My Dad Is An SSS Lycan!

Chapter 1: The Call from Five Years Ago.

Tonight, the North lay windless, cold moonlight spilling across the gray-stone plaza before the palace and washing over thousands of kneeling figures arranged in layer after layer, stretching all the way toward the farthest steps. Every one of them wore a black cloak, heads bowed low, hands resting before them, and no one dared move carelessly as the sound of footsteps slowly approached from the far end of the square. Zeyan Wang walked between the two rows of people, the hem of his long cloak brushing lightly over the stone, his tall, straight figure almost blending into the darkness, while the bloodline marks on the necks of those kneeling began to burn one after another with every step he took.

Most of the people present had endured bloodline suppression from high-ranking Alphas before, yet the sensation now still made their bodies tense instinctively. Even werewolves who held high positions within their Packs had to lower their heads further, their breathing unconsciously growing shallower as Zeyan passed. After the awakening he had just completed, the bloodline within him had become powerful enough to inspire almost absolute submission, a strength that stood in complete contrast to the years before, when the mere word Rogue had been enough to cast him outside every order in the werewolf world.

Zeyan stepped onto the highest stone dais, and the moment he came to a stop, the elder at the head of the row on the left braced both hands against the ground, bowed even lower, and spoke: “Welcome back, Boss Silverfang.”

The elders of the eastern branch immediately lowered their heads in unison, their congratulations following at once: “Congratulations to Boss Silverfang on completing his awakening.”

The thousands behind them answered together, their voices rolling across the square before echoing back from the palace’s stone walls: “Welcome, Boss Silverfang, as you take command of the Northern Territory!”

Zeyan stood beneath the moonlight, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before settling on the stone dais that had belonged to the Alphas who ruled this land for generations. His fingertips lightly touched the cold surface, then withdrew almost immediately. The power that had once been beyond his reach was now in his hands, enough to set the entire North in motion with a single order, yet even the grand ceremony before him gave him no desire to prolong it.

Footsteps approached from behind. Lucas stopped at a respectful distance and raised the communication device: “Boss, the surveillance unit just intercepted an emergency call. The caller tried to connect several times before the signal disappeared completely, and she used your old communication line.”

Zeyan lowered his gaze to the screen. The same number appeared three times in a row on the call log, so familiar that he recognized it at a glance even though he had deleted it from his contacts five years ago.

Elena Ashbourne.

Five years earlier, she had still been a pureblood Omega on whom the Ashbourne family placed enormous expectations, while Zeyan had only been a Rogue without a Pack, without any power backing him, with a bloodline no one had ever recognized. They had stayed together despite the opposition around them, and then he had been the one to cut everything off with a few cold messages before disappearing from her life. Back then, Zeyan had believed that an Omega who continued alongside a Rogue would only lose the protection and status that rightfully belonged to her, so he chose to leave before Elena could be dragged down with him.

That number had reappeared on the very night he had just completed his awakening. Zeyan stared at the screen for a moment longer before saying, “Play the recording.”

Lucas opened the saved data. Static came first, mixed with chaotic sounds of impacts and struggle, and only after several seconds did a woman’s hoarse voice emerge, rough from crying and fighting for breath: “Please... save the child... please save our daughter... I’m begging you...”

A child’s cry suddenly broke through, high and panicked: “Mommy! Mommy, don’t go... I’m scared...”

Immediately afterward came the voice of an unfamiliar man: “Draw the blood. Hurry.”

Elena nearly screamed: “No! Don’t touch her! Please, I’m begging you—”

The signal cut off abruptly.

Zeyan stared at the device that had gone silent in Lucas’s hand, Elena’s words still intact in his mind.

Our daughter.

During the five years he had been gone from her life, Elena had given birth to a child carrying his bloodline. The truth came too suddenly for him to think any deeper about it before the little girl’s crying in the recording dragged all his attention back to the present situation. He turned to Lucas: “Locate her.”

Lucas immediately opened the tracking data: “The last signal came from a research facility on the southern outskirts, near an unregistered border zone. The location has no publicly available operational records and is not part of the licensed bloodline research system. Preliminary intelligence suggests it has ties to an anti-variant faction.”

Zeyan looked at the red dot on the map and walked straight down from the stone dais. Lucas immediately followed, transmitting orders for the tactical unit to prepare to move. The bloodline pressure around Zeyan was even heavier than when he had first appeared, forcing the werewolves near the passage to bow lower automatically as he walked past, while Lucas only had to look at the silhouette ahead to understand that the trip to the southern outskirts would not end simply.

At the research facility beyond the edge of the city, cold white light from the laboratory ceiling shone directly onto the metal table in the middle of the room. A little girl around four years old was restrained by leather straps around her wrists, ankles, and chest, with a series of biological tubes beside her connecting her body to machines that continuously recorded her heartbeat, neurological responses, and bloodline indicators. Lyra had been crying for so long that her throat had gone completely hoarse, leaving her capable of little more than weak sobs, while her swollen red eyes still struggled to look toward the glass at the end of the room.

A person in a white lab coat checked the data on the monitor before turning to the technician beside them: “Keep the dosage exact. Purebred variant blood is reacting very strongly. Don’t let the readings exceed the limit before we collect enough samples.”

The technician pulled Lyra’s small arm straighter and inserted the needle into her vein. Her body jerked violently against the restraints, her legs drawing up instinctively, but the locks prevented her from pulling free.

“It hurts... Mommy... Mommy...”

On the other side of the one-way glass, Elena Ashbourne heard every cry clearly. Both of her wrists were tied so tightly that dark bruises had formed around them, her face was covered in bruises, the corner of her mouth was split, and her tangled hair clung to both cheeks after hours of being held there. From the moment Lyra had been taken into the laboratory, she had begged, resisted, offered everything she had that could possibly be traded, yet the research team kept drawing blood as though the child on the table were nothing more than a specimen.

Elena pressed herself against the glass, her breath fogging a small patch in front of her: “Please, stop... she’s only a child. Whatever you want, I can give it to you. Shares, voting rights—I’ll sign them over. Just let her go.”

A blow from behind struck her across the face and sent her crashing to the floor. Her shoulder hit first, then her knee slammed into the cold surface, and the taste of blood quickly flooded her mouth.

The guard standing behind her looked down at her: “Shut up. You should be grateful she’s still alive.”

Elena braced a hand against the floor and struggled to stand. Through the glass, Lyra’s blood was still steadily flowing into the tubing, her little face growing paler and paler beneath the white light. Elena pressed one hand against the wall to steady herself, her voice so hoarse that every word came with difficulty: “I’ll sign the share transfer agreement. I’ll give you everything I own. Just stop the experiments and give Lyra back to me.”

The guard grabbed her arm and hauled her upright, then shoved her hard back toward the glass. Elena staggered, and the knee she had only just managed to straighten struck the floor again, the old wound immediately beginning to bleed. In the analysis room beside them, the test tubes containing Lyra’s blood were fed into the machine, while a classification appeared on the data panel—the very reason the research team had kept her from the beginning: unidentified high-level purebred variant.

The electronic collar around Lyra’s neck emitted a soft crackle, and the locking system at both ends of the table immediately tightened to hold her body still. The little girl shivered from cold and pain, a drop of blood falling from the sampling site onto the white tile floor. The nearest researcher stepped forward, used the tip of a pen to lift Lyra’s eyelid and observe her pupillary response, then entered several readings into the electronic chart before switching to a longer needle.

The moment Elena saw that needle, she lunged toward the glass. Her bound wrists made her movements clumsy, but her hands still pounded repeatedly against the bulletproof surface, each impact splitting her already cracked nails even deeper. Blood quickly ran down her fingertips, leaving streaks of red across the transparent glass, while Elena stared at the person preparing to drive the needle into Lyra’s arm, her voice so hoarse it was nearly breaking apart: “Stop! Please, I’m begging you, don’t touch her anymore...”