The Lycan King

Zane Valerian Blackhowl’s POV

Power is not given. It is taken, earned through blood and fear.

I was not born to be merciful. I was born to rule.

The world bows to the strong, and I made sure that no one dared challenge my reign. From the moment I ascended the throne, I crushed rebellions before they could breathe, silenced enemies before they could speak, and made it clear—weakness had no place in my kingdom.

Yet, despite countless warnings, the Alpha of Dimlight Pack—a pitiful excuse for a leader—chose to defy our laws. His pack was the smallest, insignificant in the grand scheme of our empire, but foolish enough to believe they could play by their own rules.

Disobedience was not tolerated.

So, I sent my warriors.

They swept through the pack like a storm, eliminating threats with ruthless precision. The so-called Alpha was slain, his warriors either executed or imprisoned. The omegas—weak and trembling—were deemed useless, except for a few. Some were captured, others left to perish.

It was a necessary reminder. A lesson burned into their bones.

And now, the captives were being brought to me.

Another group of slaves—like all the others. They would beg, they would cry, they would break.

Because in my kingdom, only the strong survived.

A warrior entered the throne room and bowed before the Lycan King.

“All the captured warriors have been sent to the dungeon, Your Highness,” he reported. “As for the women, most of them are omegas, but there are exceptions.”

Zane arched a brow, showing little interest until the warrior continued.

“One of them is a beta’s daughter, and another is an alpha’s fiancée. She is also an alpha’s daughter.”

That caught his attention.

“They both requested to meet you,” the warrior added.

A moment of silence followed as Zane leaned back in his throne, his golden eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“An alpha’s daughter… a beta’s daughter…” he mused, a slow smirk curving his lips. “Interesting.”

With a flick of his fingers, he dismissed the warrior. “Bring them in. Let’s see what they have to say.”

The two women were brought before the throne, their bodies trembling as they immediately dropped to their knees.

The warrior sneered, his voice laced with contempt. “Keep your heads low, bitches.”

Their heads bowed even lower, fear evident in their every movement.

“We are ready to do anything, Your Highness,” the beta’s daughter pleaded, her voice shaking. “Please… spare our lives.”

The alpha’s fiancée quickly echoed her plea. “We will obey. Whatever you command, we will do.”

Zane leaned forward slightly, amusement dancing in his golden eyes as he studied them. Their fear pleased him.

After a brief pause, he smirked and gave a simple command.

“Send them to my chamber tonight. Prepare them.”

"I am 26 years old. My mother abandoned me and my father when I was just a toddler… for another man. A despicable woman. Weak and selfish. Since then, I have hated weak people. They disgust me."

His golden eyes gleamed with something dangerous as he leaned back in his throne, lost in thought.

"After my mother left, my father—once a powerful ruler—became mentally unstable. He was no longer fit to lead, no longer the strong warrior he once was. I was just a boy, but I uihad to take charge. I had to survive."

A cruel smirk tugged at his lips.

"My uncle helped me grow, shape me into the man I am today. Strength is all that matters. Power. Control. Fear."

His fingers drummed against the armrest, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"I don't believe in love. I don’t trust women. They are tools, nothing more. And anyone who dares challenge me… will break beneath me."

The room fell silent, his presence alone enough to suffocate those who dared to stand before him.

The night was still, but inside my chambers, the air was thick with unspoken fear. The two women stood before me, their heads bowed, their hands trembling at their sides.

Pathetic.

I leaned back against the massive bed, my golden eyes scanning them with indifference. They knew why they were here. There was no need for flowery words or false pretenses.

“Strip,” I commanded, my voice calm but absolute.

They hesitated for a fraction of a second before their fingers fumbled with the fabric of their dresses. The scent of fear clung to them, sharp and desperate. I drank it in. I didn’t tolerate weakness, but submission? Submission pleased me.

I watched them, unblinking, as they bared themselves before me. They had no choice. No power. They belonged to me tonight, just like the many before them. And like the many who would come after.

I didn’t offer comfort. I didn’t pretend to care. I took what I wanted, how I wanted. Their bodies tensed under my touch, but I didn’t stop. I never stopped. This was who I was—the Lycan King, the ruler of power, the taker of all things.

When I was done, I rolled off the bed, pulling on a robe as I reached for a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid burned down my throat, smooth and intoxicating.

Behind me, the women still lay there, breathless and spent. I didn’t need to look at them to know what was in their eyes. Hope. The same false hope all women had when they left my bed.

Pathetic.

“Get out,” I said coldly, not sparing them another glance.

They scrambled to gather their clothes, their movements quick and silent. I could feel their disappointment, their crushed dreams of something more.

They always thought bedding me meant something. That I would claim them. Make them my Luna.

I smirked, shaking my head as I poured another drink.

"Women always take false hope that I will make them my Luna."

I downed the whiskey in one go, letting the fire settle in my veins.

Foolish creatures.

I didn’t need a Luna. I never would.