Cursed By The Lycan Blood

The night was unnaturally quiet. Not a rustle of leaves. Not a chirp of crickets. Even the wind, which usually whispered through the trees of the Evergreen Territory, had stilled- as if the world held its breath.

Sarah Law stood barefoot on the cool, damp earth, her heart thudding against her ribcage like a war drum. Her eighteenth birthday. The day she was supposed to find her place in the pack. The day she was supposed to shift for the first time and feel the raw power of her wolf-if she even had one.

But instead of celebration, she stood alone at the center of the sacred clearing, surrounded by towering pines and ancient stone markers etched with the names of ancestors long passed. A ring of torches blazed around her, casting flickering shadows that danced like spirits.

And beyond the firelight, she felt the eyes.

All of them were watching-her Alpha, the Elders, the pack.

Waiting.

Judging.

Condemning.

She lifted her chin, trying to hide the tremor in her limbs. The long white ceremonial dress clung to her skin, soaked by the evening dew and smeared with ash from the ceremonial fire. She hadn't been allowed to speak since dusk. Tradition, they said.

But this didn't feel like tradition. It felt like exile.

"Sarah Law," a voice boomed across the clearing, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Alpha Ronen stepped forward, a man built of muscle, iron, and wrath. His salt-and-pepper hair glinted red under the Blood Moon above. "Daughter of the Law line. Born under the cursed moon. Marked by the prophecy. Do you deny the blood in your veins?"

Her voice caught in her throat.

She looked to her mother, standing off to the side. Maren Law's face was unreadable. Cold. Distant.

They'd warned her this day would come.

But never like this.

"I..." Sarah swallowed hard. "I don't know what's in my blood. But I am not a threat to this pack."

"You lie," spat Elder Hagan, his eyes glowing faintly. "The seers felt it the night you were born. The blood of the old gods runs through you. The curse that nearly ended us all. You are a harbinger of ruin."

"She's a child!" a younger voice cried out-Benji, her only real friend in the pack. But his voice was quickly muffled. Two warriors dragged him back into the trees.

Ronen raised his hand. "The council has spoken. The prophecy speaks of a blood-born girl who will awaken the feral king and bring war to our lands. You are that girl."

"I haven't done anything!" Sarah shouted, stepping forward. Her voice cracked, but her fury flared. "You can't punish me for something I haven't done!"

"You were born cursed," Elder Hagan said coldly. "That is sin enough."

Before she could respond, warriors emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black, faces hidden. One carried a silver dagger. Another held iron shackles.

"No," she whispered, stepping back.

Ronen's voice was final. "By order of the Alpha, the cursed blood shall be cast out under the light of the Blood Moon. You are hereby banished, Sarah Law. If the wild Lycans claim you, so be it."

And just like that, the warriors seized her.

She fought. Kicked. Screamed. But they were stronger, faster-trained to subdue even the fiercest of wolves.

The iron shackles burned her wrists.

They dragged her through the forest, far from the clearing, through the trees until they reached the edge of the wildlands-the forbidden zone where no pack dared to tread. Legends told of feral Lycans who roamed without law or mercy. Monsters who had once been men.

Here, they threw her to the earth.

The dagger was placed before her-a mockery of honor. "Die quickly," one muttered before they turned and vanished into the darkness.

Sarah was left alone.

Betrayed. Condemned. Cursed.

Her body ached, her wrists blistering from the iron. The weight of her fear was suffocating, and still the Blood Moon watched from above, swollen and red like a cruel eye.

For a while, she just lay there. Listening.

Then came the howls.

Not from wolves.

No. These were deeper. Rougher. Savage.

The stories were true.

The Lycans were real.

Sarah scrambled to her feet, heart thundering, the silver blade clenched in her hand though it was more symbolic than practical. She turned in a slow circle, trying to find a path, any path, through the darkness.

Snap.

A branch broke behind her.

She whipped around. "Who's there?"

No answer.

Only the low growl that rumbled through the trees like thunder.

Panic surged. She ran.

Branches tore at her dress, cut into her arms. Her bare feet pounded the earth. Somewhere behind her, the growls grew closer-faster, more primal.

They were toying with her.

Just when her legs threatened to give out, she burst into a clearing. The moonlight spilled across the space like silver fire-and there, across from her, stood a shadow.

A man. Or what was left of one.

Towering. Bare-chested. Covered in scars. His eyes gleamed gold beneath the moonlight, and his dark hair hung in loose waves around a face that was both wild and beautiful in a brutal way.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

She raised the dagger. "Stay back!"

The man stepped forward. Slowly.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"I could ask you the same, girl," he said, voice like gravel. "But I already know the scent of cursed blood."

Her knees buckled.

He could smell it. Just like the others.

"Kill me, then," she said bitterly, tears burning her eyes. "Finish what they started."

Something flickered in his eyes.

Amusement?

"No," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "You're far too valuable for that."

He approached slowly, and despite every instinct screaming at her to run, she didn't move. Couldn't. There was something ancient in his presence. Something that made the air thicker, the night darker.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The man tilted his head, studying her.

"I am Damien Knights," he said. "Once King of the Lycans. Exiled. Broken. Waiting."

She stared at him.

And then he said the words that would change everything.

"And you, Sarah Law, are the key to everything I've lost- and everything I must reclaim."

Damien Knights.

Even among the darkest legends of Lycan history, his name stood out like a blade coated in blood. The feral king. The cursed alpha. The one who led a rebellion against the High Circle and vanished after the War of the Moon.

She took a step back, clutching the dagger tighter. "You're supposed to be dead."

He gave a sharp smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Aren't we all, in some way?"

The forest around them fell eerily quiet again. No more howls. No shifting shadows. The other Lycans had disappeared, as if at his command.

He took another step toward her, slow, deliberate. "You carry old blood. Ancient blood. It sings to mine."

"I don't want it," she whispered. "Whatever it is. I didn't ask for this."

"No one ever does," Damien said. "But blood remembers. Power doesn't care if you asked for it."

Sarah's hands trembled. "I'm not going with you."

"You don't have a choice." His voice was firm, but not cruel. "The forest won't spare you. Your pack certainly won't take you back. And I've just saved your life, in case you missed that part."

Her grip faltered. She looked around at the trees, the looming silence. He was right. Whatever was out there had been closing in. Then it stopped the moment he appeared.

"Why me?" she asked. "What do you want from me?"

Damien's gaze flicked down to her wrists. The shackles still glowed faintly, blistering her skin.

"I want answers," he said. "And if what I suspect is true, then you want them too."

He extended a hand.

Sarah stared at it like it might bite.

He sighed. "You can walk, or I can carry you. But we're leaving."

She hesitated. Every instinct screamed no.

But there was no way back. No safety behind her. Only a pack that had offered her to the shadows.

So she slipped the silver dagger into her waistband, took a shaky breath, and placed her hand in his.

His skin was warm. Surprisingly so.

His grip was strong.

And without another word, he led her through the woods.

They walked for what felt like hours, deeper into the wildlands. The forest grew darker, denser. But with Damien beside her, the shadows seemed to part.

Sarah kept glancing at him, trying to piece together who-what-he really was. He moved with an effortless grace, barely making a sound. His eyes scanned constantly, alert. This wasn't just a man who'd survived the wild-he owned it.

"Where are we going?" she asked eventually.

"Someplace safe."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

He smirked. "You'll live long enough to decide if I'm lying."

"Comforting," she muttered.

Finally, the trees opened up to reveal a hidden cliffside path. Below, nestled in a hollow between the hills, was a massive stone structure built into the mountain-part temple, part fortress. Torches lined the narrow steps leading down.

"You live there?"

"It's not much," he said, "but it's mine."

He led her down the steps, silent as a shadow. Sarah's legs ached. Her body throbbed from bruises and burns. By the time they reached the arched stone entrance, she was barely upright.

Two large wolves stood guard-neither flinched at her presence. They simply nodded at Damien and stepped aside.

Inside, the fortress was both ancient and alive. Walls carved from black stone pulsed with faint runes. Fires crackled in iron sconces. And through it all ran the scent of forest and frost, something distinctly... Lycan.

He took her down a long corridor and opened a heavy wooden door.

The room was plain-stone walls, a small bed layered in furs, a basin of water, and a table with dried herbs and cloth.

"Rest here," Damien said. "I'll send someone to treat your wounds."

"I'm not staying here," she snapped.

"Yes, you are."

Sarah glared at him. "You think because you dragged me out of the woods and gave me a bed, I owe you something?"

"No," he said quietly. "But you do owe yourself the truth."

She faltered.

"What truth?"

He walked closer, stopping just in front of her.

"About what's inside you. About the curse. About why the Blood Moon rises red every time you scream."

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, his voice low, rough, and laced with something older than time. "You think you were born cursed, girl? You weren't. You were chosen."

And with that, Damien Knights turned and left her alone in the quiet stone room- heart racing, mind spinning, and destiny creeping at the edges of her soul.