Claimed by the Lycan's Mark

Chapter Four: A Little Hurricane

~Lucien~

If one more person stormed into my office whining about quarterly reports, I was going to set the entire financial board on fire.

Metaphorically, of course. Probably.

“Your Majesty, the Northwood contracts—”

“Your Majesty, the investor dinner—”

“Your Majesty, your mother called again.”

That last one had been the final straw.

"My mother," I growled, pinching the bridge of my nose, "is the source of half my migraines and all my irritations!"

The staff scattered at the sharp change in tone, wisely deciding that now was not the time to test the notoriously short temper of the Lycan King. I sank into the leather chair behind my desk, leaning back as the city stretched out beneath my window.

I should have been content. I had everything: power, wealth, respect… fear. The kind of dominance that centuries of Lycans before me had built through blood. And yet, somehow, none of it was enough to keep my mother from calling me five times a day with the same damned insistence:

“You need a mate, Lucien.”

“You’re thirty-two. Time to settle down.”

“I want pups before I die.”

If immortality was her gift, I doubted I’d ever get peace in my life. So, instead of driving my claws into another wall (my contractors were still upset about the last incident) I decided to go for a run.

Running has always cleared my head. The city gave way easily to forest once you left the mansion grounds, and the trees held a kind of calm that humans could never replicate. I stripped down to my joggers, tossed my shirt aside, and let the shift ripple through me.

Bones reformed, muscles stretched, and fur exploded across my skin as my wolf took form. The change was fleeting but liberating. The beast inside me shook off the weight of royal expectations with a single roll of his shoulders.

And then we ran.

Wind whipped through my fur, the cool October air carrying a clean airy scent. For the first time that day, my thoughts stopped screaming. The steady rhythm of my paws crashing against the earth was grounding, almost meditative.

Until I smelled something unfamiliar. It was a wolf. Female, no doubt, but not one of mine.

“Stupid, pathetic, heartless excuse for a mate!”

That was the voice of the owner of that scent. I slowed down, my ears twitching toward the direction of the outburst.

“May your hairline recede faster than a lunar eclipse! May your fangs rot before you ever smile again, you backstabbing flea bag!”

I huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh if wolves could laugh.

She smelled angry. Devastated, too; the sour smell of heartbreak was unmistakable. But what threw me off was the sheer ridiculousness of what she was shouting.

“I should've bitten him when I had the chance! Right on that smug little perfect jawline! ‘Oh, look at me, I’m Alpha Kade, I sparkle in moonlight!’ Jerk!”

Curiosity got the better of me. I shifted back into my human form and pulled my joggers back on as I followed the sound. It wasn’t long before I saw her: barefoot, hair a tangled mess of dark curls, pacing like a tiny hurricane in a forest of giants.

She looked… wild. Not dangerous, just… untamed. Almost like a rogue.

My first thought was that this could be her wolf. My second thought was that this could be madness.

“I should form my own pack,” she muttered, stomping a stick viciously into two. “Yeah, an all-girl pack. No cheating Alphas allowed. Requirements: loyalty, sarcasm, and killer, um—” she glanced at her tiny dagger, “dagger skills.”

I leaned against a tree, watching her without announcing my presence.

She kept pacing, talking to herself. “Or maybe I’ll become a lone wolf assassin. Yeah, that sounds cool. But I’ll need a name. The Lone Rampager? No… too dramatic. The Betrayed Fang? Ugh, no. That sounds like a metal band.”

“Well, what do we have here?”

She turned immediately, eyes wide, her entire body going still. And then she screamed.

“You! You—!” She blinked, squinting at me as if trying to decide whether I was a friend or foe. “You’re not Kade.”

“Definitely not,” I said, “Don’t think I want to be the alpha that sparkles in the moonlight; especially since you laid a curse on him to have a receding hairline and decayed fangs.”

The girl backed up instinctively, clutching her little dagger like it could stop me.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “And don’t say something weird like ‘forest creeper,’ because that vibe is already strong here.”

My lips twitched. “Lucien.”

She tilted her head, deadpanning. “Lucien? That’s it? No last name? No mysterious title? You look like you have one. You’re giving serious brooding-billionaire-who-glares-at-rain energy.”

A sound rumbled in my chest that startled both of us: laughter. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh my goddess... you can smile?” she asked sarcastically.

“Careful,” I said, stepping closer. “Most people who point that out don’t live long enough to tell others about it.”

“Oh,” she said faintly, then, after a pause, added, “great, I’ve wandered right into the handsome serial killer district of the forest.”

That earned another laugh out of me despite myself. There was something absurdly honest about her; worn out, beaten down, but still swinging wildly at life with sarcasm as her only weapon.

Most wolves, when faced with me, lowered their gaze. She… tilted her chin higher. It was almost adorable.

“What’s your name?” I asked, curious.

She hesitated, still clutching her dagger. “Why? You planning to put it on my tombstone?”

I arched a brow, and she sighed. “Fine. It’s Aiyana.”

“Pretty,” I said.

“Useful,” she shot back. “And you—I don’t suppose you’re from a nearby pack? Maybe one that doesn’t execute lost travelers?”

I crossed my arms. “You’re not on pack land. You’re in my land.”

Her brows furrowed. “Your land? You sound… possessive.”

“I am.”

“Well, Mr. Possessive—”

“King.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Lucien Vale. Lycan King.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. “Oh. Oh, cool, yeah. Totally fine. I insulted the Lycan King to his face, love that for me. Definitely not going to die here, no sireeeeee.”

“You talk too much,” I murmured.

“It’s a coping mechanism,” she said stiffly. “You should try it sometime. Might stop the whole scary murdering aura thing.”

I tilted my head, studying her more closely. She was trembling faintly, exhaustion radiating from every tiny movement, but her eyes, goddess, those eyes, still burned with fire. She was terrified but too proud to show it.

“You smell like heartbreak,” I said after a while.

Her expression faltered. “Long story.”

“I have time.”

She looked at me warily, then folded her arms. “Short version: my mate’s a lying, cheating, manipulative jerkface who decided to record our private moment and destroy my life. Father exiled me. Sister hates me. Oh, and some rogue squirrels threw pinecones at me on the way here, so it’s been a great day, thank you for asking.”

I smirked, shaking my head. “You’re a little hurricane.”

She blinked. “A what?”

“A hurricane. Small, chaotic, dramatic, causes damage wherever it goes.”

She gasped, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me, I am NOT small. I’m five-seven in boots.”

“If you stand on your dagger, maybe.” I said.

Her jaw dropped. “Did you just—did you height-shame me?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, you’re lucky you’re a king. Otherwise, I’d—” She stopped, realizing midway that there wasn’t much she could threaten me with except sarcasm and bad luck. “I’d… glare really hard.”

“Terrifying.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She crossed her arms, and I watched her try to gather what scraps of dignity she had left. For some reason, I found myself… amused. It had been a long time since anyone amused me. A longer time since anyone dared talk to me this way.

Most wolves bowed. Most stammered. This one called me “Mr. Possessive.”

And maybe I liked it.

Still… she couldn’t stay here. My territory was dangerous for unclaimed, wandering wolves because my guards had orders to hunt intruders on sight. But something about her stopped me from sending her away.

Maybe it was the exhaustion buried beneath her humor. Maybe it was the spark of defiance she still carried despite her heartbreak. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the smallest sliver of selfish curiosity.

I stepped closer, taking in her wary stance, her tiny dagger still clutched like a lifeline.

“How about,” I said slowly, a smirk tugging at my lips, “a proposal that gives us both what we want?”

She frowned warily. “A… proposal?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “I get what I want…” I paused, watching her swallow nervously, “…and you get out of my territory without losing your head.”