Prince Kieran
The hum of the engine barely drowned out the storm in his head.
Father was furious.
He was 23 now. And his father never let him forget it. Another year passed, another wasted ceremony—every rejection fueling his father's impatience.
His father, Alpha Emperor Lycan Leo, did not seem to understand.
Not his reasoning.
Not his refusal.
Not the deep, unwavering conviction that he would only take a true mate, not one chosen for him.
As if Kieran could simply decide when his fated mate was meant to appear—as if she wasn't already out there, somewhere, waiting for him.
He clenched his jaw.
The thought of her—the one meant for him, the one fate had woven into his very bones—twisted something deep in his gut.
He needed her. Desperately.
Some days, the pull was so strong that even a cold shower barely helped.
What does she look like?
His mind fought to build an image—soft? Fierce? Wild? Mysterious?
Each possibility flickered through his thoughts, but none felt right. None felt real.
What if she wasn't what he imagined?
What if he was disappointed?
The thought unsettled him—gnawed at something deep and restless within him.
What if… What if fate got it wrong?
And then—the bugles.
A sharp blast ripped through the air, shattering the fragile silence and dragging him from his thoughts.
He groaned, rolling his shoulders, irritation flickering beneath his skin.
"Why does Dad insist on them?"
His father believed in tradition. Spectacle. Dominance.
But Kieran?
He only believed in finding her.
If she was here—if she was somewhere in that terrified crowd, waiting in the field—he would know.
The hunt was about to begin.
And this time—
If she was here, he wasn't leaving without her.
Ember
Before the announcer's final word had even left his lips—Ember moved.
Her fingers clawed at her dress, yanking the fabric up to her hips—no time for modesty, no time for hesitation.
She ran.
Behind her—chaos erupted.
Screams split the air, human voices cracking in terror.
Feet slammed against the earth, bodies surging forward in blind panic.
And beneath it all—werewolves whooping, howling, their ecstatic cries rippling through the trees—
The cries ripped through the forest, chasing her like a storm—
"MATE!" "MINE!" "MATE!"
But beneath the raw hunger, beneath the feverish pursuit—there was something else.
A yearning.
A desperate, aching longing, tangled within their voices.
Not just claiming. Searching.
A need so deep, so primal, it almost felt like sorrow—like they weren't just hunting, but that they were something they'd been chasing their whole lives.
Ember shuddered, the sound crawling up her spine.
She ran harder.
Because whatever that was—it scared her even more than the hunt itself.
She didn't turn back.
She couldn't.
She wouldn't.
The forest edge loomed, rising ahead like a promise—or a trap.
She pushed harder, lungs burning, legs aching, but none of it mattered.
Not the pain.
Not the voices.
Only distance.
"Damn, she's faster than a deer!"
The words cut through the chaos, loud enough to reach her, but she refused to acknowledge them.
She refused to look back.
She refused to hesitate.
Because if she did—they would have her.
It felt like an eternity—but then.
Her feet slammed into damp earth, sending up a spray of mud—and then—water.
The lake.
A boundary. A trap. An impossible choice.
Do I dare go across?
Her pulse skipped, her body reacting before her mind could decide—a hesitation, a breath, a whisper of escape—
Then—movement.
From the shadows.
A massive black wolf, its eyes sharp, its stance ready to intercept.
Nope. Not here.
She pivoted—instantly, violently—forcing herself back into the woods, her breath ragged, her mind scrambling for another escape.
The farther she ran, the quieter everything became.
The deafening rush of pursuit faded, swallowed by the dense wilderness, until all that remained was the ragged rhythm of her own breath.
Her ears strained—no pounding footsteps, no howls, only silence.
But silence wasn't safety.
She forced herself to keep scanning, her gaze flickering across the towering trees, the thick undergrowth, the shifting patterns of light filtering through the canopy—until she saw it.
A willow.
It stood alone in the middle of a pond, its sprawling roots twisting deep into the earth, forming a cavernous shelter, half-hidden beneath the gnarled limbs.
Water pooled around it like a quiet, protective barrier, shimmering under the pale light.
The place felt untouched, forgotten—perfect.
Her heart pounded.
A hiding place.
A chance.
She didn't hesitate.
Moving toward it—the willow standing like a sentinel over the water—she stepped onto the damp earth, feet sinking slightly in the mud, cool and slick beneath her weight.
Her hands gripped the thick roots, steadying herself, fingers brushing against the rough, moss-covered bark.
She waded deeper, the water lapping at her calves, chilling her skin, but she pushed forward—toward the center.
Toward drier earth.
Here, beneath the heavy curtain of leaves, the air felt thicker, muted, as if the willow itself had swallowed the chaos of the chase outside.
Breathless, she pressed a hand to the trunk—solid, grounding—her heart hammering in her chest.
For now, she was hidden.
For now, she had a moment to think.
Kieran
The wind shifted just as the first human turned and ran.
Kieran breathed in deep, instincts sharpened from battle and hunt—then froze.
Mate.
The word slammed into him, not as a thought, but a force.
"Mate!!!" Xerxes howled inside him, a sound that didn't just belong to the wolf—but to the man. To both. To everything he was.
Kieran ran full force, pushing through the flurry of bodies, filtering out the chaos, keeping her scent fresh—sharp—undeniable.
Ahead, two lesser wolves chased a female with red hair, fast as wildfire.
"She's faster than a deer."
One sniffed sharply, shaking his head.
"Not my mate. Damn, though—she's a good runner."
Kieran breathed in again—deeper, stronger.
The scent hit like lightning through his veins.
"Mate."
The growl ripped out of him, raw, certain.
The two wolves jumped back just in time to see a giant white wolf blur past—powerful, relentless.
"Was that the prince?"
They exchanged a glance, then a silent prayer.
"Please let him find his mate."
Kieran didn't see their smiles. Didn't see anything but the hunt.
He barely realized the shift—Xerxes taking full form, the wolf unstoppable now.
Then—water.
A sharp splash, freezing cold biting into his muscles as he skidded to a halt, paws sinking into the cool mud.
For half a breath, he was disoriented.
Vision blurred, instincts fighting through the shock—but his nose never failed him.
He dropped his head, inhaling deep—earth, broken leaves, damp air.
Then—a scent that didn't belong.
Male.
A growl ripped through his throat, low, guttural—warning and threat woven into one.
A figure stepped from the shadows—a guard.
He bowed low, spine straight, expression calm—unafraid, acknowledging his prince without hesitation.
Xerxes nodded once, sharp and brief.
Not gratitude.
Not dismissal.
Just confirmation.
Then he turned—back to the trail.
Back to her.
She was close.
She was his.
And he wasn't leaving without her.
It was twilight now—the sky bruising into deeper shades, the fading light twisting the forest into something unfamiliar, deceptive.
Kieran's sprint slowed, his breath sharp and uneven, instincts racing ahead of thought.
Then—silence.
The scent stopped.
At the edge of a small pond, its surface glass-like, betraying nothing.
His breaths came harsh, ragged, frustration curdling in his chest.
Where?
Where was she?
His paws pressed into the damp earth as he circled the water, every sense bristling, reaching for a clue—
The scent hit Kieran like a snare tightening around his throat—sharp, bitter, unmistakable.
Rogue.
Filthy. Unwelcome. Wrong.
His muscles tensed, instincts shifting from search to defense in the span of a breath.
No rogue should be this far north.
No rogue should be this close.
The air thickened, his senses bristling as he scanned the shadows, claws pressing into damp earth.
"Our mate!?" Xerxes snarled, voice tight with panic.
Kieran's pulse hammered, his growl low, edged with fury—
"I know."
His mate was here.
And so was a threat.
Ember
Ember fought to still her breath.
Hidden deep in the twisted roots of the willow, she pressed against the damp earth, her lungs burning from the desperate sprint.
Then—movement.
A giant white wolf emerged from the forest, its powerful frame cutting through the shadows, its eyes searching, calculating—tracking her.
No. Not now.
She tensed. Frozen. Breath locked in her throat.
He began combing the pond's edges, circling the water, weaving around the tangled island of roots—closer, closer.
But then—he vanished, slipping into the night as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Ember exhaled carefully, forcing herself into stillness.
Surviving the night meant enduring the sharp bite of the cold, curled tightly in the heart of the willow's embrace.
She had found berry bushes nearby, their fragile fruit barely enough to quiet the gnawing ache in her stomach.
But it was something.
And she was still here. Still breathing. Still hidden. Still unclaimed.
She curled deeper into the roots, the earth beneath her cool, grounding, the twisted limbs above embracing her like a guardian.
Sleep claimed her slowly, wrapping her in warmth, in exhaustion, in the illusion of safety.
Until—morning light crept in.
Soft. Gentle. Unnaturally peaceful.
No morning birds calling the day alive.
No rustle of small creatures waking with the sun.
Nothing.
The absence crawled over her skin, raising the fine hairs along her arms.
Then—
A horrid scent hit her nose.
Rancid.
Rotten.
Wrong.
Her breath hitched, her pulse stuttering before her mind caught up.
The roots shifted.
Not naturally. Forced apart.
A man his face twisted in snarling anticipation, eyes gleaming with something sickly and eager.
He lunged—fast, brutal, reaching.
She barely had time to register his shape, his intent, before instinct took over.
She threw herself forward—no thought, no hesitation, only escape.
Then—
A crash.
Water.
Icy. Shockingly cold. Stealing her breath, wrapping around her like a second skin—
A glance over her shoulder—he was right behind her.
Too close. Too fast.
She rushed into the trees finding a large oak, she climbed.
The bark scraped her palms, rough, unyielding—but she barely felt it.
She pulled higher, legs trembling, breath sharp, feet scrambling for purchase on the twisting limbs.
Below—movement.
The leaves tore apart, caught in the chaos of movement.
The ground shuddered beneath heavy footsteps, earth unsettling, branches snapping like brittle bones.
He was coming.
Her pulse hammered, panic clawing up her throat as she pressed higher, the wind biting at her skin, the branches tangling like skeletal hands.
She didn't dare look down.
Didn't dare hesitate.
She climbed.
Because there was nowhere else to run.
Then—
A howl—raw, guttural, more growl than cry—ripped through the trees, shaking the very air around them.
Fear gripped Ember, but she couldn't look away.
The white wolf shifted bones snapping, form twisting, muscle surging beneath his skin.
No longer just wolf.
Not just man.
Something more. Something stronger.
With inhuman speed, he snatched the filthy intruder
The impact rattled the air, bark splintering, the rogue gasping, momentarily stunned.
But Ember couldn't process it fully.
Kieran
Kieran had slept near the pond, every muscle tight with restless anticipation.
He had hoped—prayed—to hear her, to catch the faintest trace of her scent on the morning breeze.
But all he woke to was frustration.
Morning arrived thick with tension, both he and Xerxes stirring with the same raw mix of impatience and need.
And then—fear.
The scent of the rogue was still fresh—too fresh.
A growl rumbled deep in his chest, unbidden, the instinct to track and destroy rising fast.
Then—
A grunt.
A splash.
Xerxes surged forward, voice sharp, urgent.
"Mate. Danger!" was all Xerxes could say his panic evident.
The world blurred around Kieran as he and Xerxes ran, their paws tearing into the earth, the scent of fear, filth, and mate tangling thick in the air.
Then—they saw her.
Saw him.
The rogue was already halfway up the tree, his filthy hands curling around the branches, his breath ragged with anticipation—reaching for her.
Kieran's growl rose, deep, guttural—a roar more beast than wolf, more fury than sound.
Then—shift.
Their bodies expanded, twisted, surged, bones cracking, muscle stretching beneath raw power.
No longer wolf.
No longer just man.
Something greater. Something unstoppable.
Lycan.
He lunged.
The rogue never saw it coming.
The forest shuddered as Kieran struck, his claws ripping through the rogue, tearing flesh, splitting bone—obliterating existence itself.
The impact thundered, sending a shockwave through the trees, branches quivering, leaves raining down in startled silence.
The rogue barely had time to register the horror, his twisted anticipation turning to nothingness in an instant.
Kieran didn't hesitate. Didn't offer mercy. Didn't waver.
He finished what needed to be done.
The filth was gone.
But then—a crack.
A snap of wood from above.
Xerxes surged forward in his mind, voice raw, urgent—
"OUR MATE!"
She was falling.
Limp. Unconscious. Drifting through the air like a dying ember.
Kieran moved without thinking, his instincts overriding everything—speed, precision, desperation woven into one motion.
He caught her effortlessly, pulling her against him, her weight nothing, yet everything.
His breath was uneven, ragged, but when he looked at her—truly looked—everything else fell away.
"God alive… she's beautiful."
Xerxes practically vibrated inside him, tail wagging in the depths of his mind, thrumming with pure joy.
Their mate. Finally. Here.