REVENGE OF THE LYCAN BRIDE

His obsession 

The night before the gala

The night was eerily silent, and the room bathed in faint moonlight filtering through the window blinds. Shadows stretched across the walls and soft ,painful moans echoed through the room.

"Ple....ase," Seraphina said, her voice trembling. Her body bent forward, trembling under the firm rough grip at her waist. Her breath hitched as Lucian's figure locked behind her, thrusting his hard cock into her. A glimpse of pain can be seen on her features.

Seraphina was getting too weak, so she whispered again, "Lucian. It's...too hard."

But Lucian wasn't there. Not really. This wasn't reality—it can't be. Never.

Seraphina's face haunted his mind, despite all his attempts to push it away: her radiant eyes, her pale face and the way she radiated with so much grace despite the burden of hardship. She was a beautiful silhouette, so captivating, despite her lowly status as the Pack's slave. But she was like a forbidden fruit. He couldn't let himself be entrapped by a she-wolf like her, she was so beneath him—he was the Alpha son, and he shouldn't be obsessed over a common slave. 

Two months had passed since Lucian discovered the truth—the undeniable pull, the electric charge that coursed through him whenever she was near. Seraphina was his fated mate. In what world does such a twist of fate occur? It was an unshakable truth etched into his very being. Yet, instead of embracing the bond, he buried it deep, refusing to acknowledge the truth. What would people say? He would no longer be respected if he chose her to be his mate.

Her cries echoed again, raw and vivid, drawing him deeper into the haze of his dream.

Lucian's body jerked awake, his heart racing chaotically. The vividity of it—the feel of her, the sound of her voice—lingered. Frustration surged, tightening his jaw. The same dream for a third time this week. It was maddening. No way would he sink so low as to desire her, let alone…

His fingers raked through his hair as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The cool floor beneath his feet grounded him, if only slightly. A cold shower, he thought bitterly, striding toward the bathroom. Perhaps that would silence the storm brewing inside. 

*******

Gala Night

Lucian stood with Lyra inside a private room, the muffled sounds of the gala outside barely registering as his thoughts churned. "Lyra," he began, his voice low but sharp. "I can't be mated to that slave." His tone carried a cold finality, as if the very idea was an insult to him.

Lyra moved closer, her expression calculated even as she patted his back gently. "Calm down," she said soothingly, her voice laced with reassurance.

But Lucian's frustration boiled over. "Lyra, don’t you understand? If my father finds out about the mate bond, he'll force me to marry her. You know how obsessed he is with the mate bond and pack traditions."

Lyra paused, her brow furrowing as she considered his words. Then, a slow, cunning smile spread across her face, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "I’ve got an idea," she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement.

Lucian turned to her, hope flickering in his eyes. "What is it?"

Lyra leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "We set her up. Get her drunk, frame her on a one-night stand, and spread the news. That way, even if your father discovers the bond, he’ll never force you to marry her. Her reputation will be ruined."

A relieved smile broke across Lucian's face as he pulled Lyra into a tight embrace. "Thank you," he murmured. "You’re brilliant. I can’t wait to finally be mated with you."