Fated To The Cursed Lycan King

Fourteen

Justin

Anger was mild compared to the fierce rage consuming me. Sean was mocking me, knowing that I could only fight in my human form. He wanted me to shift—to humiliate myself.

My chest heaved, and my heartbeat threaded wildly in my ears. My fist throbbed from the impact, but it wasn’t enough—not even close.

The smug bastard deserved worse.

He was always undermining me, always waiting for any crack to push me—just like now.

I wanted more blood. I swung, again and again. The amusement in his eyes vanished, replaced by raw hate, His first strike landed in my stomach.

My muscles coiled, and my hand lifted, but before I could follow through, a blur of movements stopped me. Marissa’s hand shot out, blocking the space between us. Her eyes pleaded desperately.

“Justin, stop. Please!"

My fingers curled into a tight fist. She thought this was her fault.

"The only reason you've been allowed to run your mouth and act like you matter is because my father lets you. Nothing else," I said, locking my gaze onto Sean.

He scoffed, adjusting his jacket, wiping blood from his split lips.

"Here we go, the golden boy throwing another tantrum. You talk big, but we both know that without mommy dearest holding your hand, you’d crumble. You’re just a pampered little prince pretending to be a king."

My rage flared. I lunged.

A scream rang out, horrified. Wendy rushed to my side.

"Oh my goodness, Sean, are you serious?" she snapped. "How dare you touch my man?!”

"Stay out of this, Wendy," I said, but she gripped my hand, her nails digging into my flesh.

"Nobody’s buying this little ‘I deserve the throne’ act," she barked at Sean. "You could never be Justin, no matter how hard you try."

A strange look flashed in Sean’s eyes. It lasted a second before he masked it with a mocking laugh.

"Oh, Wendy—always so stupid."

“And you're always so jealous. You will always be second place."

Wendy wrapped her arms around me. “He's not worth it, baby. Come inside. Just let it go."

I glared at Sean, my fingers twitching. I couldn’t wait to be king—to strip him of every damn privilege he thought he had.

He was still laughing when I let Wendy pull me away.

***

Back in the office, fever prickled at my skin. My body was betraying me again—the way it always did.

Wendy slid her arms around me, pressing closer, kissing my forehead. I didn’t move. Just stood there in her arms. What else was I supposed to do?

Wendy and her family knew about my sickness—at least the watered-down version of it. To them, it was some rare genetic disorder, inconvenient but manageable. None of them understood how deep it ran, how it poisoned me from the inside out. Wendy had never even seen one of my episodes.

It was a small deception, but what did it matter? This marriage wasn't built on love.

If Wendy wanted other men, she could have them. I didn’t care. We had never made promises beyond what was required for this arrangement. No one had ever told her I was a perfectly healthy man. She never asked.

I had seen firsthand how far people would go for money, power, and status. Wendy and her family were no different. This was give and take. A business deal.

And if, by some chance, I didn’t survive long enough to sit on the throne, then at least our families would be merged. If I left behind a son, their position would be solidified.

A win-win for everyone.

Except me.

*"Are you okay?"* she asked softly, looking up at me.

My response was flat, devoid of any real weight. I pulled away, grabbed a pain relief tablet, popped it into my mouth, and washed it down with water before sinking into my chair.

"What do you want?"

"Cake tasting. You forgot, didn’t you?" she tilted her head with a soft smile.

I groaned.

Why would I remember something as stupid as cake tasting? But I didn’t say that.

"No, I didn’t forget. I’ll be there."

She stepped closer, lifted my hand, and pressed a kiss to my knuckles.

"I can’t wait to be your wife," she said, her tone turning more sincere. "I’ll be by your side, supporting everything—the good and the bad."

Leaning back in my chair, I watched her with a lopsided smirk. "That sounds concerning. Why would you support me if I was doing something bad? Can’t you think for yourself?"

"That’s what a wife does," she chuckled. "She stands by her husband even when he’s making the worst decisions. Maybe in private I’ll tell you when you’re being an i***t, but in public, I stand with you."

"An enemy of mine is your enemy, huh?"

"Exactly." She wagged a finger at me. "And we both know Sean is not your biggest fan."

Despite myself, I was amused. She reached out to ruffle my hair like I was a petulant child. I didn’t like that, but I let her, tolerating the moment.

"I’ll see you at the cake tasting, darling. Don’t be late," she said before picking up her bag and walking away.

________

I focused on work. The numbers blurred together on the screen, and I blinked hard, willing my vision to clear. I was supposed to finalize the budgets, allocations, and logistical breakdowns. This should have been done an hour ago, but my head throbbed with a growing headache.

"Damn it," I muttered, loosening my tie to relieve the tightness in my throat. My fingers pressed to my temple, massaging in slow circles, but the pain didn't ease.

My wolf stirred inside me—restless, violent, clawing at my chest.

Sharp jolts of discomfort rippled through my ribcage. I braced my hands against the desk, reaching for the wolfsbane cigarette. My grip faltered before it even touched my tongue, knocking over a stacked pile of documents. Papers scattered across the desk and onto the floor.

I cursed loudly.

The door swung open. Marissa walked in. My fury lashed out.

"Do you ever knock?"

She stiffened, glancing at the mess on my desk.

“Are you okay?" she asked cautiously.

I opened my mouth, probably to fire off another irritated remark, but the spasms hit harder. My knees threatened to buckle. I caught myself against the desk.

Marissa moved fast. Her hands gripped my arm, steadying me as my body betrayed me. She guided me toward the chair, her scent wrapping around me.

"Sit," she urged.

I wanted to resist, to pull away, but my body had other plans. I collapsed into the chair.

She knelt beside me, pressing her hand against my back, rubbing slow circles. The warmth of her palm seeped through my shirt.

Her gaze held concern and something else—desire. Her full lips were inches away. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to see if she tasted as warm as she felt against me.

Her eyes burned with that fiery passion I loved.

Then reality crashed back in.

This was wrong.

Marissa was the woman my sister had been relentlessly trying to win over.Justine had begged me this morning to help her make an impression. She had raved about Marissa—how she felt something deep, something real. But Marissa had shot it down, claiming she had a boyfriend.

And yet, here she was.

Dangerously close.

Justine would be furious if she ever found out I was crossing lines. She would never forgive me.

I pulled back immediately and signaled for Marissa to stop.

“I’m fine."

My voice sounded more controlled than I felt. She hesitated, then took a step back.

“I came to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to be too forward. It’s just that I’m a lawyer, and there are so many things that aren’t being handled the way they should be—"

“It’s okay," I cut her off.

Her eyes studied my face uncertainly.

"You’re not mad?"

I didn’t answer.

"This is about your cousin, isn’t it?"

"Stay away from him,” I warned. If you know what’s good for you."

Her lips parted slightly. Once again, the urge to kiss her burned in my chest.

She nodded, choosing not to argue, and excused herself while I watched her leave.

That evening, chaos erupted at home. My mom paced furiously, her voice sharp with outrage. My father sat stiffly, his usual stoic front unshaken.

"That little snake! How dare he continue to provoke my son when he knows exactly what he's dealing with?"

My dad pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed. "Enough with this drama. Justin is an adult, not a child. He doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him."

I didn’t flinch, but a slow burn of rage simmered beneath my skin. I knew better than to give my father the satisfaction of a reaction.

My mother spun to face him. "Call it whatever you like, but you need to put your nephew in his place. Anyone who deliberately makes my son uncomfortable does not like him—and they certainly do not want him to be king."

My dad took a sip of his wine. "Sean is only concerned about the future of the pack. What’s wrong with that?"

I stiffened. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

He met my gaze, as if waiting for this moment.

"People are asking questions. There’s speculation that our future remains uncertain. This marriage to Wendy benefits their pack far more than ours. And despite all the attempts to fix your… ailment, nothing is working. You’re getting weaker, not stronger. It makes more sense to pass the kingship title to Sean at this point.”

A suffocating silence followed.

Then I laughed.

It wasn’t a pleasant sound—it was hollow and bitter.

"There it is, Dad. The one thing you've been wanting to say all along. Why beat around the bush?"

"I can’t believe you said that, Alaric!" My mother spat, venomous with rage. "Sean is the son of a bastard! He isn’t legitimate, and over my dead body will I watch him take what belongs to my son—something Justin has longed for all his life!"

My patience thinned by the second. I got to my feet.

"Why are you even bothering, Mom? It’s not like if I don’t become king, I’ll die or something, right?"

Her mouth gaped open in shock. Hurt flickered in her eyes. I turned on my heel and walked away.

"Whatever Dad wants to do, let him do it."

I didn’t wait for a response. With a nod, I stepped out, leaving them behind.