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Claimed By His Uncle: The Lycan's Forbidden Mate

Hua Luoluo

5.0

Werewolf

30 Chapters

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I was the "wolfless" biological defect of the pack, engaged to Darrien, the heir of the powerful Page Pack. For six months, I endured his family's sneers and served him loyally. But during our engagement charity gala, I caught him in the penthouse suite, sweating over a newly signed starlet. Fleeing the paparazzi they had deliberately orchestrated, I ran straight into my adoptive sister, Domenica. She coldly handed me a positive pregnancy test. She had been sleeping with Darrien since the week we got engaged. Darrien's mother then threw a half-million-dollar check at my bleeding feet, demanding I sign an NDA to protect their corporate merger. When I refused, tore up the check, and threw the diamond ring at Darrien's chest, his enforcers kidnapped my elderly adoptive parents. Darrien held a detonator, threatening to burn my parents alive if I didn't sign a binding marriage contract by midnight. I didn't understand. Why would a multi-billion-dollar pack go to such violent, extreme lengths to force a wolfless nobody into their bloodline? What were they trying to extract from me? Just as I prepared to fight them barehanded, Edmund Wilkins-Darrien's terrifying, billionaire Lycan King uncle-stepped out of the shadows. He crushed Darrien's throat with one hand, rescued my parents, and looked at me with glowing gold eyes. "You're not wolfless," he declared, his ancient aura bringing the entire room to its knees. "You're the last White Wolf, and you belong to me now."

Claimed By His Uncle: The Lycan's Forbidden Mate Chapter 1

Celeste Benton POV:

"Your fiancé-Darrien Page is not downstairs, Miss Benton," the Beta server sneered, deliberately tilting his champagne tray to force me to a halt.

His eyes dragged over my unbranded, off-the-rack gown with unapologetic disgust. In a penthouse packed with blue-blood Alphas whose raw authority made the floor joists hum, my total lack of an inner beast marked me like an open lesion.

"Where is he?" I asked, keeping my spine like forged steel.

"Top floor. Private penthouse suite," the server tossed out, his smile rancid. "Though if I were you, little girl, I wouldn't interrupt."

A cold lead ball sank into my stomach. I turned my back on the glitz and corporate vultures of the gala floor and strode straight toward the private elevator bank.

The heavy oak doors of Suite 802 were cracked open an inch.

I raised my hand to knock, but a woman's breathless, filthy whimper leaked through the seam.

My blood iced over. I pressed two fingers against the door and nudged it open.

The scent hit me like a chemical burn: cheap synthetic vanilla and the heavy, musky pheromones of an Alpha in rut. Crumpled across the foyer floor was the bespoke charcoal suit jacket I had spent thirty minutes pressing and hand-buttoning for Darrien only four hours ago.

I crossed the threshold into the bedroom.

Darrien had a woman pinned back across the vanity table. Her legs were locked tight around his hips, her manicured hands gripping his dark hair. Chloe Sterling. The rising pack starlet whose father had just inked an eight-figure transit deal with the Page syndicate.

Chloe tilted her neck back, her eyes catching mine in the mirror. She didn't recoil. She didn't even flinch. Instead, a venomous, triumphant smirk curved her crimson lips, and she sank her polished claws into Darrien's shoulders, letting out an exaggerated groan of pleasure.

A wave of pure, blinding acid surged up my throat.

I didn't scream. I didn't let a single tear fall.

Survival on the streets had beaten helplessness out of me years ago. My hand snapped out on raw instinct, closing around the heavy solid-bronze urn sitting on the console table.

I whipped it across the room with all the force in my shoulders.

It detonated against the mirrored vanity with an ear-splitting crash. Tempered glass exploded like shrapnel.

Darrien threw himself backward, stumbling into the bed frame, his shirt torn open, his chest heaving as his predatory gold eyes bled back into panicked brown.

"Celeste?" he stammered, the practiced mask of a politician slipping on instantly. "Wait! Don't be insane-this isn't what it looks like! It's business, she was drunk-"

"Save your breath," I whispered, the rage chilling my vocal cords to dry ice.

I looked down at the glittering engagement diamond on my left finger. It burned like a slave brand.

I spun on my heel and sprinted into the corridor.

I reached the corner by the express lifts just as the chiming bell echoed through the hall.

The metal doors slid wide, and an explosion of strobing flashbulbs blinded me.

"Room 802! It's Page's heir!"

"Is that the wolfless fiancée?!"

Paparazzi. Dozens of them, carrying telephoto lenses and microphones, swarming out of the lifts like locusts.

If they pinned me here-the wolfless bride running from her Alpha's cheating bed-the Page machine would pin the entire scandal on my defectiveness by sunrise. I backed into the alcove, frantically clawing at every handle. Locked. Deadbolted. Trapped.

"Celeste Benton! Over here!"

Suddenly, a door behind me swung inward without a sound.

A scarred, massive hand shot out of the abyss, thick fingers clamping around my wrist like hydraulic steel.

Before I could choke out a scream, the force violently hauled me off my feet, yanking me straight into pitch blackness.

The reinforced door slammed shut. The deadbolt engaged with a heavy, pressurized click.

I thrashed wildly, my back colliding with a chest as unyielding as a slab of granite. A broad, scalding palm clamped down over my mouth, suffocating my scream against my teeth.

"Silence," a voice dropped into the dark, scraping low and lethal against the shell of my ear.

Then, his aura hit me.

It wasn't an ordinary Alpha presence. It was a crushing, suffocating wave of frozen mountain air and bitter black cedar. It carried an ancient, reality-warping Lycan sovereign pressure so colossal that my wolfless biology buckled in pure evolutionary terror. My legs went entirely numb.

His other arm snapped like an iron band around my ribs, lifting my feet clean off the carpet, pinning my trembling spine against his muscular frame.

Through the thin fabric of my gown, the blistering heat of his hands seared into my flesh, sending violent, electric jolts crackling straight down my nervous system.

Outside, the hall erupted in chaos. Shouted questions, slamming doors, Darrien's muffled curses-yet none of the paparazzi paused outside our door. The beast holding me was projecting such a thick, suffocating shield of his own scent that my presence had been completely erased from the world.

The footsteps faded down the hallway.

I gasped against his palm. "Let... let me go..."

Instead of releasing me, his arm tightened until my ribs creaked. His head dipped into the curve of my neck, his nose brushing the vein pulsing violently at my throat, inhaling my scent with a deep, shuddering rasp.

A violent tremor ripped through his massive body. His breath turned ragged, feral-as if he were waging war against the primal urge to sink his fangs into my jugular.

Then, just as violently, he shoved me away.

I hit the console table in the dark, gasping for air.

"Out," he rasped from the pitch black, his voice dripping with barely restrained violence.

I fumbled for the latch, threw the door open, and tumbled into the bright hallway. I didn't look back. I tore off my high heels, grabbed them by the straps, and bolted barefoot down the concrete fire exit stairs.

I hit the second-floor fire door and slammed it open.

Waiting on the other side, arms crossed over a blood-red gown, was Domenica Spence.