The Lycan king’s Purple Flame

“This is an official border-state broadcast from the Oakhaven Department of Civil Safety.”

“Due to severe, unpredicted atmospheric drops and localized climate volatility along the eastern frontier, a total dawn-to-dusk curfew is now active for all sectors bordering the sovereign nation of Vrykania. Citizens are strictly advised to remain indoors, secure their properties, and suspend all unauthorized cross-border travel until the advisory is lifted.”

The television anchor's monotonous voice droned from the small digital screen, but Rhiannon couldn’t care less about government alerts right now.

She lay flat against the oversized velvet bed, fingers curled tightly over her heart as another ache pulsed beneath her ribs.

It felt heavy and suffocating. Stealing the breath straight from her lungs, until her vision spotted with black dots.

Her breathing turned shallow.

‘God. Not tonight.’

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through the pain.

Her terminal diagnosis had become a ticking clock she could no longer outrun.

One year.

That was all the doctors had given her.

One miserable year before her failing heart finally gave up.

And lately? The clock felt louder.

She couldn't sleep. She could barely even turn her head.

The elegant guest room Her best friend—Talia had arranged for her suddenly felt too warm and suffocating.

‘My bucket list was to see the beautiful country of Vrykania, not die in it.’

She pushed herself upright with visible effort.

Cold sweat clung faintly to her skin as she swung trembling legs over the edge of the bed.

‘Maybe a little fresh air will calm the pain.’

Ignoring the soft ache in her body, she slipped out of bed and shuffled toward the towering glass doors leading into the private courtyard.

The night air was freezing, biting sharply at her bare arms, but she welcomed the chill.

She leaned heavily against a marble pillar, tilting her head back as she tried to force air into her burning lungs. When she looked up, her breath caught for an entirely different reason.

The moon hanging over the dark Vrykanian mountains wasn't white. It was a strange, brilliant, bleeding shade of pink. 

The light washed over the manicured hedges and stone statues, painting the entire courtyard in a vivid, unsettling crimson glow.

"Rhiannon!"

The sharp whisper nearly made her jump.

Talia hurried out from the shadows of the stone pavilion, her striking emerald-green eyes wide with genuine anxiety as she grabbed Rhiannon by the shoulders.

"What are you doing out here? Are you trying to get caught?" Talia hissed, her grip tightening. "I told you we had to stay in the guest wing. Vrykania’s travel laws are strict enough as it is, but tonight—"

"I couldn't breathe, Talia," Rhiannon interrupted, her voice cracking as she pulled away to press a palm against her aching chest. 

She forced a weak, stubborn smile onto her lips, trying to deflect from her sickness. 

"And what is with that ridiculous news broadcast? Look at the sky. Since when does a localized climate drop turn the moon pink?"

Talia didn't laugh. She looked up at the bleeding moon, and all the color completely drained from her face. 

Her athletic frame went entirely rigid. 

Inside her mind, Lyra suddenly recoiled.

The elegant wolf who rarely panicked let out a low, frightened whine.

‘Danger.’

A cold, instinctive dread crawled up Talia’s spine.

"It's not a weather anomaly, Rhiannon,” she turned to her friend. “You don't understand. We need to go back inside the house. Right now."

“What? Why?”

Talia swallowed hard. Her wolf was pacing frantically now. Fear crackled through every instinct she possessed.

“We need to leave,” she said again, more urgently this time.

Before Rhiannon could mouth off with another defiant retort, a deafening sound shattered the peace of the estate.

CLANG.

It was the heavy, metallic screech of massive iron chains snapping under immense pressure. 

The sound echoed from deep within the main palace compound, vibrating violently through the stone floor beneath their shoes.

Talia let out a soft, horrified gasp, her fingers trembling. 

Lyra whimpered inside her head. Lowering herself instinctively.

"Oh, Goddess... he broke containment. The Berserk phase hit early."

"Who broke containment?" Rhiannon asked, her brow furrowing as she looked toward the main palace gates. 

"Talia, you're making no sense. Who is down there? A prisoner?"

"Run!" Talia suddenly screamed, her voice losing all its royal composure as she violently shoved Rhiannon toward the glass doors. 

"Rhiannon, run back to the room and lock it! Do not look back!"

Without waiting for a response, Talia bolted in the opposite direction, her figure disappearing into the darkness as she intentionally tried to draw any oncoming attention away from her friend.

“Talia!”

Rhiannon’s heart gave a violent, painful thud. 

“What’s happening?!

She turned to rush back into the safety of the estate, but her weak legs gave out. 

She stumbled, falling hard onto her hands and knees on the manicured grass. 

“Damn it—“

The air in the garden suddenly grew impossibly thick, heavy with an overwhelming pressure that made it feel like the gravity of the entire country had just doubled.

The dense hedges at the edge of the courtyard didn't just rustle—they completely exploded.

A massive shadow breached the perimeter, moving with a terrifying velocity that defied human physics.

Rhiannon froze, her breath locking in her throat as she stared at the man who stepped into the pink moonlight.

He was magnificent, yet utterly monstrous. 

He wore no shirt, revealing an exceptionally attractive sculpted frame. Intricate tattoos wrapped around his broad chest and narrow waist, crackling with erratic sparks of gold-purple lightning. His jawline was set in a tight line of pure, unadulterated agony.

Rhiannon scrambled backward on the grass until her spine slammed against the base of a statue. 

"Stay back..." she whispered, though the words barely carried.

The man’s head snapped toward her. The moment his piercing, hypnotic obsidian eyes locked onto her fragile form, the chaotic wind in the garden instantly died.

Deep within Theron's fractured mind, the rabid, howling beast that had just shattered its chains fell dead silent. Acheron, his inner Lycan, instantly dropped to its knees, purring and lowering his massive head in absolute submission.

A low, instinctive rumble vibrated through the Lycan.

‘Mate.’

‘Found.’

Theron’s nostrils flared.

Rhiannon watched in sheer disbelief as the complex black serpent tattoo wrapped around the man's neck suddenly ignited, glowing a violent, scorching crimson against his skin.

"Savior..." a deep, dark male voice rumbled from his chest. It wasn't a normal human sound; it was sounded like a growl that vibrated straight through the air.

Before she could even blink, Theron blurred.

A heavy, suffocating wave of heat slammed into her as his massive body pinned her

directly into the grass. 

Rhiannon let out a sharp cry as his large hands caught her wrists, locking them above her head in an iron-clad grip that left her completely paralyzed.

The scent of winter frost, storm-soaked forest, and something dangerously masculine flooded her senses.

Theron leaned down, his face a mere inch from hers. His obsidian eyes flared a brilliant, glowing purple-gold, entirely consumed by a feral madness as he stared down at her expressive hazel eyes.

His gaze dragged down to the left side of her neck, locking onto the small, crescent-shaped mole resting against her pale skin.

"I found you," he whispered, his features twisting with a desperate, unhinged hunger. "Zillah..."

"Let me go!" Rhiannon gasped, tears stinging her eyes. She bucked her hips, trying to fight his absolute weight, but he didn't even budge. He was a mountain of solid muscle crushing her down.

Theron inhaled once against her throat.

His control shattered. A low, possessive sound rumbled deep inside his chest.

He parted his naturally sharp lips, his lethal fangs extending in the pink moonlight.

Theron tilted his head, angling his jaw directly toward her exposed pulse point, preparing to sink his teeth in and lock the permanent mate mark into her soul.

Rhiannon’s eyes widened in pure terror at the sight.

The sheer psychological horror of the predator above her, combined with the explosive spike of adrenaline, was a lethal combination. Her weak, terminal heart gave one final, violent spasm and completely short-circuited.

The light in her hazel eyes fractured. Her head fell back limply onto the grass, her eyelids fluttering shut as her consciousness rapidly dissolved into a pitch-black void.

The last thing Rhiannon felt was the sudden loosening of the monster’s grip. And a voice screaming through the garden.

"Bellamy, stop him! That's my sister!"