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."

Lyra returned his embrace, her own grin widening. Together, they left the room and headed to the bar, their eyes locking on Seraphina, who sat alone at the wine table, her expression distant and unaware.

Lucian signaled the bartender. "Drug her, and you’ll get five thousand dollars," he commanded, his voice steely.

The bartender hesitated, his conscience warring with the promise of wealth. But the sum was too tempting, and he gave a reluctant nod.

Satisfied, Lucian and Lyra returned to the private room.

Lucian sat in silence, his thoughts a whirlwind. No matter how determined he was to sever the bond with Seraphina, she lingered in his mind like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Memories of the previous night surfaced, unbidden. Her scent, her presence—it all gnawed at his resolve.

Did he truly want her gone? Or was he simply terrified of what others would say?

Lyra sauntered over, her movements deliberate and sensual. She traced her fingers along his jawline, her touch meant to distract him. He forced a smile for her sake, pushing Seraphina from his thoughts.

Lyra leaned in, pressing a kiss on his lips. He kissed her back, his hands moving instinctively to her hips. "I love you, Lucian," she whispered against his lips. "I’ve always loved you."

Lucian nodded absently, his hands wandering further as the kiss deepened. Clothes were shed in a flurry of motion, and soon he was thrusting into her from behind, their moans echoing in the room.

But no matter how fiercely he tried to lose himself in Lyra, Seraphina’s image kept surfacing in his mind. Her wide, innocent eyes haunted him, and an unfamiliar ache twisted in his chest.

He hated himself for it. For wishing she wasn’t a slave. For wishing that she were the real daughter of the Darkmoors, someone he wouldn’t have to reject.

The door suddenly flung open, and Lucian’s gaze snapped at the intruder. His chest clenched as he locked eyes with Seraphina.

Her expression was unreadable, but he knew what she saw. Without a word, she turned and left, her quiet exit cutting deeper than any words could have.

Lucian abruptly pulled out of Lyra, his body going cold.

Lyra turned on him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about her," she snapped, her voice laced with venom.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his voice soft. "It’s not that, Lyra. I’m just... tired."

Lyra’s glare didn’t waver, but she relented, pulling him back into her arms. Yet even as they embraced, Lucian’s mind wandered back to Seraphina.

She was the one he couldn’t let go of the slave girl who had managed to shatter every defense he’d built around his heart.