Nana has always been an outcast in her pack, bullied and left between rejection and acceptance by her cruel Alpha mate because of her father’s betrayal. Lonely and broken, she stumbles upon a cage— Nana accidentally awakens the powerful beast secretly hidden for 25 years_ The Lycan Prince, setting off a chain of deadly events that will change her life forever. Now, she must face the consequences of her actions, caught between a vengeful Alpha and a dangerous creature who sees her as more than just an enemy. Can Nana survive the chaos she has unleashed? Or will her unlucky fate finally catch up with her?
View MoreNana shivers as pain shoots through her body. She’s tired—tired of dealing with Marco’s abuse—but what can she do? He’s her mate, the Alpha of the pack. She’s weak and even worse, she’s the daughter of the man who betrayed the pack.
“Get up and crawl out of my room,” Marco groans in his harsh Alpha voice. He hasn’t accepted her as his mate, but he hasn’t rejected her either. Being stuck in between is worse than either choice. The pain makes her heart feel like it’s being ripped out of her chest. Nana coughs as she tries to get off the bed, blood spilling from her mouth. “Don’t let a drop of that get on my bed or in this room!” Marco yells, kicking her off the bed. The force sends her crashing into the wall on the other side of the room. She whimpers in pain. “Marco, please... just let me go. If you don’t want me, why are you doing this?” She tries to get up, but every action makes her back hurt even more. Her voice breaks. “Let you go? That’s way too easy, Nana. You have to pay for your father's crimes," Marco grinned cruelly. Taking a sip from the tumbler of whiskey he picked up from the table. Marco approaches her, yanks back her head, and clutches her long, dark hair. Her eyes and nose burn as a result of the alcohol he spills all over her face. Breathing hard, Nana chokes while her hands frantically try to clean her face. “Marco, please…” she begs, her voice weak. “You know your job, don’t you? Satisfy me. That’s all you’re here for. But instead, you come to my bed and lie there like a piece of wood!” he shouts, flinging her across the bed. “You’re disgusting. You stink, and you still make things difficult, even in bed!” he yells, taking slow steps toward her. Nana curls up into a ball, trying to protect her stomach and chest. The pain is unbearable, but she’s used to it by now. Inside, her wolf Lana whimpers, just as broken as Nana. Lana is a weak wolf, suffering because Marco hasn’t accepted or rejected them. It’s only a matter of time before Lana disappears completely. And Nana knows that when Lana is gone, she won’t have the strength to keep going either. She waits for the next hit, closing her eyes in fear. Will he kick her again? Throw her against the wall? Nana listens carefully to his footsteps as they get closer. Suddenly, the sound of his phone buzzing breaks the silence. Marco stops and turns around, picking it up from the bed. “Hey, baby,” his voice changes, becoming soft and sweet. He only speaks like that to one person—Melissa. Nana’s heart aches. She wishes, more than anything, that Marco would treat her with even a little of the kindness he shows Melissa. But to him, she’s nothing. Despite the bond they share, she’s just an object to him, something to use when he feels like it. “I’m not busy at all. Even if I was, you’d always come first,” Marco says sweetly into the phone. Nana feels her throat tighten, trying to hold back the tears. She’s his mate, but hearing those words reminds her how little she means to him. “Wait for me at the club lounge. I’ll be there in 15 minutes,” he says, ending the call. He walks back toward Nana, his face cold and angry again. “Get your filthy self out of here before I get changed. If you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll lock you in the bathroom until I get back,” he warns. Nana forces herself to stand, her body aching with every step. She limps out of the room, clutching her chest. She just has to get away, even if every part of her hurts. Seeking a brief respite from the agony and disorder, she staggers outdoors to the rear of the pack house. The guards watch her pass without saying anything, but their eyes are filled with hatred. She is only the daughter of a traitor, and they couldn't care less about her. Nana walks slowly and painfully into the woods. Her jaded nerves are soothed by the silence of the woods surrounding her. Deeper into the woods, she spots a small cave hidden by dense bushes. She limps toward it, her body heavy with exhaustion. The cave is hidden, a small sanctuary where no one will find her. Inside, the air is cool, and the space feels safe, far away from the torment of her life. Nana sinks to the ground, curling up against the cold stone. She hugs her knees to her chest, her whole body shivering. Her eyes well up with tears, but she tries not to cry. She is accustomed to crying by herself, but occasionally the pain is too much to bear. Inside her mind, her wolf Lana whimpers softly. Nana can feel her weakening, fading away. Without the bond being fully accepted, Lana’s strength is slipping. And if Lana disappears, Nana knows she won’t last much longer either. She lets out a sob, her body shaking with the weight of her emotions. How did her life turn into this? A mate who hates her, a pack that looks down on her, and a future that feels empty and dark. Nana feels trapped, stuck in a life she never wanted. All she ever dreamed of was finding her mate, building a bond, and being loved. But now, that dream feels like a cruel joke. In the quiet of the cave, Nana lets herself cry. Nobody is around to witness her suffering or to criticize her for being weak. Now that she is crying openly, the pain in her chest gets worse with each tear. She just stays there, broken and alone, for a long while. Although the woods surrounding her are calm, she is experiencing an internal storm of terror and hurt. She knows there is nowhere for her to go, so all she wants to do is go far away from this life. Not without Lana in tow. Not in the absence of hope. Deep in her thoughts and while crying, a little voice moans from deep inside the cave, it sounds like a little boy.The gunshot splits the silence like a whip crack.Sharp. Suddenly. Loud enough to make the birds in the trees take off in a screech of feathers—if there were any birds left here.Arwan jerks slightly as the bullet slices past him, close enough to graze his arm. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bleed. His head turns slowly toward the direction the shot came from.Across the clearing, half-shielded behind a crumbling stone wall, Bernardo lowers the rifle with clenched fists.His stance is firm, but his chest rises and falls in fast, shallow bursts. He knows damn well the bullet wouldn’t kill Arwan. It wasn’t meant to. Just a warning. A distraction. Something to remind this bastard that Theon’s not standing alone.Arwan’s eyes narrow. His smile fades.Then the red starts to creep in.It starts as a faint glow, barely noticeable at first. But it spreads fast. From the rims of his eyes, down his face, like cracks in porcelain. Blood-colored, pulsing. Alive.Theon sees it from the other side of t
The clearing is too quiet now.Dead leaves scatter at Theon’s feet as he steps forward, slow and deliberate, claws twitching at his sides. His breathing is steady, but not calm. There’s a rhythm to it—tight, controlled, but thick with the kind of restraint that can snap.Across from him, Arwan watches with a small, bitter smile playing on his lips. Like he’s already won. His robe sways gently with the wind, and beneath it, his fingers flex with an unnatural twitch, as if they itch to pull something dark from the air.They stand several paces apart, the battlefield stretched open around them, a circle carved out by death and war and the weight of everything that’s come before this moment. Behind Theon, the sound of battle has faded into a dull, distant throb—like the earth itself is holding its breath.Arwan breaks the silence first.“You’re slower than I thought you'd be,” he says, casual, like they’re old friends. “Must be age. Or maybe the weight of being Alpha is finally dragging y
Theon’s mother, Nana, doesn’t wait for a signal. She’s already moving before the walls shake again.Smoke bleeds through the cracks in the distant sky. Screams and growls echo over the ridge. But here, inside the old eastern wing of the NorthHill packhouse, Nana’s voice is the only sound the pack members follow.“Stay close,” she says, her voice low but firm, one hand raised to guide, the other clutching the ancient key she hasn’t used in thirty years. “No talking. No stopping. If you hear anything, ignore it.”Behind her, a crowd of pack members—women, pups, elders—shuffle as quietly as they can through the narrow hallway. Fear hangs over them, thick and quiet like fog. No one dares cry. Even the youngest hold their breath.Nana doesn’t flinch. Her footsteps are steady, silent.She leads them past the old war chamber, through a narrow corridor long sealed with debris. Years ago, Theon had asked why this side of the estate remained untouched. She had given him a simple answer: some do
The stench of decay chokes the air outside NorthHill. It creeps in thick and heavy, sinking into the soil, into the lungs of every warrior still standing. The ground is soaked with blood, but the wolves don’t stop.They never stop.Every time one falls, another rises. Teeth snapping, eyes empty, bodies twisted into unnatural forms. They don’t howl like wolves. They scream.And that sound—shrill, broken, inhuman—echoes over the field like a haunting lullaby no one asked for.Theon stands at the center of it all, already shifted into his Lycan form. His massive body is slick with blood, muscles taut and pulsing beneath silver-streaked fur. Each movement is lethal. His claws tear through flesh. His jaws snap bone. But the creatures keep coming.His breath comes in hot bursts. Not from exhaustion. From rage.From knowing this isn’t just a battle—it’s a distraction. A trick. He can feel it in the way the undead move. Messy. Loud. Designed to draw attention."Bernardo!"Theon's growl cuts t
Bianca’s boot lands firm against the ground, her knife already drawn, her magic already simmering under her skin. Beside her, Lumina walks slower, her eyes scanning the open field, her hand twitching toward the charm stone clipped to her belt. The others are gone, scattered to their corners of the battlefield. It’s just the two of them now. They can feel a familiar presence with the atmosphere full of magic, they know something has come for them.And the figures waiting ahead.Black robes. Pale faces. Eyes that don’t blink. The dark witches.Bianca stops walking. Lumina does too. They don’t speak at first. They just stand there, facing the group of six women cloaked in smoke, their feet not touching the ground.And in the center of them—Latifa.Her face is calm, even bored. The wind doesn’t touch her.“Well,” she says slowly, “if it isn’t the traitor.”Bianca doesn’t flinch. “You shouldn't have come.”“Oh, but I did,” Latifa replies, tilting her head. “Did you really think I’d sit bac
A sharp, distant howl cuts through the stillness. Not one of theirs. Not NorthHill.It rips through the late morning air like a warning shot—raw, feral, deliberate.NorthHill has been quiet since Lumina’s return. But they all knew peace was temporary.Another howl follows. Closer.By the time the third pierces the ridge, Theon’s already moving.He doesn’t wait for confirmation. Doesn’t wait for a scout. His instincts snap like a live wire under his skin. He strides out of the war room, rifle slung across his back, sidearm clipped, cloak thrown over one shoulder like an afterthought.“Bernardo,” he barks, voice sharp.Bernardo appears from the eastern stairwell, half-jogging, a digital tablet clutched in his left hand. His face is tight with urgency.“They’ve breached the ridge. East side perimeter. It’s bad,” he says without preamble.“How many?”“We stopped counting,” Bernardo mutters. “Easily two full packs. Rogues, undead wolves, scattered shifters… and PhantomMoon soldiers. Confir
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