maybe they were done with me. Either way, I was cast out. No family, no pack, no goodbye from my mother, not even a nod from my father. Just… exile.

Since then, it’s been me and my wolf, no safety net, no pack to howl with under the full moon. Just freedom—and loneliness. I tell myself I don’t care. I tell myself sarcasm is better than heartbreak. But sometimes, when I’m running under the stars, I can still hear the echoes of my pack’s howls. And it hurts.

Still, I’ve survived. I’ve learned to laugh at danger, spit in authority’s face, and fake confidence so hard it looks real. Which is why I didn’t break when the King of Lycans—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Radiating Testosteroney Arrogance—glared down at me like I’d stolen his favorite chew toy.

He lounged on his throne, legs spread, one hand gripping the armrest like he owned not just the room but the entire universe. His eyes, golden and feral, locked on me as if he was already imagining me stripped bare.

My wolf shivered with interest.

I groaned internally. Traitor.

“Bring her closer,” he ordered, voice deep enough to rearrange my hormones.

The guards shoved me forward. I stumbled, almost face-planting onto his boots. Smooth, Riley. Very dignified.

“So, this is the rogue who thought she could trespass on my hunting grounds,” he said, circling me like a wolf sizing up prey.

“Correction,” I snapped, flicking hair out of my eyes. “This is the rogue who thought she was taking a shortcut through the woods. No warning signs, no fences, no Beware of Gigantic Ego billboards. Totally unfair. You should hire better marketing.”

Gasps echoed through the court. One guy actually clutched his pearls—well, a medallion, but same energy.

The King smirked. Damn him. He was one of those men who looked good even when being an ass. Broad shoulders, jawline sharp enough to murder me, lips that begged to be bitten. He was every bad idea rolled into one deliciously dangerous package.

“You’ve got quite the mouth,” he murmured, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Congratulations. You’ve got eyes,” I fired back.

Another wave of shocked gasps. My wolf was practically wagging her tail. Mine, on the other hand, was tempted to find the nearest exit.

He leaned in close enough that his scent—smoke, pine, and something sinfully male—wrapped around me. His fingers gripped my chin, tilting it up until my lips parted. “Do you know what happens to rogues who break my laws?”

“Let me guess,” I said sweetly. “You give them a stern lecture and a coupon for therapy?”

That earned me a low growl that vibrated straight through my chest. And yet… my thighs pressed together of their own accord. Damn body. Damn wolf. Damn king.

He smirked again, this time like a predator who’d just discovered his prey was going to be fun to play with. “You’re still alive because you amuse me, little wolf. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Most girls get flowers and dinner first, but sure, I’ll take ‘not immediately executed’ as a compliment.”

The court chuckled nervously. He, however, looked at me like he wanted to strangle me and kiss me—preferably at the same time.

For the record? I wasn’t sure which one I wanted either.