Lahat ng Kabanata ng Fated To The Cursed Lycan King: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 87

AmayaI stood stiffly in front of the full-length mirror bolted into the closet wall, tugging at the collar of my uniform. It was stiff, sharp-edged, and reeked of control—black with silver piping and that damned touch of red on the crest.Why red, of all colors? I hated red. Wore red when enemies were near. I used to cry at the sight of it as a child.I turned sideways. The outfit clung tighter than I liked, and the boots made me feel like I was about to salute someone I didn’t respect.The hostel was divided strictly by rank. Sector 1 belonged to the Alphas—sons and daughters of royalty. Their rooms were spacious with private lounges. That was my hostel.Section 2 was for Betas and hybrids. More like a glorified commune.Section 3 was for kids like Xavier—scholarship students and low-rank trainees. Ten to a room, if they were lucky.This wasn’t a school. It was a polished boot camp.Drills at 5 a.m. Combat formations at six. Breakfast at 7:30.Lectures from eight to two.Weapons tra

Wesley The sun hung low over the training field. Whistles split the air, followed by the thuds of instructors’ boots. Cadets dropped to the gravel in unison for push-ups. I stood near the back of Squad 4, my shirt damp with a light sweat. Not from exertion, but the weather. I wasn’t even tired. Just bored.I had better things to do than waste time at this Academy. It wasn’t just pointless, it was claustrophobic. Everywhere I turned, girls stared. Some looked at me like I was dinner. A few even faked clumsy falls to get my attention. Others giggled like it was a sport every time I breathed. It was fucking exhausting.Being this desirable should’ve been illegal.I ran a hand through my hair, irritated. I was tired. Tired of the worship. Tired of the expectations. Tired of being treated like a god in a world where I never asked to be one.Then I saw Amaya. Cold, distant Amaya. The only one who didn’t seem affected by me. Or pretended not to be. It was a strange relief. She was crouche

WesleyMy mother hadn’t messaged in two days, which meant she’d be expecting a report any moment now. She didn’t like silence. Silence, to her, meant weakness, or worse, disobedience. And even though it had barely been five days since I got here, I already felt like I’d been playing chess against shadows nonstop.I sat on my bed, scrolling through the names I’d saved discreetly in my private notes folder.King Justin’s two daughters were here, Amaya and Amber. One a quiet storm, the other a polished blade. His niece, Riley, too, entitled brat with teeth coated in sugar. There were others. Noble sons and daughters from strategic houses across the South. Alphas-in-training. Heirs of politicians and power-brokers who thought their legacies were safe in books and bloodlines.My parents had made one thing clear: the goal was infiltration. To study them. Map their faults. Play nice, smile when needed, and report back every weakness that could bring the Southern region to its knees.But they

AmayaToday's combat felt different. I’d just been paired with a guy who looked like he ate bricks for breakfast.Twice my size. Covered in muscles that screamed gym obsession. And of course, full of himself.He looked at me like I was a joke. I smiled sweetly and stepped into the ring anyway.The moment the match started, he came at me hard. I ducked under his punch, barely missing his elbow as I twisted my body away. The impact of his foot slamming into the sand where I'd stood a second ago sent grit flying into my face.The first few minutes, I let him think he had me and played up the dodging. It wasn’t about showing off. It was about surviving the beast.Then I flipped him.One clean move. My leg swept behind his knee, my elbow jabbed into his shoulder, and the next thing I knew, the air cracked with the sound of his body slamming into the ground.Cheers and gasps echoed around me. People from nearby squads rushed to the edge of the ring. The guy’s face twisted in disbelief.Swe