Marked By The Vengeful Lycan

An Alpha shouldn't sound like a dog when he begs for his life. But that’s all my father was that night—a dog on his knees. “Please…” my father whimpered. He was on the floor, tears rolling down his face pathetically. I had excused myself briefly from dinner to use the restroom, but one of the buttons on my trousers had popped and I’d delayed slightly just to change them. By the time I returned downstairs, it was a bloodbath. My father's men were lying in a pool of their own blood. The only ones left were my mother and my two sisters. My father, the “highly respected” Alpha, was begging a stranger for mercy. “I beg of you, Garrick. Spare the children and my mate. You want my position, you can have it. Kill me and it’s yours, but please, spare my family.” Garrick let out a nasty laugh, throwing his head back in humor. He rested his blade on my father’s head. “Look at how low you've fallen, Kane. What would your people say if they saw their beloved Alpha on his knees like this? So weak, so pathetic?” I swallowed thickly. From where I stood, my blood simmered hot. I wanted to march out, and squeeze the life from Garrick’s throat. But at thirteen, I was smarter than that. I saw the dead bodies that trailed Garrick and the army behind him. I stood no chance. Neither did my family. “I cannot spare them, Kane,” Garrick said quietly, his voice thick with remorse. “I wish I could, but…” He swung. The blade buried into my mother’s chest. A gasp choked in my throat. My mother let out a soft cry as Garrick shoved the knife deeper, twisted it in her chest before forcefully yanking it out. And then he tossed her aside like trash. He didn't stop. He swung the sword again and sliced off the head of my oldest sister. My youngest sister, Emily, crawled backward with fear in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but I’ll never know what she was going to say. Garrick struck her down before a word could escape. Blood exploded. It splattered all over his face and clothes. Garrick simply chuckled and wiped his tongue over his top lip to lick off the blood. “Old friend,” he said, turning his attention back to my father. “It’s just you and me left now, eh?” I couldn't look away. My sister’s headless body was still on the floor jerking. I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a whimper. “Wait, daddy.” Two girls entered the room, and my head snapped towards them. They seemed only a few years younger than me. The blonde-haired one smiled brightly at her father, as if she were blind to the horror that was happening. “What is it, Princess?” Garrick asked, smiling at her. “Where is the boy?” she asked. “I heard the Alpha has a son,” “Dead, Garrick.” a man said, stepping forward. “I came across him in the East wing. I'll bring his body here if you want a family reunion.” Garrick chuckled darkly, waving his hand. “That wouldn't be necessary, Alfred. Old Kane here has seen enough.” Blood roared in my ears. They were talking about me, but Alfred claimed to have killed me in the East Wing. It only meant one thing: he'd killed my best friend, Henry, and assumed it was me. Garrick’s daughters stood behind him. The blonde one’s eyes gleamed with her father's cruelty, while the dark-haired one simply stared with a blank expression as if all of these bored her and she couldn't wait for it to be over. My father slowly got to his feet. He didn't look like an Alpha anymore. He looked like a man who had already died and was waiting for his body to catch up. “Do it,” my father whispered, his voice hollow and hopeless. “If you’ve killed them all, then take me. But know this, Garrick, you will never sleep soundly. You’ll see their faces every time you close your eyes.” Garrick didn't flinch. He didn't even look insulted. He just stepped forward, the blood of my sisters still dripping from his blade, and drove the sword through my father’s throat. I watched the light leave my father’s eyes as he slumped into the red pool on the floor. “Check the bodies,” Garrick commanded. “Burn the estate and make sure to leave nothing but ash.” The blonde girl kicked my mother’s arm out of her way. She looked disappointed. “I wanted to see the son. People said he had his father’s eyes.” “He’s dead, Elara,” the dark-haired one said, her voice flat. “Let’s go already. This place smells terrible.” They began to turn, their boots splashing through the blood of my family. I stayed frozen, my hand still clamped over my mouth, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. Then, the dark-haired one stopped and turned her head to look over her shoulder. She didn't look at the bodies. Instead, her head tilted, and her gaze traveled slowly across the room, past the wreck of the dinner table, straight to the heavy door where I stood. My breath hitched. She looked directly through the small crack and our eyes met but her expression didn't change. She didn't scream for her father. She just stared at me with those cold, blank eyes—eyes that saw me, recognized I was alive, and decided it wasn't worth the effort to speak. For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then, she blinked and turned away as if she’d seen nothing. She trailed after her father without a word. I stood in the darkness, trembling as the first scent of smoke began to drift through the house. They thought the Alpha’s son was dead. But I was still breathing. And the dark-haired girl had let me live. I wouldn't make the same mistake when I came back for them. It was a promise.