When My Mate Called Me Wolfless

The helicopter touched down on the royal landing pad, its blades slicing through the night air. I stepped out, my legs still weak but my spine straighter than it had been in a decade. The familiar scent of home—ancient stone, moonflowers, and the distinctive aroma of Lycan magic—washed over me.

"Princess Sylvia."

The voice cut through the rotor noise like a blade. I turned to see him—my father, the Lycan King—standing at the edge of the landing zone. His imposing figure was silhouetted against the palace lights, but I could see his face clearly in the moonlight.

"Sire," I whispered, my voice catching.

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. When he reached me, his eyes—the same golden yellow as mine—widened in horror.

"Moon Goddess," he breathed, his hand gently touching my cheek. "What have they done to you?"

I couldn't answer. The sight of him—the father I'd abandoned for a mate who never deserved me—broke something inside me. Ten years of suppressed emotion flooded out at once.

"Father," I choked out, falling into his arms.

His embrace was gentle despite his strength, as if he feared I might shatter. "My daughter," he murmured into my hair. "My lost princess."

I felt him inhale deeply, taking in my scent—the stench of rejection that clung to me like a second skin. His body tensed, and when he pulled back, his eyes blazed with fury.

"The bond sickness," he growled. "It's critical. How long have you been like this?"

"Years," I admitted. "It got worse after..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. Saying aloud that my own son had commanded me to kneel might break me all over again.

"Enough," my father declared, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of royal command. "Summon the Royal High Healers. Now."

---

Pain became my constant companion in the days that followed.

The Royal High Healers worked tirelessly, pouring ancient Lycan magic into my broken body. The bond sickness had eaten away at me for so long that even their powerful magic couldn't provide an easy fix.

"Your body is remembering," the Head Healer explained as I writhed in agony on the ceremonial table. "The Lycan genes you suppressed are reasserting themselves."

My bones cracked and reshaped. My muscles tore and reformed. My skin blistered and healed—all while I remained conscious, forced to endure every excruciating moment.

"Where's Queen?" I gasped through gritted teeth, referring to my wolf.

"Here," came a voice in my mind—stronger and clearer than I'd heard in years. "I'm taking back what's ours."

Queen's presence surged through me, no longer the whimper of a suppressed wolf but the roar of a predator reclaiming her territory. With her return came memories—training sessions in the royal courtyard, hunts through ancient forests, the weight of the crown that had been mine by birthright.

"Revenge," Queen growled. "We want revenge."

"Patience," I whispered back, even as my nails lengthened into claws and my canines descended. "Strategic dismantling, not mindless violence."

The Healers stepped back as my body completed its transformation. Where once stood a gaunt, weakened woman was now a Lycan Princess in her full glory—tall, powerful, with golden eyes that could command armies.

---

"The annual Alpha Summit," my father announced one evening as we dined in the private royal chamber. "Every Alpha in the territories will attend."

I looked up from my plate, where I was devouring a meal fit for three wolves. "Including Reed?"

"Especially Reed," my father said, his smile sharp as a blade. "We've sent him a special invitation."

He slid a parchment across the table. I read it carefully, noting the formal language and official seal.

"'The Royal Lycan Court requests the presence of Alpha Reed Cunningham and his pack for a commendation ceremony,'" I read aloud. "What commendation?"

"That's the beauty of it," my father replied, swirling his wine. "He'll think it's about him—about his leadership. His arrogance will blind him to the true purpose."

I traced the embossed lettering with my fingertip. "And what is the true purpose?"

"Justice," Queen growled inside me.

My father's eyes met mine across the table. "Justice comes in many forms, daughter. Sometimes it's a blade to the heart. Other times..." He paused, his smile widening. "Other times it's watching someone destroy themselves with their own hubris."

I nodded slowly, feeling the first stirrings of anticipation. "When does the Summit begin?"

"Three days," he replied. "Plenty of time for Reed to prepare his acceptance speech."

I could already imagine Reed's reaction—his chest puffed out with pride, Hailey preening beside him as they interpreted the invitation as validation of everything they'd stolen from me.

Little did they know what awaited them at the Summit.