"Done!" I exclaim into the wall of my room, grinning at my phone while letting my feet dangle in the air as I lie on my stomach. I've just finished the latest book in the Lord series by Shantel Tessier. When I came up to my room, I received a notification about its release and couldn't resist taking a peek, only to end up reading the whole thing.

Checking the time on the clock on my nightstand, my eyes widen. I didn't realize so much time had passed while I was engrossed in the story. Hastily, I shoot out of bed, heading to my closet to change. I hope the party isn't already over.

I slip into a colorful flowing line of embroidery, a strapless pink tulle dress with a twisted, draped bust. Stepping out of the closet, I check my phone for any missed calls from my family, and to my utmost surprise, there are none. I've been gone for a while, so I'm a little shocked they haven't called asking where I was. I try Caleb's cell to ask him how the party is going, but it goes straight to voicemail. Attempting a mind-link, I get no response. Maybe he's busy with his mate or something and has closed his link, not wanting to be disturbed. I quickly put on my shoes and head to the ballroom, praying that Dad and Mom won't have my head for disappearing for so long.

As I make my way to the ballroom, an intoxicating scent assaults my senses, a potent blend of earthy notes that transport me to the heart of the rainforest. It's unlike anything I've ever smelt, so much so that it immediately triggers Marie, my wolf, to open our connection.

“Oh heavens, it’s happening,” she exclaims, her excitement mirroring my own.

"Do you truly believe he's here?" I inquire, a surge of anticipation pulsating through my veins, urging me to hasten my steps. The prospect of discovering his identity sparks my curiosity – is he the son of an Alpha, or could he be an Alpha himself? The excitement building within me threatens to overflow.

"Yes, it's becoming more potent, Amelia. Pick up the pace," Marie urges, seizing control and guiding me forward.

"Finally," I breathe with a mixture of relief and excitement as I swing the door open to the ballroom.

A guttural scream tears through me the moment I swing the door open. Time stands still as I freeze, my gaze fixated on the floor transformed into a morbid canvas of crimson. The edge of my dress swiftly becomes saturated, the sheer volume of blood evident everywhere. Oh, Heavens! What in the world is happening? The shock courses through me, a surreal disconnection between the blissful anticipation of finding my mate and the horrifying reality before my eyes.

I can't fathom how I missed the smell of blood on my way over. But how could I have? My senses were ensnared by the alluring fragrance of my mate, leaving me oblivious to the pervasive stench of blood saturating the ballroom.

"Amelia, run, get out of here!" Dad's desperate scream forces my gaze upward. The scene that unfolds is a nightmare etched in crimson – a sea of lycans with their bodies adorned with the damning evidence of blood. My heart sinks as I hazard a guess that some of that blood belongs to the werewolves strewn across the floor. Yet, that is only the surface of the horror.

A lycan, distinguishable among the blood-soaked crowd, drives his claws into Dad's chest with lethal intent, aiming for his heart. But this isn't just any lycan; it's my...

"Mate," Marie and I utter in unison, our eyes widening at the shocking truth. The weight of the revelation hangs heavily in the air.

"Run, Amelia, run," Dad pleads once more, his voice a desperate echo.

My mate turns away from my father, his eyes lock onto mine. The anger in his gaze is unlike anything I've ever witnessed, sending a shiver down my spine. My hair stands on end as he leisurely digs his claws deeper, savoring the gruesome act of extracting my father's heart.

My own heart clenches in my chest, disbelief and horror intertwining within me. This can't be happening – my mate is killing my father, the very person I've been yearning for all these years. In this harrowing moment, the belief that I am cursed takes root within me. Tears well up, blurring my vision, but now is not the time for despair.

I shake my head, pushing the tears back. This is the moment to act, to save my father, even if it means confronting and hurting the very mate I've been longing for. Ignore the conflicting emotions within me, and with a steely mind, I take decisive action.

“No!” Marie's agonized scream echoes through my head as I swiftly transform into my white wolf, leaping through the air and charging at my mate. In a sudden, jarring halt, I crash to the ground, creating a deep dent in the marble floor of the ballroom, whimpering in searing pain. I don't need to be told to realize that a witch must be manipulating my fate, halting the flow of my blood to my heart.

Without a moment's hesitation, I revert to my human form, disregarding the vulnerability of my nakedness in the presence of lycans. The urgency to save my father eclipses any concern for modesty. My instincts kick in, and I snatch a nearby tablecloth, sending cups and plates crashing to the ground as I hastily wrap it around my body.

I pant, facing my mate, chest heaving with rapid breaths. Tremors course through my body as I lock eyes with him. The weight of the impending actions I am about to take hangs heavily in the air, but there's no choice – I'm outnumbered, and saving my father demands drastic measures.

With a determined resolve, I prepare myself for the unthinkable, knowing it's the only recourse to save my father in this dire moment.

"Please, stop!" I cry out, collapsing to my knees. The gasp that ripples through the room is ignored; nothing eclipses the urgency of saving my father, not even my pride and honor as a princess.

"I command you to stand this minute, Amelia! Never kneel for the enemy!" Dad yells, but I remain steadfast, ignoring him.

"Please," I beg again, bowing my head in submission. I clench my fists, forcing my body to hold its position. My own claws dig into my skin, blood trickling down to the floor. In that moment, I notice severed heads around me and a vast pool of blood beneath my knees – hearts ripped out of chests, some drained pale. The gruesome sight overwhelms me, and I can't hold back the wave of nausea that rises, expelling my dinner onto the blood-decorated floor. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, lifting my head to meet the gaze of my mate. I wish I hadn't, for in the blink of an eye, I'm lifted off the ground, the back of my head colliding with a wall as my mate presses me into it, hands tightening around my neck.

My eyes widen in terror as the stark reality sets in – he's choking me. Unbelievably, my own mate is laying hands on me, attempting to end my life. The struggle for breath intensifies, and panic takes hold as I grapple with the realization that the one I had longed for has turned into a threat, and I am fighting for my own survival.

With adrenaline surging through me, I hastily position my hand above his, attempting to pry his fingers away as my legs kick desperately in the air. I feel sparks as our skin touches, but I couldn't care less because, in a matter of seconds, he would choke me to death.

"Another one," he snarls in a thick British accent, his eyes ablaze with hatred. My heart clenches at the realization that it must have been one of my people, or worse, my mother, lying unconscious beside my brother. The weight of the loss crashes over me, and my lower lip quivers as I begin to sob. I can't comprehend that they are gone too.

I tear my eyes away from the gruesome scene around me, the pressure around my neck escalating. Desperation fuels my struggle to free myself, nails digging into his hands in a futile attempt to loosen the grip, even if it means drawing blood. His hands remain unyielding, a vise around my throat. With each passing second, my access to air diminishes, and my lungs plead for oxygen. The struggle for breath is becoming more desperate by the moment.

Determined to find a way out, I decide to appeal to the mate bond. Locking eyes with him, I plead silently, hoping the connection between us will stir some compassion. Instead, the opposite occurs. I feel my soul slowly slipping away, the veins on my face threatening to burst at any moment.

“You could have looked like anyone else,” he seethes, tightening his grip with knuckles whitening further. “Any fucking one.” The pressure intensifies, my face growing paler. It's unfathomable that my mate, the one bound to me by fate, is on the brink of taking my life. “Why the fuck did it have to be you with this face?” he roars, releasing his grip abruptly, flinging me across the room.

My body collides with chairs and tables, the impact shattering them in my chaotic descent. A thud resonates as I finally land, every inch of my body aching and blistered from the force of the throw. Blood fills my lungs, and I involuntarily spit it out, coughing violently over the blood-stained floor. Gasping for air, I wipe my mouth clean and glance up, only to see him approaching with an unrestrained fury that causes the ground to vibrate beneath his forceful strides. The sight sends a shiver down my spine. The rattling of chairs and tables echoes the intensity of his rage. Panic sets in, and my survival instincts kick in. I scramble to find anything that could serve as a makeshift weapon, fully aware that I can't shift and unmasking my scent would jeopardize my safety. In this moment of dire vulnerability, I cling to the hope that a weapon will provide the defense I need.

With great effort, I spot a plank of wood nearby and start to crawl toward it, the blood-slicked floor making every movement challenging. Despite the difficulty, I inch forward, determined to reach the potential makeshift weapon. However, before I can grasp it, Nickolas intercepts me. My fingers barely brush the plank as he seizes me by the back of my neck, lifting me off the ground. Panic sets in, and I struggle in his grip, screaming for him to release me.

The desperate pleas pause as the unmistakable sounds of crashing waves fill the air. A sudden realization strikes – a witch is teleporting here.

My mate releases his grip, and I plummet to the ground with a resounding thud. Agony courses through my body as I bite down on my bottom lip, attempting to stifle the pain. Amid the suffering, a chilling realization seizes me, draining all color from my face. Only one witch could be teleporting right now.

"Go back!" I scream desperately at Alissa, Caleb's mate and my best friend, a half-witch and werewolf. She must have felt the anguish of her mate's death and rushed to our location. However, my plea comes too late, and Alissa materializes.

"Caleb!" she screams, rushing to his side on the ground. I catch a glimpse from my peripheral vision of my mate sprinting towards them, and I unleash the loudest scream of my life.

"Alissa, shield now!" The urgency in my voice resonates through the room, my throat burning as the words echo loudly. Confusion etches Alissa's face as her eyes dart to me, but she reacts swiftly upon seeing my mate dangerously close to grabbing her. Instantly, she erects a transparent shield around herself, my brother, and my parents. The impact sends my mate hurtling backward, crashing into chairs and tables with each contact. The room vibrates with the force of the collision.

A breath of relief escapes my lips, imagining the catastrophic outcome if Alissa hadn't reacted swiftly enough to shield herself from my mate. The haunting thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I forcefully shake it away, unwilling to dwell on the grim possibilities.

“What’s going on?” Alissa asks, her horrified eyes scanning the gruesome scene around her.

“It appears the lycan lied to us. They never wanted peace between our kinds. They just needed a way to enter the castle without being stopped. You need to leave now! Please leave,” It didn't take me long to put two and two together.

“I can’t leave you,” she responds, her voice laden with emotion, as my mate relentlessly pounds on the shield surrounding her.

“I will be fine. He’s my mate,” I assure her, only to be interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing that expels blood, my ribs aching in pain.

Alissa's eyes widen in terror. “No!”

“I will be fine. Don’t worry.”

“He looks like he will kill you, Amelia. Come closer so we can go together.”

“I can’t. Once you take down that shield, we both know what’s gonna happen. Leave now before he breaks the shield. You’re not strong enough to hold on for long. Leave!” I scream, witnessing the shield around her rattle as my mate continues to assault it relentlessly.

“I will come back for you, Amelia. Wait for me,” Alissa says, tears streaming down her face. She creates a portal and pulls my brother through it, returning for my father and mother. Returning one last time, she says, “Wait for me,” and then closes the portal.

An earth-shattering growl, unimaginable for a lycan, erupts through the room, almost cracking the walls. I press my palm into the ground to steady myself. Lifting my eyes, I lock them with those of my mate, the source of the primal growl. He stares at me, panting hard, his eyes burning into my very soul. I don't dare to test if the mate bond could quell his rage, and I begin to crawl away, holding my stomach, knowing escape is my only chance at survival.

My escape attempt fails miserably as my mate seizes me by the hair, his fingers tight and unyielding as he lifts me off the ground. Pain shoots through my scalp as he turns me to face him, his grip intensifying. I flinch at the overwhelming rage emanating from him. In this proximity, I can take in his features without the threat of imminent danger.

His emerald-colored eyes, filled with fury, captivate me, revealing a breathtaking beauty beneath the rage. Long, full lashes fan his face. His features are meticulously shaped – a straight nose full and perfectly arched brows. He appears to be in his late thirties or early forties. Despite the fury and brutality, there's no denying the undeniable truth – he is the most handsome man I had ever laid my eyes on.

“You will pay for that, bitch,” he seethes.

"I'm not sorry," I defiantly spit out.

"You will be," he vows, and with a sudden, brutal twist, he snaps my neck, sending me into unconsciousness.

NICKOLAS

I walk to my room, my footsteps leaving a trail of blood as it drips from my clothes. One of the witches in my army just teleported us back to my territory. My room is dimly lit, with moonlight slipping through the dark curtains, casting shadows across the walls. A king-sized bed, draped in luxurious grey linens and white pillows, sits in the center of the room. To the left of the bed, a large fireplace stands tall, with a comfortable armchair and ottoman sitting nearby. A large desk sits in one corner, covered in papers, where I spend many long hours working to bring the lycan kingdom back to its glory. I take off my shirt, sighing, annoyed with how everything played out tonight.

“Fuck!” I roar, throwing my shirt to the floor. I can’t believe that bastard Nathaniel got away after everything I fucking did to make sure I could kill him tonight and finally avenge my father. And to make matters worse, he was able to get away because of his daughter, who turned out to be my mate. My insides churn as I call her my mate.

After thousands of years of believing I was cursed to walk this earth alone, the universe decided to prove me wrong and fucking gave me the werewolf princess as a mate. What the fuck?

“We will get him next time,” someone says as they enter my room.

“Who the fuck dares enter without knocking?” I retort, swiftly spinning around and thanking heavens I haven’t taken off my vest. It’s one of the reasons I even wear it underneath my shirts for situations like this. I can’t fucking have people seeing what they aren’t supposed to.

“That’s no way to speak to your uncle, boy,” Uncle Leo says, walking up to me.

“Hello, Uncle,” I greet, discarding my pants and tossing them onto the same pile as my shirt.

"Today, your father would be standing here, proud," Uncle Leo asserts, his hand finding a place on my shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

"But that bastard still breathes," I retort, the frustration evident in my voice.

“As I said, we will get him next time. You have his daughter. Once he recovers, he will definitely come for her. And then we will get him.”

“Let’s not forget his daughter is my ma...” I suck in a breath, my fists clenching as my tongue feels heavy, refusing to acknowledge her as my mate. She might be, but I will never accept her.

I’m not surprised he knows everything, even though we just returned. Ava, his mate and Queen of Witches, must’ve made it possible for him to watch what was happening while we were there. He would have been there if he had his way, but I couldn’t risk it. I had already lost my father. I couldn’t bear something happening to him, so I asked him to stay and guard the kingdom while I was away.

Uncle Leo remains silent, his gaze filled with pity as he looks at me.

"Not you too, stop," I growl, the memory of Eric's sad eyes upon hearing Amelia say 'mate' echoing in my mind.

"I can’t help it," he responds, his voice softening. "You’ve been mateless for centuries, and then your mate ends up being a descendant of Jane. Her being Nathaniel’s daughter isn’t even as fucked up as that."

I sigh, running a hand stained with dried blood through my dark hair. "I need to shower," I say, tired of having this conversation.

“I will be home if you need me,” he says, exiting my room.

As I prepare to remove my vest, the door creaks open, causing me to pause. I expect to see Uncle Leo walking back in, but I see someone else.

"How many times have I told you to fucking knock," I growl, relieved I hadn't removed my vest yet.

Ember, using lycan speed, appears before me in a blink of an eye. "Thank heavens you’re fine," she says, disregarding my complaint and staring at my face as she rests her hand on my arms stained with blood.

“You can see I’m fine, so you can leave” I swap her hand off my arm.

“I missed you, baby.” Ember touches my face with her long nails and runs her hands through my hair. “Are you about to shower, my love? Why don't I join you?” she asks, stepping back and moving her hand to the strap of her dress.

"Ember…" My words get choked in my throat as her dress drops to the ground, revealing her naked body underneath. My dick pulses. I fucking hate the bitch, but I couldn't deny she had the body that could bring men to their knees.

"You were saying, baby," Ember teases, closing the distance between us, sliding her hand to my waist, and lowering my boxers. She grabs my dick, and I groan.

"Ember," I moan as she begins to stroke my slowly hardening dick.

"Yes, baby," she responds, gradually descending to the ground, positioning her mouth at my throbbing dick. I halt her midway, seizing her arm and lifting her off the ground. I wasn't in the mood for foreplay right now. I needed to fuck after how messed up today went. Spinning her around, I bend her forward. I see her pussy pooling with her wetness already. I haven’t even touched the bitch, but only the thought of me fucking her has her wet. I begin to position my dick at her entrance when suddenly a pair of baby blue eyes filled with tears flash in my mind.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I mutter, closing my eyes in an attempt to drive away the image of them, but they only intensify. I see her whole body that has all the curves in the right places. Her tiny tits but perfect for her size, and her big round ass. Fuck! I pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing the heavens for that stupid thing called the mate bond. Why the hell am I thinking about her now?

"Is everything alright?" Ember inquires. I open my eyes to find her facing me.

"Get out," I bark.

"Did I do something wrong?" she questions, confusion etched on her face.

"No, just leave."

"Baby, please tell me what I've done wrong. I don't like it when you're angry with me," she pleads, placing her hands on my arms and searching my eyes for an explanation.

I release her hands from my arms. "Nothing, just leave." Stepping away, I head towards my bathroom door.

"Should I come by later?" she queries, trailing behind me.

"No!" I retort, entering the bathroom and slamming the door in her face, ignoring her questioning pleas.

AMELIA

I open my eyes to find myself in a pitch-black room. Sitting on the cold concrete floor, I wince as my muscles ache. My hand instinctively moves to my neck and then my ribs, where I feel the most pain. The bruises haven't healed. Switching my eyes to my werewolf vision to survey the room, I find that I can't. My brows furrow in confusion. I try contacting Marie and get a whimper in response; a sinking realization hits me – they must have injected silver into my bloodstream.

I don't need someone to tell me where I am. I remember everything like it just happened a minute ago. Tears well up in my eyes, remembering the state I last saw my family. I hope they are okay. Wiping the tear that escapes my eyes, I try to focus my mind on getting out of here.

I quickly unmask my scent and wait for my body to regain strength. The ability to mask my scent is one of the many gifts inherited from Mom, a skill that took my entire childhood to master. I vividly recall how I couldn't even attend school until I could successfully conceal my true scent. Tears well up as childhood memories flood my mind, but I forcefully push them aside – now isn't the time to delve into the past.

Sniffling, I attempt to stand up, but my body betrays me, and I drop back to the cold floor, the impact reverberating through my drained muscles. Eyes closed, I grimace as the ache intensifies. Something feels off, and confusion sets in as I look around the dark room, my vision becoming hazy. Panic surges within me – what have they done to me?

“Mask your scent if you don't want to die in the next few seconds,” a voice commands as the lights flicker on in the room, prompting me to tightly shut my eyes. The thick British accent sounds eerily familiar, but in my weakened state, I can't spare the energy to contemplate where I know it from.

My heart pounds violently in my chest, each beat sending pulses of pain through my body. Breathing becomes a struggle, my breaths coming out in short, labored pants. The sudden pain in my heart only intensifies the growing sense of dread.

"I can't breathe," I rasp out, my words barely above a whisper, feeling my heart tighten.

"Do as I fucking asked, and you will!" the person commands, and I comply. Gasping, I fill my lungs with air, panting hard. I didn't do it initially because I didn't think it would help.

Slowly I open my eyes and sit up to see the person who saved me. My eyes widen in terror, seeing that it's my mate and he definitely didn't save me. Instead, he kept me alive for whatever he plans to do to me. I back away from him as he stands a foot away. I hit the wall and jump in fright. My heart pounds as he stares down at me. He has proven to me that he can hurt me. I just pray I go away without too much pain.

Silent, he stares at me with eyes brimming with hatred, scrutinizing every inch of my dirt-covered body from being on the floor. I observe that he has freshened up, shedding the bloodstained clothes. I remember earlier how his white button-up was drenched in the blood of my family and people. My heart aches, tears welling up in my eyes. It's disheartening that this will forever be my initial image of him.

Pushing back the tears in my eyes, I lock gazes with him, maintaining eye contact as I question, "What did you do to me?"

“I know what you are, so don't fucking try to unmask your scent again,” he says, his British accent evident as he speaks. He completely ignores my question. I’ve always loved the British accent, but now it sends a shiver down my spine whenever I hear it, and not in a good way.

“Do you wish to kill me?” I ask.

“Why the fuck do you have that face?” He snaps, clenching his jaw. Confused, I touch my face, wondering if something is wrong with it. I won’t say I'm the finest person in the world, but I don’t think my face is unappealing.

“You could’ve fucking looked like anyone. Why the fuck did you have to look like her?” He roars with an anger that makes me flinch. I recall he said something similar in the ballroom. Was there something I was missing?

“I don’t know,” I reply, unsure.

“You don’t know, you don’t fucking know,” he barks, crouching to my eye level. I instinctively retreat, the cold wall scraping against my skin as I press back into it. My eyes shut, shielding me from the intensity of his anger. The palpable fury makes me clench my dress tightly, the fabric almost tearing beneath my fingers. Amidst the turmoil, a sense of sorrow seeps into my heart, realizing I'm the unwitting source of such rage in my mate. I wonder what I did to be cursed to be mated to someone like him.

His scent envelops me, filling my nose, and like magic, my fists loosen around my dress. My body relaxes. I'm not surprised. Terrified as I may be of him, he is still my mate, and his scent will always do that to me.

I begin to slowly pull my eyes open when suddenly he curses, punching the wall closest to my head. The impact shatters the barrier, and a storm of debris settles around me. I freeze, my body stiffening as my heart begins to hammer violently against my chest. Did he mean to hit me but missed? The chilling thought sends a shiver down my spine, and in that moment, I scream. His callous hand forces its way into my hair, clenching it in a vice-like grip.

"Open your fucking eyes, dog," his growl echoes in my face, and I comply. My tear-filled eyes met his. The hurt of being labeled the ultimate insult to a werewolf by my own mate pierces deeper than mere insult. I should be offended, but instead, I feel a profound sense of hurt.

"I'm going to give you one chance, one fucking chance to tell me where your family is,” he declares, his mesmerizing green eyes locked onto mine.

Swallowing hard, I muster a response. "I don't know where they are." Despite knowing, I won't divulge their location.

"Amelia!" he growls, intensifying his grip on my hair.

"I don't know," I repeat, still refusing to give them up.

Releasing my hair, he stands tall. "You asked for this," he declares, his towering figure casting an intimidating shadow.

Pausing at the cell door, he delivers a final warning. "You will wish you told me the truth by the time she's done with you." With that, he exits, leaving me haunted by questions about the mysterious 'she.'