FATED TO THE LYCAN BEAST

I should’ve known something was wrong. My wolf had been restless for weeks, growling whenever my boyfriend touched me. I ignored the signs, thinking it was stress. Tonight, standing outside Alan’s apartment with his favorite wine and the rush from a courtroom win still bright in my skin, the truth hit like a punch. This wasn’t anxiety. My wolf had been trying to warn me. I froze. Alan was on his knees, his mouth between another woman’s legs. The wine slipped from my hand and shattered across the tiled floor. My pulse thundered in my ears. Alan's lover's eyes met mine. Genevieve. My best friend. She scrambled for her dress as if modesty could undo what was happening. Alan looked up, his lips still wet, surprised, then frowned, like I was wrong for interrupting them. “Marissa? Why are you here? You should’ve called first.” Was he f*****g serious? My vision blurred. I didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or cry. Genevieve rose and smoothed her dress over her petite frame. “Riss,” she said, soft and saccharine. “I know this is messy. But maybe it’s for the best. You needed to know.” I staggered back. “Know what? That you’re a traitorous w***e?” Her eyes flashed, then she went cool. “I’m not apologizing for choosing my happiness.” My blood turned to fire. All the pieces slid into place—the sour moods when teachers praised me, that tight smile when boys looked my way. It wasn’t a mistake. It was envy. Rage eclipsed shock. I slapped her. The sound cracked through the room. She slapped me back before I could think, and then pushed me. Her hand burned across my cheek. Alan grabbed my arm. Their faces locked on me, outrage and hypocrisy written all over them. I couldn’t breathe. “Why?” I choked, wrenching my hand free and fixing Genevieve with a stare. “What did I do to deserve this? Why would you do this to me?” “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being ‘perfect,’ he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere,” she said with a voice field with hate. Alan’s voice cut. “Gen understands me. She doesn’t make everything about herself.” Genevieve smiled smugly. “Also… I’m ten weeks pregnant.” My heart dropped. “You’re what?” She pressed a hand to her belly, protective and smug. These weren’t the people I loved. Alan was a coward; Genevieve was a traitor. “You’ll understand when someone finally tolerates you,” Alan said, smug. Tears blurred my sight as I rushed for the door. I couldn’t stay. “Good riddance,” I breathed. “You’ll get what’s coming.” Alan laughed—cruel, easy. “Karma? That’s what losers say to feel better. Get over it, Riss. It’s over.” His voice was steady with confidence, and for a moment I felt like the whole world had been lying to me. --- Six months later. I was barely surviving. Some days I didn’t get out of bed. Other days I trained until my muscles screamed. Tonight, I wore pain like armor. Alan and Genevieve glided into my father’s ballroom, radiant. Music rose and the Southern Werewolf and Lycan Unity Festival filled the hall. My father, Alpha Marcus, watched from his place of honor. The room gleamed with power—Alphas, Betas, political players. I hadn’t seen them since that night. They’d married. Genevieve’s belly was round and obvious. After the betrayal, the rumors swarmed. Alan said we’d broken up months earlier and called me a stalker. Friends drifted away like shame was contagious. I fought back with screenshots and receipts. It didn’t matter. My father refused to back me. He said I was damaging the pack. When I threatened to leave, he warned me—be rogue, lose my law license. So I stayed. Drink in hand, I watched them approach. Genevieve’s emerald dress clung to her. She looked radiant, smug, sure. The idea that I was collateral in their happy ending made bile rise in my throat. “Marissa!” Alan said, pulling Genevieve close as if she were a prize. “We missed you at the wedding.” I smiled tight. “Must’ve misplaced the invitation.” Genevieve leaned in, whispering with insincere warmth. “Oh, but we did send one. Alan said you’d make a perfect godmother. Isn’t that fitting?” I stared at her belly. The audacity made me laugh—low and ugly. “How sweet. Two trash cans finally found each other.” Genevieve’s smile twitched. Lilith, my father’s wife, placed a manicured hand on my back, rings grazing my spine. “Be nice. They're guests.” I didn’t turn. “Of course you’d say that. You always protect your kind.” Lilith gasped, shocked. Genevieve slid into peacemaker mode. “I didn’t mean to stir anything up. I just didn’t realize Marissa was still… bitter.” Bitter. She was baiting me. I’d bled enough. I sipped my drink. “It takes talent to steal a man and still be the consolation prize. At least I dodged the STD you probably carry.” Her eyes narrowed, but the room hushed. The Lycans had arrived. Heads dipped. Even I bowed out of respect. Lycans were stronger than werewolves in flesh and in legend. The King and Queen entered in black and purple. Their son, Justin, the future King, followed. Whispers spread like a current. I don’t fantasize about strangers. But when I saw him, something undeniable hit me. Tall. Broad. Dark hair. He moved like a force. Alpha-level dominance in every step. Even tall werewolves seemed smaller beside him. The woman at his arm—his fiancée—was the royal beauty everyone envied. Heat surged through me. The air smelled of pine, cedar, and wet earth—something elemental, not perfume. My breath caught. My wolf woke. Hard and raw. Mate. The word crashed through me, setting every nerve burning. Justin. Future Lycan King. Gorgeous. Powerful. Mine. I was not broken. The world hadn’t forgotten me. I had a mate. But tradition said the male must speak the bond first. If a woman claimed and was rejected, shame followed her forever. So I waited for him to see me. Each second crawled. I stepped forward, closing the gap. Inches from him I could see stubble at his jaw, feel the pull of possibility. He walked past. No look. No pause. Nothing. My wolf whimpered. Joy vaporized into cold. What happened? Had I misread everything? Was fate mocking me?