The Runt and the Lycan King

The Beginning

Ethan had been gone for about an hour, but the scent of him—that heavy, masculine sandalwood—still clung to every inch of my bedroom, thick enough to taste. I stood by the bed, stripping the sheets with trembling hands, my movements sluggish.

We had left a mess of bodily fluids behind, a physical map of the last few hours that made my face heat up just looking at it. My skin still hummed with a phantom touch, and my inner thighs felt tender and raw, a constant, pulsing reminder of the way he had moved inside me.

I felt a pang of guilt when I thought of Lydia, but it was fleeting, like a candle blown out by a gale.

She was a b**ch who had spent years making my life a living hell, turning the entire pack against me while she wore a designer smile.

It was hard to feel too bad about stealing a piece of her perfect world, even if it was just for a morning. I couldn't stop replaying the way he made my body feel. The pleasure and the pain had been incredible, a chaotic symphony that had finally silenced the grief for my mother. I would have never thought I liked it rough like that—the hair pulling, the bruising grip on my throat, but I guess I did. With him, I felt alive.

Before he left, we’d talked about the obvious: this stayed between us. No one could know. He promised he’d see me again, a whispered vow against my lips that I chose to believe with every fiber of my being. He told me I was his little secret, a treasure he wanted to keep all to himself.

After tucking clean, cool sheets onto the bed, the weight of the alcohol and the exhaustion from multiple orgasms finally pulled me under. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the first real rest I’d had in months.

I was shocked when I woke up. I had slept through the entire day and night, yet I felt surprisingly refreshed—no hangover, just a lingering, golden glow in my chest. I got up and dressed, realizing my fridge was empty and my stomach was finally growling. I needed to go to the market for groceries, a task I usually dreaded.

The local market was crowded with pack members, their scents of pine and musk clashing in the aisles. I tried to keep my head down as usual, pulling my hoodie sleeves over my palms. Then I saw them.

Ethan and Lydia were standing by the produce, her arm linked tightly through his as she laughed at something he said. They looked like royalty, the golden Alpha and his Beta queen. For a split second, Ethan’s eyes met mine.

My heart stopped, my lungs seizing up. I waited for a sign—a secret smile, a twitch of his lip, anything to tell me that yesterday meant something. But his face was a mask of polite, icy indifference. He looked right through me like I was a pane of glass. I looked away quickly, my chest tightening with a jagged stab to the heart. I knew it would be like this, but the coldness of his gaze was a different kind of pain than the one I’d asked for in the bedroom.

I tried to focus on my list, my eyes blurring as I reached for a box of cereal. The isolation felt heavier than ever, a physical weight on my shoulders. I was heading down the aisle when a tall, muscular figure blocked the end.

It was Jaxson Reed, Ethan’s best friend and the soon-to-be Beta. He was one of the worst—a man who took pleasure in reminding me exactly where I stood in the hierarchy.

I stopped, my breath hitching, and turned to walk the other way, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. I almost made it to the end of the aisle when another guy stepped out, cutting me off.

Caleb, a high-ranking enforcer who followed Jaxson like a loyal hound, crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"Hey, runt. Where are you going?" Caleb asked, a cruel smirk dancing on his lips.

I looked behind me; Jaxson was closing in, his presence massive and suffocating. He didn't just walk; he prowled.

"I'm just shopping," I said, my voice coming out in its usual soft, timid tone. I hated how small I sounded.

I tried to sidestep Caleb, but he lunged forward, pushing me back hard into Jaxson. Jaxson’s hands clamped onto my shoulders like iron talons, holding me steady. His fingers dug into the muscle, and I knew the bruises would be dark by nightfall.

"What's the rush?" Caleb leaned in close, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air around my neck. "You smell... different, Rachel."

I struggled, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Get off of me! Ow, you're hurting me!"

I was sure I’d have fingerprints etched into my skin.

"Oh? What's this?" A sharp, melodic voice cut through the aisle. Lydia Marsh appeared from behind them, her eyes glittering with a predatory malice. "Are you being a wh*re, little runt? Taking on two at a time in public? I guess when you can't find a mate, you'll take whatever you can get."

I stayed quiet, staring at the scuffed floor. I knew from experience that it was always worse when I tried to speak up.

Lydia reached out and, with a violent flick of her wrist, smacked the shopping basket out of my hand. Glass shattered and groceries scattered across the linoleum, a mess just like the one I’d cleaned off my sheets.

At the same time, Jaxson gave me a violent shove. I hit the ground hard, my knees barking in pain as I landed on the cold floor.

"Hey, what's going on?"

My head snapped up. Ethan was standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking bored. Lydia immediately shifted, her face melting into a mask of sweet, sugary concern.

"Oh, Ethan! Poor Rachel tripped and dropped her stuff. We were just helping her up," she cooed, her hand resting on his arm.

"Yeah," Jaxson added, his voice a mock-friendly rumble. He bent down, picking up a dented can and tossing it into my fallen basket. As he leaned over, his breath hot against my ear, he whispered so only I could hear. "Ethan isn't always going to be around to save you, runt."

He stood up, and the three of them began to walk away, their laughter echoing through the store. I looked up just as Ethan glanced back for a fleeting second. There was no love in his eyes, only a cold, distant pity that made me feel like an insect under a boot.

I finished my shopping in a blur of tears, the walk home feeling like a mile-long gauntlet. I crawled into bed that night feeling discarded and used, the silence of the house echoing my mother's absence. Just as I was about to turn off the lamp and succumb to the dark, my phone buzzed. It was a number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice cracked.

"Hey... it's Ethan." His voice was low, intimate—the sandalwood and tequila voice. It was a total contrast to the man who had watched me fall in the store. "Can I come over?"

I looked at the bruises on my knees, then at the empty side of the bed. I should have said no. I should have told him to go back to Lydia. But the hunger for his touch was a sickness I wasn't ready to cure.

"Sure," I whispered.

And that was the beginning. That was the start of our secret, broken relationship—a cycle of public humiliation and private worship that would eventually destroy me.