Reborn as the Lycan's Mate

Chapter 2. I Woke Up in a Hell Hole

Morrighan POV

Waking up in a battlefield sucks.

Did I tell you I was in a battlefield?

Because I was. I think some Lycan soldiers just dropped on our tin can of a truck. Something to do with raiding illegal slave shipment or something. I’m not surprised. I mean, I was with branded slaves. I was the only one with no slave mark… I heard my captors say the brand just wouldn’t stick on me, for some strange reason.

Anyway… I somehow lost consciousness during the melee, and managed to end up under a pile of dead bodies. For some reason, while raining over the battlefield something happened that somewhat unlocked something in me that I wasn’t supposed to have, and I passed out.

I don’t know how long it was, but by the time I woke up, the rain had stopped.

I sat up once again, but this time, the splitting headache was but a dull throb that slowly ebbed away.

The bodies were still there, and it was still dark, but the totally dark skies were now pockmarked by a couple of constellation patches.

The stink that had been barely there from the unmoving sea of bodies has become stronger, now that the rain has stopped

I could feel myself increasing in strength by the minute, and I realized that whatever held me down a while ago was long gone, as if it disappeared when all the memories had been completely integrated into my mind.

Yes, memories.

Bodies of sweat and grime packed together like sardines in humid and hot metal. Painful wrists, ankles, butt, and joints. Curses, growls, and shouting. The characteristic stink of filth and maltreatment.

Despite the blackout I just had, I realized that the entire decompressing process was similar to getting an upgrade. This was probably how amnesiacs felt when they regain their memories.

Except I was not an amnesiac.

No time to dwell on the world I had been in. Now is not the time. A familiar voice growled in my head.

Instead of mentally responding, I gradually stood and checked myself and everything around me.

There was no sound, not even a pulse or a weak heartbeat. Realizing that I am now able to stand without much effort, I checked my wrists and ankles. Not so long ago, I had cuffs about them; restraints made of wolfsbane-coated silver only a werewolf would love. These links connected to a long chain that held almost everybody that lay strewn about me.

Now, for some strange reason, the cuffs on me have broken; its remaining fragments — or whatever was left of it — are nothing more than melted pools of burnt metal that seemed to gradually emit fumes that were beginning to irritate my sensitive nose.

Let’s get out of here, the voice in me whined.

I could feel it standing up and holding still as if it caught something that just seemed to catch its teeniest bit of interest.

Agreeing with my wolf, I slowly and painstakingly picked my way through the dead bodies, pausing from time to time to listen to the distant sounds in the rolling hills and the nearby forests.

For, after all, not so long ago, I had been with these dead people, similarly chained and being transported in a slave wagon. I had no slavery brand yet, but I was on my way to receive one when our truck had been attacked and all hell broke loose.

Looking at the bodies once more, I could make out that not all of them were like me. I could see about half a dozen rogues here, some of the merchants’ men there, and some soldiers, too. It was a ghastly scene, too creepy for just a mere confrontation between rogues, illegal merchants, and the Imperial troops in a blind curve somewhere between two ravines.

Not wanting to think too much about it, I hobbled away from the road, entered the forest, and ventured deep into the nearby hills as quickly and as silently as I could.

—

Running in a sea of trees is like working on a treadmill (and treadmills exist in this universe, just so you know).

Unfortunately, it has been years since I worked out on one.

When you’ve spent a couple of years as a poisoned invalid, and another three years as a pack slave, you get the drift.

I paused, wheezing, my tongue hanging out as if doing so would gather all the mist in the night air.

After some huffing and puffing, I picked up pace, hoping against hope to stay away from the hell hole I had come from not too long ago, that goddess-forsaken place where blood, remains, and goddess-knows-what burned and rotted as time drifted by.

The forest seemed to continue forever. At first, I thought I was going in circles; the sky was barely illuminated, after all. This, of course, was not true; I’m a werewolf, and my senses, including my night vision, were as sharp as ever, even if I’d barely eaten these past months.

Tonight would have been the perfect night to hunt… had I been as healthy as four, maybe five years ago. There was no moon, and rain has lifted for a long time now. A mild fog carpeted the forest instead.

Occasionally, I would catch a small forest mouse or a wayward rabbit, but these did not sate my hunger. For some miraculous reason, despite my weak state, I could still snag one or two. Maybe because I was good at hunting even when I had been a warrior in the pack, or maybe because I also knew a thing or two about setting prey and enemies up for a trap.

The toll of having barely anything for a long time, however, coupled with all that had happened to me for years, reduced me to what meager thing I could do tonight.

Nevertheless, just to make sure, I halted from time to time so I could listen, smell, and hear. Trees can be deceiving to an untrained pup, and more so for humans. For me, however, the trees are distinctive markers. A scent of mushrooms here, a woodpecker-pecked surface there, a fallen branch over there….

… and the sound of flowing water.

I held myself still.

The sound was still a bit far off, nearly still, but I could make out an imperceptible bubbling of a brook as it emptied out into a bigger body of water. I could hear night creatures, some of them probably deer or some other, approaching the water, one even pausing to drink.

I tried to smell this section of the forest, and I was right. There was a big body of water nearby, and the smell seemed so fresh and clean that I could feel myself and my wolf salivate. I had already eaten my fill for tonight; eating more will mess up my stomach after several months of hunger.

I was, however, super thirsty.

I ran, as silently as possible, towards the source of the scents and the sounds, particularly that babbling brook. I was just that thirsty.

As I neared it, I noticed something strange.

No, not the deer or any hoofed or pad-footed creatures that were trying to drink. Nor was it the frogs or the local swimming creatures, either. It was something else.

Fenris was starting to pace. Stand, pace. Pause, pace.

I could feel her nose twitching, her totally being restless.

As I neared the body of water, I could sense myself growing restless too.

Fenris… what is it?

Then suddenly there was the smell.

It had a wondrous combination of mint, a hint of pine, and the crispness of flowing spring water.

No, it was not the babbling brook or the woods around me.

It smelled like waterfalls, pinewood, hints of cedarwood, and mint.

It was earthy, relaxing, and soothing.

It smelled like home.

—

Orion’s POV

That morning

I woke up with a start when I heard loud banging on the door and some whispering from the other side. I groaned as I sat up, then stood to wear my boxers from last night, ignoring the movement and faint moaning beside me.

“Ori, open up or I will have this door wrecked apart!” Came the familiar female voice of my stepmother, Isabella, followed by muffled mutterings, one of which was made by my Beta, Duke Harrison.

“Oh shush, Beta! This has to stop now or we’ll never get the end of another bout of paparazzi! ORION!”

By now, my bed partner Margot had sat up and tried to grab me for a quick morning kiss. Last night there was a dinner party downstairs in the Lycan Paradise Hotel, hosted by the Royal Family. Margot was one of the nieces of a business partner, and last night’s romp was not our first. Nor was she the only playmate I liked to “hang out” with.

I cussed under my breath as I hurriedly dressed up, pushing Margot away. She was beautiful last night, all classy and sassy; a pleasant playmate. But that was it. She was just like the rest, acting all sweet and clingy because, despite my distance from the throne, I still had a direct line to the crown, after all. Not to mention I got enough funding… and the looks.

“What’s up, love?” Margot tried to delicately rub a finger on my arm, but I hastily pulled away, nearly flicking her off the bed. She tried to hiss in protest, but I cut her with a low growl that made the mutt whimper.

“Hurry up and get out via the side,” I used my Royal Alpha voice. “And don’t ever f***ing call me love!”

She shuddered but speedily ran out, exiting through the back with her clothes. I could smell anger and tears threatening to spill from her, along with a faint whiff of last night’s s*x that I now find blah, but I ignored it. I’m used to b***hes like her; they’re all the same.

“For goddess’ sake, Orion!”

I opened the door as my beloved stepmother, Isabella, entered, with my Beta Duke hesitatingly following behind. Out at the door, I could make out my Mom’s bodyguards quietly positioning themselves facing outwards. Chances are, the entire floor and even the elevator has more of our security staff to keep all the nosy from reaching my floor.

“How many does it make now? A thousandth?” Isabella said as she sniffed the air in disgust.

“‘Morning, Mum,” I bent down to give Isabella a peck on her cheek.

Isabella appeared to be in her mid-20s, but looks can be deceiving for my kind (here’s a clue: her age is fifteen and a half times how she looks… nobody points out her real age to her without risking their necks). Unlike me with crystal-clear ocean blue eyes, dark hair, and towering height from my biological parents, Isabella was a tiny 5’7” redhead Lycan with laughing green eyes.

She was adorable as mums are, all naggy and worrywart, but huggable and all-warm… even for someone like me, whom she came to accept as her own, just a month after I was born.

I tried to give Mum an additional hug just to calm her ranting, but I felt her all-too-familiar slap on the forehead.

“Don’t hug me with that b***h’s stink still clinging on you!” she spat.

“Sorry.” I passed the glare to my best friend, but Duke, who merely shrugged.

“Call Penwulf today,” Isabella barked at Duke. “There’s a slot for the Northeastern Office and have him reassigned there, along with his entire family.”

—