Fated to the Lycan Prince

Hunted

Darius Valoren was growing restless.

His entire life had been a series of expectations, relentless training, discipline drilled into him with an iron fist. As the only son of King Magnus, the Lycan King, he had not simply been raised—he had been forged. Molded to be more than just a warrior. He was groomed to rule.

From the moment he could walk, his father ensured there were no wasted moments. While other children played, Darius sparred with seasoned warriors, wielding a blade before he ever shifted. His nights were spent poring over ancient texts on warfare and diplomacy, memorizing the histories of Lycans, werewolves, and even human kingdoms. There was no space for softness. No tolerance for failure.

And now, the time of his ascension was drawing near. But one crucial piece remained missing—a mate.

Without her, his claim to the throne would always be incomplete. The crown was more than a title; it was a bond. A true Lycan King ruled not alone, but with his mate beside him, their connection amplifying not just their power, but the kingdom’s stability. It was tradition, yes—but also necessity. Without the mate bond, a Lycan King could never fully ascend. And fate had yet to deliver her, but he wasn't ready to give up on fate.

His mother had passed when he was still a child. In her absence, the palace had grown cold, more a battleground than a home. He hadn’t grown up surrounded by love; he had only heard of it, in whispers about the bond between fated mates. A connection so deep it could move mountains. That was what he craved. Not just to fulfill tradition or claim a crown, but to fill the ache her death had left behind.

He wanted something real. Something strong enough to anchor him.

His father sat upon the massive obsidian throne, carved from volcanic rock and etched with ancient runes. King Magnus’s silver eyes, cold and commanding, narrowed as he regarded his son.

“Darius, it’s time to make a choice. You cannot search forever,” he said, voice low but firm. “Pick a mate from the noble houses and take your rightful place.”

Darius exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his thick dark hair. His golden-amber eyes glinted with something sharp—defiance

“You think I haven’t tried? None of them are mine.”

Magnus scoffed. “You speak as if fate owes you something. If your mate doesn’t exist, you will choose. The kingdom will not wait forever.”

Darius let out a dry, humorless laugh. “So I’m to resign myself to a life of cold beds and hollow smiles? No. I’d rather wait.”

“You think this is a joke?”

“No.” Darius’s voice dropped an octave, quiet and steely. “I think this is my life. And I refuse to waste it shackled to someone I feel nothing for.”

The tension between them thickened. Magnus’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing more. Darius didn’t wait for a dismissal, he turned and left before his father’s temper ignited.

Outside the throne room, fury buzzed beneath his skin like a live wire. He needed release.

Without hesitation, he stripped off his shirt as he walked, his muscular frame rippling with every step. His body was a weapon, honed, scarred, and deadly. Built for war. His short, black hair stuck up in tousled spikes, and his golden-amber eyes gleamed with wild energy. His beast paced within him, impatient and hungry for freedom. He let him out.

Bones cracked, joints popped, and muscles stretched with agonizing precision as his body transformed. A guttural growl rumbled from deep within his chest as his Lycan form emerged.

Most Lycans bore fur in earthy tones, browns and grays. Fenrir was something else entirely. His coat was jet black, streaked with veins of gold that shimmered like molten sunlight beneath the moon. Towering, muscular, and majestic, his Lycan form was built for dominance.

With a growl, he launched into the forest, paws pounding the earth, trees blurring past in streaks of green and shadow. The cold wind howled through his fur, and for the first time that day, he could breathe.

The next morning, Darius stood shirtless in his chambers, the sunlight catching on the fine scars across his back and shoulders reminders of battles fought and expectations endured. Beyond the window, the kingdom stretched in all directions a tapestry of forest, mountain, and river. His birthright.

But it meant nothing without her.

He had searched every noble Lycan house. He had traveled for days to meet with alphas, where proud leaders attempted to secure the upper hand by offering their daughters in marriage. Each time, the girls were presented like prized trophies, beauty, strength, and loyalty touted as if those qualities alone could forge a bond.

Darius had sat through endless feasts and formal introductions, smiling politely while his golden eyes searched for any spark, any sign of the mate bond.

There was none. There never was.

He had become agitated and made his feelings clear: he would not settle for a political alliance dressed as marriage. His mate had to be the one destined for him by fate. Yet the alphas were relentless, unwilling to accept rejection. One had even resorted to subtle threats.

Each failure carved deeper frustration into his chest. His nights became restless, haunted by dreams of a woman he had never met, but could somehow smell. Her scent was a whisper on the edge of his mind, always just out of reach.

So, he expanded his search.

If she wasn’t among the Lycans, perhaps she walked among the wolves. Or the witches. Or the fae. Perhaps even a vampire. He didn’t care what she was, only that she was his.

In a bold move, Darius summoned the noble Lycans and his pack to the courtyard of the palace. He no longer had the patience to indulge tradition. He needed space, time, and full autonomy to search, to dedicate every ounce of himself to the search.

Stepping forward before the gathered crowd, Darius raised his voice with steady conviction.

“I will be leaving shortly to search for my fated mate. In three months’ time, I will return. If I have not found her by then, I will marry a suitor of King Magnus’s choosing.”

Gasps and murmurs swept through the assembly, some in support, others in disbelief.

King Magnus himself stepped forward, eyes gleaming with approval as he addressed the pack. “In the next three months, we will prepare for a great feast and a royal wedding. Should my son return with his mate, he will wed her. If he does not… he will marry the daughter of a Lycan Alpha, as tradition demands. This will mark the end of the search—and the beginning of his reign.”

The crowd erupted into cheers.

But Darius felt none of their excitement.

What he was doing was risky. But none of that mattered. He would find her.

Darius Valoren had searched every friendly were-community, witch covens and vampire clans on this continent, and now he had only mere weeks left. He found himself in the human city of Royalton on his way to meet the Fae King.

He ducked into a local diner that smelled good enough to get a bite to eat, hoping for a brief distraction.

Heads turned as he entered. Every conversation stalled. Every eye was drawn to him.

Rough jet-black hair. Piercing golden eyes. A body carved from years of brutal training. Darius Valoren was the kind of man who made women stop mid-step. His looks had opened doors, beds, and bars and he’d used them when the hunger became unbearable.

But none of those encounters had satisfied him. Beautiful, eager lovers came and went, offering fleeting pleasure and hollow distractions meant to dull the gnawing ache.

The kind of hunger that couldn’t be sated with s*x or drink.

The kind only fate could answer.

He stepped into the diner on a whim. It smelled good. That was all he could say at first—comforting, warm, mouthwatering in a way that stirred something in him he didn’t expect.

A waitress behind the counter noticed him immediately, her eyes widening with a flushed smile as he moved toward the barstools. He gave a polite nod and dropped onto one, eyes scanning the menu.

Then the back door opened.

Just a crack, but enough for a breeze to push through. And his world… stopped.

The scent hit him like a punch to the gut. Not food. Not perfume.

Wildflowers. Spice. Summer rain on sun-warmed stone. Her.

It wasn’t fresh. It wasn’t strong. But it was hers.

His golden eyes sharpened, snapping toward the source. A sweater hung casually on a hook near the rear exit. Her scent clung to the fabric like a secret, carried on the air like a ghost. Old… but unmistakable.

She wasn’t here. But she had been.

Darius sat up straighter, pulse pounding behind his teeth.

The waitress was still watching him, practically preening under his gaze. Humans always melted when he spoke, but this one looked ready to combust.

He offered a slow smile, his voice deep, velvety. “Hey, darling. I was here the other day, and there was another girl here. Do you know her?”

She blinked before swaying over, clearly trying to turn on the charm. “Um… there is another girl who works here some mornings. She's a nursing student. Her shifts are unpredictable, so I work a lot of doubles here. I can help you with anything you need.”

He leaned in, just slightly, enough for her breath to hitch. “That sounds exhausting. You deserve someone who takes care of you for once.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened. “Oh—well—I, uh—”

“I love to please women,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “There’s enough of me for both of you.”

She melted. Practically sighed.

“Yeah,” the waitress whispered, dreamily. “But… she’s got a boyfriend.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. His jaw tightened.

Boyfriend.

He masked the possessive snarl threatening to rise, replaced it with a charming smirk. “I’ll fix that. Where does she live?”

The waitress blinked out of her haze, startled. “W-what?”

“Relax. I just want to talk to her. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Plus what kind of waitress would you be with a horrifying face?”

Panic flickered behind her gaze as she started shaking. She glanced over her shoulder, then grabbed a napkin and scribbled an address with a trembling hand.

Darius took it gently, folding it once, then slipping it into his coat pocket. Before he left, he leaned into her frozen frame, close to her ear. “Thank you. Now, if you call and warn her, I’ll come back for you.”

He was up and out of the diner without another word. His pulse thundered in his ears as he headed in the direction of the address.

He caught the scent again. He crouched, lowering himself to sniff the air, honing in on the scent’s delicate trail weaving through the urban decay. It was faint here, but persistent, layered beneath the gross smells of garbage and gasoline. His keen nose separated it out, following it like a thread of gold through the noise.

His lips curled as the scent led him to a human dwelling. But his brain lit up in a frenzy of need as her scent engulfed his entire being.

The tranquility was instantly shattered when he smelled her arousals and a human man.

A low growl rumbled deep in Darius’s chest as he stalked closer, sharp eyes narrowing as he caught sight through the partially open window.

And there she was.