Lycan King’s Cursed Mate

***Alya*** The town of Dorilay lay before me, a vivid tapestry woven with vibrancy and life, yet whispering secrets of ancient shadows lurking beneath its cheerful facade. Nestled between the roaring mountains and lush, sprawling forests, this medieval village radiated warmth under the soft golden light of the morning sun. The cobbled streets coiled like serpents, leading bustling market stalls filled with merchants hawking their colorful wares, spices that danced in the air, textiles that fluttered in the breeze, and trinkets that glimmered like stars. Laughter erupted from children darting about, all of them oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that hummed through the atmosphere. Today, something momentous was about to unfold. I, Ayla Astarte, stood at the fringe of the square, my heart thumping in my chest as I scanned the throngs of villagers. To them, I was just a wanderer, a curious soul who drifted into their peaceful lives like a wisp of fog. But I carried a far heavier burden—one that had intertwined through countless lifetimes. I felt it now, an unshakeable melancholy that weighed upon me, my beauty charred by an ungraspable sorrow. As I gazed at the life unfolding around me, flickers of memories cascaded through my mind—fragments from lives long lost that drifted like autumn leaves onto an unseen river. I could almost hear the crackling of a campfire in a forest clearing where laughter rang out, a memory of a boy named Dorian who promised me everything. And yet, amid the warmth of those recollections, there existed a chilling howl of wolves—a harbinger of destiny, a fog of betrayal that had swallowed us whole. The memory faded, replaced by the image of a gilded palace, resonant with the emblem of the majestic wolf—a king's domain now haunted by absence and loss. This was my curse: a love eternally sought but tragically unfulfilled. Across each lifetime, I would love deeply, only to watch my beloved perish before I could truly know him. Death chased me, tainting every tender moment with its relentless grip, ensuring I remained bound to a cycle of rebirth, haunting solitude, and endless longing. With a reluctant sigh that felt too heavy for my chest, I shook off the past, focusing my gaze on the market square once more. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, charged like the moment before a powerful storm. I could hear the townsfolk whispering in excited tones, and within my heart, unease nested alongside curiosity. “The Lycan King is coming to Dorilay!” a voice called out from a nearby stall, the exuberance unmistakable. I turned to see a woman with rosy cheeks and hair intricately woven into a golden crown of braids. She balanced a basket brimming with fresh produce. “They say he is beyond handsome but always brooding, he’s only passing through after the battle with the skin walkers took place near the west wall. He’s our protector!” “Protector?” Another voice scoffed, echoing from a shadowy corner of the market. An older man, face marked with the passage of time and wisdom, leaned on a gnarled staff. “The King’s coming always stirs trouble. Wealth and power bring out the worst in men.” A shiver raced down my spine, unease curling around my heart. The very name of the Lycan King sent tremors through me. Waves of recognition swept over me as memories long buried flooded back, igniting an unsettling flame within. I had not seen him before, yet the resonance of his name stirred something far deeper—a reminder of the promises and fears I had carried through lifetimes. As the sun climbed higher, illuminating the town in golden brilliance, the unmistakable sound of galloping hooves echoed through Dorilay, a herald of destiny approaching. My heart quickened, and anxiety twisted in my stomach as I maneuvered through the crowd, desperate to catch a glimpse of the king who had haunted my dreams for so long. “Look it’s the Lycan King Malik!” A females voice said with excitement. I didn’t usually stop for these kind of things but something in me beckoned me to just look at the male just once. I walked through the villagers who all walked in one direction like a hung wave pushing towards shore, I managed after a long time of pushing and shoving through the crowd but the vision that stole my breath was unexpected. Perched upon a magnificent black stallion was Malik, the Lycan King himself. He radiated pure authority, grace pouring from him like a river, commanding respect and attention his mere presence demanded. His deep-set emerald eyes swept across the assembled townsfolk, missed not even for a brief second when they locked onto mine. Time froze. The world around me blurred, muted sounds fading away, leaving only the powerful thrum of my heartbeat in my ears. In Malik, I saw not just a king, but the reincarnation of all my lost loves—Dane, Caelum, and countless others whose souls had intertwined with mine across the ages. I felt the tension of fate drumming in my veins, its unbreakable grip threatening to pull me under, but terror gripped my heart like a vice. We were once again bound by the chains of history, doomed to repeat our tragic course. Malik dismounted with a fluid elegance that left me breathless, his sharp gaze never leaving mine. There was a fierce intensity in those emerald depths as if he glimpsed fragments of my soul. In that suspended moment, the crowd erupted around us—cheers, applause—but all I could hear was the chaotic rhythm of my own heart, each thud a reminder of fear and longing. The king stare at me as if he knew deep down in his soul, who I was. Slowly he stalked towards me and I didn’t move, I couldn’t move. Not when I knew what was to come. The moment he would be near me. It was my curse, our curse. “Who might you be?” Malik asked, his voice a deep, rich melody that resonated in my core. Each word wrapped itself around my heart, igniting a warmth I had long forgotten in this existence. I didn’t answer, didn’t say a word. There was no point in giving him my name for the thousandth time or even getting to know him in this lifetime. The crowd started as whispers started around us. I knew I couldn’t exactly stay silent not with many eyes on me. “Just a humble traveler passing through this beautiful town.” My voice steady, despite the storm brewing inside me. “Humble?” His expression shifted, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his luscious lips. “There is nothing humble about your beauty,” My breath caught in my throat. “Just a traveler then.” The words slipped from my lips, borne from an unseen force that propelled me to speak the truth but not the whole truth. In the flicker of his expression, the playful glint faded, replaced with a dawning comprehension that sent ripples of understanding between us. He felt it too—the weight of history, the echo of a connection that transcended time. Before he could respond, commotion erupted nearby, pulling our attention away from each other. A group of villagers rushed toward us, faces lined with fear, brands of torches in their hands. “Skinwalkers are here!” one shouted, desperation clawing at his voice. People scattered like ants being attacked, grabbing their loved ones and finding cover from the danger. In that instant, Malik’s demeanor shifted, the essence of the king coiling around him like a cloak. “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, though his eyes remained fixed on me for a moment longer, anchoring me in that chaotic sea of uncertainty. As he turned away, a surge of panic coursed through me. All at once, the fleeting fantasy of being near him transformed into a chilling nightmare—a dread that sank into my bones. The familiar ache of past lives clawed its way to the surface, reminding me that the dark forces I had always feared were never far away, thriving on the vulnerabilities of love and the shadows of longing. I stepped back, my gaze unwavering as Malik moved towards the direction of the skinwalker, his men behind him in a battle trained formation. I somehow scented the turmoil within him as he turned his back on me. People still rushing away from being the skinwalkers prey, their fear evident. But I stood there, frozen, gripped by the weight of our connection and the impending doom that loomed ahead. This was it, we met and now there are skinwalkers, his death would come. It always came after we met. Always. In an instant, the moment of our spirits intertwining was gone—yet it had been profound, resonating with the truth of our fate. The string connecting us throbbed with every memory, a bond that had withstood the currents of time, but the curse of my lovers death inevitability lurked nearby. I had seen this before. I had lived it. Then, as Malik turned back toward me, as of a final look at me. His eyes shining with fierce determination, I felt the echo of a truth unfold—a realization so potent that it burned in my heart: he must have sensed something deeper between us. A vibration of fate resonated through the space that enveloped us. In that moment, breaths held captive between us, I knew he felt it too, the undeniable connection of two souls bound through the fragments of eternity, each belonging to the other. But as the weight of this truth settled upon us, fear gripped me—fear of what this connection truly meant for our future. Malik finally disappeared to the Westside of town and in a panic born of instinct, I turned, my feet pounding against the cobbled stones of this town, racing away from the Lycan King who could very well sniff me out. The one I had sought in many lifetimes— only to lose him once more. With every step, I yearned for the safety of distance, for the chaos of emotions that threatened to engulf me. In one breath, Malik was the promise of a future I had always desired, and in the next, he was a shadow that threatened to shatter the fragile peace I will never know. I ran, leaving behind only the desperate hope that this time, fate would finally allow me to choose love over loss. Screams echoed from behind me but not human screams, not even a Lycans scream. I stopped and looked in the direction Malik had gone. It was the screams of the skinwalkers. They were being slaughtered. My eyes widened as a thought entered my mind. I looked around and saw a horse fighting to get free, without hesitation I calmed him down before getting on him and rode him east. Away from Malik. I turned my head and saw in the distance, the town and the shape of a man staring right at me. Malik was still alive. Could this time, could this life, be different? Could Malik, the Lycan King, break the cycle of our tragedy? Or was this merely a chapter destined to repeat itself? Either way, the curse could never be broken. Malik had to live longer this time if only because he was one of the four protectors to the people of Zeldrea.