Three
1169 Words
Justin
I stood beside my mother in the suffocating heat of the hall, the air thick with the cloying scent of desperation. Werewolves pressed close, their eyes following every Lycan who passed. Disgust stirred in my chest.
If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be here. The southern werewolf nation was a chaotic mess run by their greedy alpha and his incompetent council.
My mother sipped her wine, her bored and detached gaze sweeping the crowd.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked, forcing down a yawn. “Our workforce is already bloated. We don’t need more mouths to feed.”
A quiet chuckle slipped from her. “I’m offering them hope, darling.”
“You’re manipulating them.”
“Empires are built on manipulation. How do you think our kingdom rose to power? It certainly wasn’t by playing fair.”
I tipped the last of the crushed wolfsbane from a leather pouch into my mouth. The bitterness barely registered anymore. Years of micro-dosing had turned it into routine.
My mother’s smile vanished the moment her gaze caught the pouch. She hated the habit. It frightened her.
The acrid herbs dulled the tearing pain under my skin better than any physician ever could.
Her eyes flicked to my face, a rare softness in her face. I hated that look. Pity didn’t suit her.
We were here because some werewolf seer had delivered a cryptic warning: If the future king wishes to survive, he must agree to the rites of the moon.
Probably nonsense. But my mother was desperate enough to grasp at anything. She believed this ritual might fix what was broken in me.
A small part of me wanted it to work. Not for myself, but to erase the fear etched into her face. She was a queen running out of faith. And I was a future king living on borrowed time.
Since my first shift, a curse had taken root in my bones. My wolf—the core of what it meant to be Lycan—was a traitor, turning against me from within. The Royal Healers called it Spirit Fragmentation, a polished name for a slow death.
They said the curse would eat me alive. First my wolf. Then my mind. Then my body.
My only hope, they claimed, was to find my fated mate—the one soul who could bind the fraying edges of my own.
But she remained a ghost. A hope that faded with every agonizing shift.
She could be standing right in front of me in this crowded hall, and I would never know.
The wolfsbane dulled the tearing. Meaningless s*x numbed the emptiness. But only for a while.
“Find the seer and let’s get this over with,” I muttered.
My mother’s lips curved faintly. “Patience, darling. He prepares under the full moon. Go and dance with Wendy.”
Wendy.
The attention-hungry daughter of the Eastern Lycan king. My future bride on paper. A chore in reality.
“I’m not in the mood for her drama tonight.”
“Wendy’s father is a powerful ally,” my mother warned. “Be careful. She’s already complained to me about your carelessness.”
As if summoned, Wendy appeared. Her perfume hit first—sweet and overpowering.
“Justin, darling!” she chirped, voice pitched too high. “You must say hello to Count Regis and his wife. They’re dying to hear all about the wedding plans!”
A group of young females bowed in her direction. While she craved attention, I slipped free and moved toward the quieter edge of the hall.
That’s when I saw Marcus’s daughter. The lawyer.
If Marcus had sense, he’d be grooming her to lead his failing pack instead of parading her like livestock. Instead, he was trying to sell her to half-rotten old men.
A waste.
She didn’t look afraid. She looked… unshaken. Storm-grey eyes. Full mouth. A curvy body built for command, not submission.
Confidence like that didn’t belong in a room like this.
She looked up. Our eyes met. Heat flickered there, then vanished as she looked away.
Tonight, I needed a distraction.
I crossed the room and stopped in front of her, offering my hand.
“Care to dance?”
She blinked, hesitated, then placed her hand in mine. Up close, she smelled of berries. I led her to the floor.
Strong women have always been a weakness of mine. Especially the kind who didn’t care about my status.
I slid my arm around her waist, drawing her closer than etiquette allowed. My fingers brushed the bare skin at her lower back.
I leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear.
“You’ve been watching me all night,” I murmured. “I thought you might want a closer look.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, a faint blush creeping up her neck.
“Aren’t you well-accompanied tonight, Your Majesty?”
A real laugh escaped me—the first one all night. She had fire, and I liked it.
I dipped my hand lower, guiding her body against mine with the rhythm of the music.
“With the way your eyes kept finding mine,” I said, voice low, “and with your father groveling for scraps, I assumed you craved for something more…physical.”
Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away.
“Funny. I assumed the future king of the Lycans wouldn’t be such a coward.”
My grip tightened, just enough to send a warning. “What does that mean?”
“You’re hiding behind a title.” She gestured between us. “Strip it away, and all that’s left is this. Cheap ego.”
The music swelled, but her words cut through. She was baiting me—or maybe bleeding from her own wounds. Either way, I wasn’t backing down.
I leaned closer, my breath ghosting her jaw. “If this is ego,” I murmured, “come see what it looks like without an audience.” Our eyes locked. “Room 512. Grand Oak Hotel. Ten o'clock.”
---
Midnight
The bitter taste of wolfsbane burned my tongue. The curse twisted in my gut.
I slammed my fist into the wooden bed frame.
A scream tore from my throat, smothered by the damn pillow I crushed against my face. I sank my teeth into my forearm, welcoming the pain, but it wasn’t enough.
I wanted to break something. Shatter the mirrors. Rip the curtains down. Tear my own skin apart.
The seer’s ritual had done nothing. The blessed water. The sacred oils. The ancient chants.
All of it, useless.
There was no vision. No clarity. No name.
No mate.
Only this suffocating, endless darkness.
And through the haze of agony, one truth carved itself into my soul.
I was out of time.
My mate could be anywhere. She could be someone I saw every day.
But I would never know.
The curse had stolen even that from me.
And it was winning.
- Writer
