The Secret Heirs of the Lycan King (by Misha K) novel Chapter 8

**When Midnight Winds Carry Secrets Toward Worlds Yet Unknown**

**Chapter 8**

Scott

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Five years ago, I awoke that morning with an expression that could only be described as a shit-eating grin plastered across my face. How was it possible that I had slept so soundly? It was the first time in my life that my Lycan felt utterly content, as if all was right in the world.

As I turned to my side, an unsettling chill washed over me; the space where she had been was cold. The sheets still bore the imprint of her form, the subtle creases a reminder of her presence. For a fleeting moment, I entertained the idea that she might be in the shower or perhaps making coffee in the kitchen. I rose from the bed, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside me, but as I ventured out, my heart sank. She was nowhere to be found.

Panic clawed at me as I followed her scent, a tantalizing trail that led me out the door and into the elevator. I traced it through the lobby, past the bustling crowd, and out to the curb, where it dissipated amidst the chaos of morning traffic. Cars whizzed by, steam rose from the grates, and the air was thick with the aroma of coffee and the sweet notes of perfume. Her scent was swallowed whole by the city, leaving me reeling. How could I have lost her so easily? She had slipped away without a single word, and I didn’t even know her name.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrestling with the urge to shift right then and there, exposed to the harsh light of day. Frustration and rage bubbled within me, and I stormed back upstairs, unleashing my fury on every piece of furniture within reach. Troy’s horrified expression when he found me was a sight I would never forget.

Days turned into a blur of sleepless nights. My Lycan paced restlessly within me, a tempest of anger and fear. He had intertwined himself with her essence, and that realization gnawed at me. It meant our mate could potentially bear my offspring. Yet, I dismissed the thought; if she-wolves struggled to carry my pups, a fragile human like her stood no chance. My seeds were too potent, too powerful.

My Lycan was relentless, demanding to break free at all hours. I would sit through meetings, feeling the sharp edges of my claws yearning to emerge. At dinner, the scent of chocolate wafted through the air, tightening my chest in a way that was both familiar and agonizing. I tried to maintain a façade of normalcy for the sake of the pack and the business, but deep down, I was anything but normal.

Regret consumed me for not stopping her, for not marking her as mine. I lamented not asking the simplest of questions: Where do you live? What should I call you? Will you stay? Hell, for all I knew, she could have been married. I had held my mate in my arms, only to watch her slip away like a fleeting dream. The thought of it ignited a fury within me that I couldn’t shake.

In the year that followed, I allowed my Lycan to roam free every night. After the sun dipped below the horizon, I would shift and run through the forests, hunting for any trace of her scent. Sometimes I caught a hint that felt tantalizingly close, and I would follow it until dawn. But when the first rays of sunlight broke, my Lycan would stubbornly refuse to shift back. Duty called me back into my human form, a relentless reminder that the entire werewolf race depended on me to lead.

Over the years, the Elders had grown increasingly insistent that I marry. “You’re 33 years old now, Scott. It’s time to choose a she-wolf from one of the old families.” Each time, I shook my head, unable to divulge the truth. If I revealed that I had found my mate, the whispers would spread like wildfire, and my enemies would undoubtedly catch wind of it. A human mate would be a vulnerable target, and I refused to put her in harm’s way. So I kept my silence, bearing the weight of their expectations alone.

As the sun set each day, the nights became my torment. The penthouse felt like a cavernous void, too quiet and too empty. I turned to drinking, hoping to dull the sharp edges of my pain, if only for a little while. It didn’t work the same way it did for humans, but it took the edge off my relentless heartache.

In those five years, while I managed to keep the pack hidden and safe, I teetered on the brink of madness. I was barely holding onto my sanity, snapping at everyone around me, repulsed by the touch of other women. My reclusiveness grew so pronounced that Troy began to worry about my well-being.

How could I possibly explain to him that I saw her everywhere? Memories played tricks on my mind. I would sit on my couch late at night, feeling the cushion dip beside me as if she had settled down next to me just like that first night before I carried her to bed. I would glance to my left and imagine her sitting there, and I’d murmur, “You could have told me your name, little one.” She would simply smile, and once, when I dared to reach out and touch her, she dissolved into fragments of moonlight. After that, I never dared again.

There was one time I booked an entire row at the opera, hoping to find solace in the music. The hall was packed, yet my row remained empty except for me. I watched the performers, my hand resting on the armrest to my right, convinced that she was there with me. But when the lights blazed back to life, I was met with an empty seat. I exited the hall alone, the weight of disappointment heavy on my shoulders.

After a week away from the city, I returned just in time for the announcement of Phoenix Mall’s new round of retail proposals. This was a tradition we upheld every decade, inviting brands to pitch their ideas, but only selecting the elite.

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