The Runt and the Lycan King

I stayed face-down in the damp pine needles, the copper taste of blood still coating my tongue. I had just finished my first shift back to being human, and it was horrible. I knew it would be painful the first few times—the elders always talked about the “cracking of the soul”, but this was ridiculous. Every muscle felt like it had been shredded and stitched back together with hot wire. I lay there naked in the dirt, shivering as the morning mist clung to my skin, trying to find the strength just to crawl. Most people have someone with them for their first few shifts—parents to wrap them in blankets, friends to cheer for their new wolf. I had no one. I was alone, and I was the runt. My mom had died a little over a month ago. She was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was a broken clock. We both knew I would be the runt when I still hadn't shifted by seventeen. Most kids in the Silver Creek pack got their wolves at fifteen or sixteen; they’d run through the woods, howling with a pride I couldn't touch. Eighteen was late. Unheard of. It only finally happened after the grief of losing Mom ripped through me, forcing the wolf out of my shattered heart. Saying I was depressed was an understatement. I was a ghost haunting my own life. My so-called friends had turned their backs on me the second they realized I wasn't "wolfing out" like everyone else. In a pack built on strength, being wolf-less is a social death sentence. There was only one person who didn’t bully or pick on me: Ethan Kane, the Alpha-in-waiting. We were never close—not really—but I considered him a friend. He was the one who would catch the younger sentries throwing rocks at me and growl them into submission. He’d make them stop, though it never lasted long. The second his back was turned, the whispers and the shoves started again. Ethan was everything an Alpha should be: beautiful, charming, and radiating a golden warmth that made you feel safe just being in his shadow. But that shadow was already occupied. He was always with Lydia Marsh, the Beta’s daughter and the pack’s number-one b***h. They had been together for as long as I could remember, two perfect specimens of predatory grace. Even though it hadn't happened yet, everyone knew they were fated. In our world, the pull usually manifests when both people hit twenty-one. It was a foregone conclusion. They would be mated, they would lead, and runts like me would continue to be the dirt beneath their boots. I finally managed to push myself up, my ribs aching. I reached for the spare clothes I’d hidden under a rotted log, my fingers trembling. I didn't need a mate or a crown. I just wanted the pain to stop—the physical pain of the shift, and the hollow, screaming silence where my mother’s voice used to be. I was just pulling my oversized hoodie over my head, my fingers still clumsy and shaking, when the snap of a twig made me jump. I let out a jagged sob I hadn’t known I was holding, quickly wiping at my eyes as I felt the hot sting of tears for my mom. "There you are." I gasped, spinning around to see Ethan Kane standing a few yards away. He froze, his eyes widening before he pivoted on his heel to face the trees. "Oh, sorry! I didn't—I'll turn around," he stammered. My heart hammered against my bruised ribs. I scrambled to pull on my leggings, my face burning. "Ethan? You’re... you’re looking for me?" "Yeah," he said, his voice muffled but steady. "I knew you’d be alone out here for your first few shifts and I don't know... I just wanted to see if you were okay." I stood there for a second, stunned into silence. The Alpha-in-waiting had actually come looking for me? The runt? "Um, thanks," I said, finally tucking my hair behind my ears and wiping the last of the salt from my cheeks. "Yeah, I'm okay. You can turn around now." He turned, and for a second, he just looked at me with an expression that wasn't pity—it was something softer, something that felt dangerously like care. As I took a step toward the trail, my legs gave out. The post-shift exhaustion hit me like a physical wall, and I stumbled. Before I could hit the dirt, Ethan was there. His arms were strong, smelling of sandalwood and the cold morning air. "Let me help," he murmured, steadying me. "I remember how bad it is the first time. It feels like your bones are made of glass." "Thanks," I whispered, leaning into him because I had no other choice. He draped my arm over his shoulder and began walking me toward the small, quiet house I used to share with my mother. "Your girlfriend... won't Lydia get mad?" Ethan scoffed, a confident, easy sound. "Please. I’m the soon-to-be Alpha. If I want to help a pack mate and a friend, I will. She doesn't dictate who I look out for." I let out a small, involuntary giggle at that. It was the first time I'd made that sound since the funeral. Ethan stopped and looked down at me, a smirk playing on his handsome lips. "I like that." "Like what?" "Your giggle," he said softly. I looked up at him, my breath hitching, and then quickly turned my face away to hide the deep red flush crawling up my neck. By the time we reached my house, he didn't leave me at the door. He helped me all the way inside, guiding me gently onto the worn velvet couch. "Thanks again, Ethan. Seriously." "You mind if I sit for a bit?" he asked, already loosening his jacket. I blinked. This was crazy. Ethan Kane actually wanted to hang out with me? "Yeah, sure. Do you want something to drink? I have tea or water in the fridge." "Do you have anything stronger?" he called out, already heading toward the kitchen with the familiarity of a long-time guest. I laughed, a bit shocked. "Ethan, it's six in the morning." "Why not?" he shouted back, his voice echoing off the tile. "You must be hurting, and it’s Saturday. We’re celebrating a successful shift, Rachel." I couldn't say no. He had been the only person to treat me like a human being all month. "Yeah... there's some tequila my... my mom had. It's in the bottom cabinet," I choked out, the mention of her still feeling like a thumb pressed into a bruise. He came back with the bottle and two glasses, his expression turning solemn. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Rachel. She was a good woman." "It's okay," I said, because what else do you say to the truth? We started drinking. Then we started talking. Then the laughing started. By the time the clock on the wall hit 9:00 AM, the world was fuzzy and the pain in my limbs had dulled into a warm, tequila-soaked hum. "I'm already drunk," I slurred, leaning back against the cushions. We were sitting close together now, the TV playing some generic rom-com in the background. The mood shifted the second the couple on screen began to move together, their hands wandering as they grew intimate. Sudden shyness washed over me, a spike of nervous energy that made me try to stand up. "Where are you going?" Ethan slurred, his hand catching my wrist and pulling me—not back to the couch, but directly into his lap. "Ethan!" I giggled, my heart thundering. "I'm going to the bathroom." I tried to squirm away, but his grip was firm. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just against the sensitive skin of my ear and neck. "There’s that sound again," he whispered, his voice dark and honey-thick. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.