Rejected By The Alpha King, Claimed By The Lycan King
Scarlet Underwood had always fancied herself in love with Alpha Alex, she always knew he would be the one she would get married to. It was a dream come true to finally walk down the aisle and become not only his mate but the Luna of the pack.
However, everything came crashing down when Kayla, Scarlet's best friend, claimed she was pregnant with Alpha Alex's child.
Hurt, betrayed, and angry, Scarlet runs away.
She gets attacked by rogues but is saved by Damien, the feared Lycan King, and it is painfully obvious by the sparks flying that they are mates.
Damien, the reclusive Lycan King, is unsure what to do with his mate.
He harbors a dark secret that may threaten to harm her if she chooses to stay with him, but he can't deny the burning attraction and pull he feels to her.
Will Scarlet open up her heart to the possibility of love after having been burned once?
And will Damien find a way around the curse and claim his mate?
Join Damien and Scarlet on their journey of love, sacrifice, and betrayals!!!
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Chapter 4
Damien's pov
I drove my fists harder into the punching bag, concentrating on letting out all my pent-up frustration.
Two days–it had been two whole days since I had met my mate and carried her back to my pack.
Everything within me screamed to go to her, to take her and claim her as mine, but I bit down the urge, drawing a breath as I didn't derive the sensation I sought from attacking the punching bag.
"We've already changed two punching bags in the last day, some of my men are in the infirmary because they were brave enough to spar against you at your command, and the others are unwilling to risk their lives by stepping into the gym even though they need to train." Callan, my beta, stared at me as he leaned against a wall at the far corner of the gym.
"Your point is?" I quirked a brow at him.
"You have to get it together, Damien." He pushed off the wall and approached me.
"I am well put together," I informed him, and he scoffed, ignoring the daggers my eyes shot his way.
Callan was the only one who could call me out and go scot-free.
"Then why are you attempting to kill all your men?" He quirked a brow.
"I am not attempting to kill my men, I simply wish to train their bodies. They are weak." I growled.
"Or maybe you are being a coward who is scared to face his mate outside these gym walls and doesn't know how to express the emotions raging within him." He retorted.
"Know your place, Callan." My voice boomed, but the man didn't even bat an eyelash.
"I know you, Damien." He sighed.
"Avoidance won't help you." He advised and I raked my hands through my hair in frustration.
"What do you expect me to do? I was sure the moon goddess hadn't given me a mate. I was sure I was going to rule alone, considering the curse, and that was fine by me, but now the moon goddess thrusts a little frail woman my way."
"If I dare mark her, she is going to die, and if I reject her, it will weaken me. So tell me, what do you expect me to do?" I placed both hands on my waist as I tried to control my ragged breathing.
"Why can't you be with her?" Callan asked, and my expression immediately darkened.
"You know about the curse-" I gritted out. Callan was the only one who knew about the curse.
"There could be a way around the curse. If the moon goddess gave you a mate, then there must be a way." He interrupted me.
"You knew how long I searched for a cure, a remedy, a way around the curse, and anything that would break it. I won't give myself any more false hopes only to end up at a dead end." My words rang with finality, and he knew better than to say anything more on the subject.
"Just find another outlet for your pent-up emotions and leave my men alone." He sighed before walking out of the gym and leaving me with my thoughts.
Callan was right about one thing, though: I couldn't hide away in the gym forever. I had to face my problems head-on.
After taking a shower, I made my way to my mate's room, stopping short as her melodic laughter rings through the door and something stirred within me.
"Come in." Her soft voice called out to me when I knocked on the door.
I pushed open the door, and immediately my nostrils flared as the sweet scent of strawberries wafted around me.
My eyes landed on my mate who was in the middle of her bed and staring at me with blue doe eyes, and her little lips parted.
Everything within me begged to pounce on her and claim her as mine.
I knew my eyes flashed, and I closed them for a second, trying to gain better control of my urges before I opened them and kept a blank expression.
Sophie, Callan's daughter, and Emma are perched on the bed beside my mate.
"I would like to speak with my mate." I announced and Emma immediately spring from the bed.
"Let's go, Sophie." Emma bundled the little girl in her arms and left the room, shutting the door with a click behind me.
Awkward silence stretched in the room for several seconds, and my mate rose from the bed.
The sparks were undeniable when our eyes met, and I couldn't second-guess this.
This woman was my mate, there was no mistaking it.
She looked fresher now that the dirty and bloodied gown was gone and her blond hair was tied up in a bun.
She was perf,ect.
"You wanted to talk to me?" She asked, breaking the silence as a blush stained her cheeks at the intensity of my stare.
I cleared my throat and looked away from her.
"How are you feeling?" I asked her lamely.
"Much better. I'm practically healed." She replied slowly.
I was at a loss for what to do.
"What is your name?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, and her eyes widened in shock.
I had made it a point not to talk about her whenever Callan or his mate tried to bring her up in the last two days. It was safe to say I knew absolutely nothing about my mate.
"Scarlet." She replied.
"Scarlet." I tested her name on my lips, and I noticed her sharp intake of breath.
Good, I wasn't the only one who could feel the mate pull.
"And you are the feared Lycan king." She muttered after a moment, and I quirked a brow at the title.
Somewhere within me, I didn't want my mate to see me as the Lycan in that title, I wanted her to see me for who I was behind the crown.
"I hope-" I began, but my mate cut me off.
"I want to leave." She announced, and my heart dropped.
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8.5
Everyone knew Caroline loved Jacob, the frail man in a wheelchair, even giving up her chance at marrying into wealth for him.
She devoted everything to his recovery, enduring hardship and humiliation to help him stand again.
When he finally recovered, they were praised as perfect together-until danger came.
Faced with saving her or her sister, Jacob chose the latter without hesitation. Only in her final moments did Caroline realize his heart was never hers.
Reborn, she made a different choice, choosing power over love.
When Jacob later begged, she looked down coldly. "I have no interest in men who can't stand on their own."
8.3
When Eli is forced to enroll at Blackwood Academy, he thinks it is just another remote boarding school. But on his first night, he realizes the terrifying truth.
This school is a prison.
Trapped in endless, deadly time loops, students are forced to complete cruel, supernatural trials. Ghosts, cursed hallways, hidden rules, and unspeakable creatures hunt them after dark. The only way to stay alive is to solve mysteries, earn credits, and obey the academy's twisted commands.
No one remembers how they arrived.
No one has ever graduated.
No one leaves alive.
Eli must team up with other desperate students to uncover the academy's century-old secret. If they fail, they will be trapped in the nightmare forever.
At Blackwood Academy, survival is the only exam.
7.5
For five years, I was locked away in the freezing royal dungeon, starved and used as a bloody plaything by the kingdom's sadistic Cabinet Minister, Brandt Fischer.
He tortured me daily for one twisted reason: I simply looked like someone else.
When he visited my cell to casually announce my father's execution and drag a silver dagger across my neck, he expected me to beg.
Instead, I laughed, sank my teeth directly into his carotid artery, and was violently thrown against a jagged stone wall to my death.
As my skull cracked and my blood stained the moss, I thought about my so-called family. The moment Brandt had demanded me, my father, the Duke, handed me over without a single hesitation to save his own political career.
I was nothing but a disposable pawn, left to rot in the dark while the monsters who ruined my life thrived.
I died suffocating on my own blood and absolute, destructive vengeance.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was lying in my silk-sheeted bed, reborn as my fifteen-year-old self.
Today was the exact day Lord Daryl Langley, the God of War, would be ambushed and crippled—the event that allowed Brandt to seize ultimate power.
I immediately stole a horse, rode to the palace gates, and threw myself directly in front of Daryl's moving carriage.
"I just didn't want to see a hero die like a slaughtered pig."
I didn't care if I had to shatter my own ankle to hijack his convoy. This time, I was going to save the general, and he would become the blade I use to slaughter them all.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
7.3
Ciel Miller opened her eyes to the blinding lights of a Manhattan ballroom, realizing she had been reborn on the exact night her life was ruined.
On the stage, the billionaire patriarch of the Chavez family was proudly announcing her engagement to his arrogant grandson, Harry.
In her past life, Ciel had blindly accepted his outstretched hand. That single step plunged her into a suffocating marriage filled with public humiliation and psychological torture, slowly draining her life away until she died. Harry had treated her like a pathetic stray dog, flaunting his absolute ownership while systematically destroying her.
Now, as the polite applause echoed, Harry extended his hand with a sickening smirk, waiting for her to lower her head and submit.
Instead, Ciel stood perfectly rigid and publicly rejected him in front of the entire New York elite.
Harry's face drained of color, while his family quickly mocked her.
"This is a cheap, embarrassing trick to get his attention," his sister sneered.
Harry's arrogant smirk crawled back. He fully believed she was just throwing a childish tantrum to make him jealous, convinced she was absolutely nothing without his wealth and status.
But Ciel looked at the man who had killed her in her past life with freezing disgust.
Then, she turned to the powerful patriarch and dropped a bombshell that left the entire ballroom gasping for air.
"If the family insists on taking care of me, I will marry into the Chavez family."
"But I want to marry the comatose war hero. I want to marry General Deacon Chavez."
She would rather spend the rest of her life with a "vegetable" than wake up next to a monster.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.