All Chapters of The Lycan King's forgotten Goddess : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The night I died, the moon refused to look at me. It vanished behind restless clouds, its silver glow swallowed whole before it could touch the earth, as though even the Moon Goddess couldn't bear witness to what was about to unfold. The sky hung unnaturally heavy above the Violet Pack, the air too still, too quiet, like the entire world was holding its breath. I should have understood then. I should have listened to the sharp unease tightening in my chest, to the instinct clawing at me that something was deeply, terribly wrong. I should have run. But I didn't. Because I loved him. Because I had spent years believing love meant loyalty, sacrifice, patience — believing that if I gave enough of myself, trusted deeply enough, endured quietly enough, I would always have a place beside him. I believed in Kaelen Varkor. And that belief became the cruelest mistake of my life. The grand hall shimmered with gold and candlelight, polished marble reflecting the warm brilliance of the crystal

The moment I stepped into the grand hall, I realized nothing had changed. Golden chandeliers still cast their warm, deceptive glow across polished marble floors. Elegant music drifted through the air, blending with soft laughter and polished conversation. Nobles and warriors stood beneath the banners of the Violet Pack, dressed in wealth, confidence, and carefully maintained appearances, while servants moved gracefully through the crowd with silver trays balanced in steady hands. To anyone else, it looked like a celebration. A grand night. An important announcement. A future being secured. But I knew better, because I had already lived this night once before. Now I could see beneath the polished illusion. Every smile felt rehearsed. Every whisper carried anticipation. Every curious glance in my direction held the quiet expectation of spectacle. My downfall. The realization no longer wounded me the way it once had. Instead, it sharpened me. My gaze swept across the room with painfu

Eros Draven POV I was never supposed to be here. The Violet Pack was beneath my concern — another insignificant territory ruled by an Alpha more interested in appearances than true strength, another fragile border I would normally cross without a second glance. My time was not meant for weak packs and their petty politics. I had kingdoms to oversee. Enemies to monitor. A throne built on blood, discipline, and survival. This place should have meant nothing to me. And yet the moment I crossed its borders, I stopped. Not because of movement. Not because of sound. Not because of visible power. A scent. Faint. Elusive. Barely there. But enough. My entire body went still. A cold breeze moved through the trees, carrying traces of pine, damp earth, and wolf — and then it reached me again. Soft. Familiar. Impossible. My jaw tightened instantly. "No," I said under my breath, my voice quieter than the storm rising inside me. I inhaled again, slower this time. Sharper. The scent remained.

The moment the Violet Pack disappeared behind her, Freya felt the world change. It wasn't immediate in the way pain was immediate—it was quieter. A slow, unsettling unraveling. With every step beyond the pack's borders, something invisible seemed to strip away from her, piece by piece: the bond to territory, the fragile illusion of belonging, the protection she had spent her entire life taking for granted. The forest stretched endlessly ahead, dark and unfamiliar beneath the deepening night. Moonlight barely filtered through the towering trees, leaving more shadow than clarity. Every sound felt unnaturally sharp here—the rustle of leaves, the snap of distant branches, the whisper of wind through unfamiliar land. For the first time in her life, Freya was truly alone. Still, she kept walking, because what other choice did she have? Behind her was betrayal, humiliation, death. Ahead, only uncertainty. At first, it almost felt like freedom. No expectations. No duties. No one demanding l

I should have moved the second I sensed them. That was my first mistake. But exhaustion is dangerous. It doesn't just weaken your body—it dulls instinct, slows reaction, and convinces you there's still time when there isn't. By the time I forced myself upright, my limbs already felt too heavy. Too slow. Every muscle burned from days of running, hunger, rejection, and surviving battles I had barely escaped. My body wasn't recovering anymore. It was surviving purely through refusal. And they noticed. Of course they did. Six rogues stood spread throughout the clearing, their movements deliberate and calculated. There was no reckless hunger in them, no desperation. They weren't scavengers. They were hunters. And I was prey they had already decided to break. "Well," one of them drawled, his tone almost amused, "you look worse than we expected." I said nothing. Not because I wasn't afraid. Because silence gave away less. Another rogue shifted to my right, cutting off escape with pract