Claimed by the Fallen King

Evelyn

My mind goes blank. Then my mother’s face flashes in my mind.

Survive, she begged, her words echoing in my skull.

I have to do something.

Maybe I can claim some incurable illness that will make the lycan king recoil at the sight of me. Maybe I can faint or make a scene before we reach him. Break a small, non-fatal rule on purpose.

Anything to mark me unsuitable for the sacrifice. Anything but this.

I must be visibly hesitating because one of the more ambitious women steps forward in a beautiful forest green dress. “I would be more than happy to volunteer if she’d like a night to gather her bearings at the palace.”

“Yes!” another well-dressed woman exclaims, this one in a bright blue dress that brings out her eyes. “Evelyn does look a little peaked. I’d be more than happy to take her place tonight.”

All eyes turn to me. And I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“By all means,” I agree, immediately offering up my spot, “be my guest.”

I look to the Beta, not sure if trading places like this is even allowed with whatever system they have in place. But before he can say anything, the woman in the green dress turns to the other volunteer and says, “How very thoughtful of you to have offered yourself only after I did.”

The woman in the blue dress retorts, “I was giving someone else an opportunity to speak instead of jumping down the Beta’s throat.”

“Brown-noser!”

“Fraud!”

“Ladies!” The Beta yells to get their attention. I can’t believe they are actually fighting to meet the lycan king instead of fearing what will surely be their death. The likelihood that any of us could be his true Luna is superbly low, especially when considering that lycans are immortal.

His true Luna probably hasn’t even been more yet.

The Beta sighs in frustration. “I really don’t care.” He reaches for the nearest woman, the one in the blue dress, and tugs her along with Marcella and Sarah out of the dormitory to their doom.

Alexander

I wait for the Beta to return with a new batch of eligible women.

I remember the war even though it was centuries ago. I was born centuries ago, too.

My fated mate died in that war, and I haven’t had another Luna since.

My wolf gradually slipped out of control without the calming presence of a mate. Each time my wolf loses control, he goes on a killing spree to avenge the death of our fated mate.

I hate the slaughter. But I have absolutely no control over my wolf’s impulsive outbursts.

I’m honestly lucky I’m the lycan king. Another lycan might have been put down after losing their grip on reality, but me? It makes me more of a threat, more feared, more powerful.

I know the only way for my wolf to regain its sanity is to find another Luna. Despite searching for centuries now, I’ve found nothing.

So I spend year after year being brought unmated werewolves and lycans from across the lands, hoping that my wolf will recognize one of them, will find peace with one of them.

I groan as the approaching women’s noisy thoughts grow louder the closer they get, pushing my wolf to the brink of losing control. It has helped me immensely in ruling and conquering to be able to hear the thoughts of lower-ranking werewolves, but it only makes my wolf more agitated.

Three female werewolves arrive. After seeing so many, they all seem like walking corpses. That’s what they’ll all eventually become.

Either by my hand or the hand of time since werewolves are not immortal like me.

My wolf roils within me, the smell of these women unpleasant to him. Their thoughts don’t do them any favors either, the best option the one in the plain, brown dress who looks like she’s about to vomit up the same color. Her heart beats so quickly, her eyes flicking about the room nervously, her panicked thoughts certain she’s about to die.

My wolf likes the idea of her death. But despite the manipulative, selfish thoughts of the other two women, I don’t want to kill them. I saw enough blood shed in that one war to last me an eternity.

Yet my wolf plagues us with more death at every turn.

I look each of the three women directly in the eyes, unsurprised when I feel no mate bond snapping our eye contact into focus. Sometimes I fear that it’s been so long since I felt a mate bond that I won’t recognize it when I see it. Despite my memory blurred by time though, the one thing I do remember about the mate bond is that it was unavoidable and inescapable.

“Leave,” I order the three women. “Before my wolf kills you all.”

A woman in a bright, blue dress steps forward boldly. “Your Highness, I’m a special healer. If you would allow me the honor of staying the night with you, I assure you that I will calm your wolf.”

My wolf curls his lip in disapproval. Her thoughts betray her true, ulterior intentions and her lies.

She is just an ordinary werewolf like all the others. Most of them are scared shitless to meet me, and rightly so. But every now and again these ambitious ones worm their way out of the woodwork, purporting to be more than they are, promising me anything they think will win my favor.

They disgust me. They infuriate my wolf. They…

I loose a shaky breath as my wolf rages within me.

None of these women are my true Luna, so I turn to my Beta.

“Expel them from the palace,” I command before I completely lose control.

The Beta, recognizing the telltale signs of my unstable wolf fighting to rear his ugly head, ushers the women out urgently, disappearing behind a closed door and taking their unrelenting thoughts with them.

I’ve known the signs of losing control for a long while now. The problem is that sometimes I don’t have enough time to isolate myself before I lose consciousness.

I hurry now to a distant corner of the palace to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. I can feel my wolf growing more restless inside me, demanding to be let out, to avenge the love of my life.

I am the most powerful creature in these lands, but the one thing I fear is losing control of my own power.

I lock myself in a room far from anyone else as my wolf’s fit crescendos. I brace myself for the inevitable loss of consciousness, hoping the lock I’ve just engaged will hold against him.

Then suddenly, my wolf falls quiet.

I listen, waiting for the ire and rage I’ve become all too familiar with inside me. But my wolf grows increasingly calm, almost serene. My muscles relax at the sensation, and I realize how long it’s truly been since I felt this sense of peace within my wolf.

Exhaustion washes over me as I realize how long I’ve been fighting this war inside me, but my wolf makes it clear this is not the time to rest. The calmness in him remains, but it adjusts, like it’s refining into something clearer, something more intentional, something with direction.

Then my wolf speaks to me. It doesn’t growl or snarl or snap, it speaks to me calmly yet firmly.

All he says is, “Find her.”