The Alpha King's Billion Human Bride

Scarlett's POV.

“Scar…Scar… Scarlett?” My stepmother's voice is hardly recognizable. Her nasally tone trembles with a mix of tears and raw emotion. Fear grips my heart. She's not her usual icy calm and collected demeanor and that is worrying. “Scarlett, you need to come home,” she says urgently, struggling to find the right words. “Your father is in a coma.”

My heart sinks and panic washes over me; these are not the kind of words anyone ever wants to hear.

At the prestigious University of Ghent in Belgium, where I'm studying to become a veterinarian, the second year has been nothing short of intense. Since September, we've been immersed in a world of theories and rigorous exams. What had been just moments before a typical day at university, replaced with an unexpected and sudden change - one that I could never have anticipated. It felt like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds as I tried to wrap my head around what had happened and process the reality of it all.

Home. I had to get home. Pack a bag. Book a ticket.

Not so easy when I was over five thousand miles away and seven…or was it eight time zones?

I wasn't sure.

I had never been interested in things like that. Animals were much more appealing to me. Selfless and trusting, their love was unconditional. Unlike humans, animals took no advantage or betrayed you. That was why I trusted them more than people. They didn't judge or criticize. They offered companionship and loyalty without expecting anything in return. Animals made everything so simple—gave them love and they'd give it right back. You could always count on them to never hurt you.

Whereas people…they let you down all the time.

I learned that rather quickly from my fiancé.

I hurriedly pack a suitcase and rush to make the last flight to New York, from there I'll take an early morning flight to Oregon. I can only hope my dad wakes up when I get there.

“Ghent has to be the prettiest city in the world,” a young blonde man, my seatmate for the plane trip says to me, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Hi, I am Rowan.”

“Scarlett.”I look away, uncomfortable at his dreamy expression.

Rowan is a werewolf. I can tell by the way his eyes glow. As if backlit by the sun. For some reason, male wolves are immensely attracted to me.

I was born in this world to an unusual union. My mother, a powerful werewolf, had a fleeting encounter with my human father, resulting in my birth. Growing up, I was acutely aware of my mother's status as a werewolf, and I often felt like an outsider in her world. Her pack members regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and pity, knowing that I was not like them.

Despite my human heritage, my mother raised me with love and taught me about the ancient traditions and customs of the werewolf society. She hoped that I might one day find a place among them. But as the years went by, it became evident that I didn't share the same transformative abilities as the other werewolves. I remained fully human, unable to shift during the lunar cycle.

The flight attendant hands us our dessert. I decline this. Rowan eagerly reaches for his. A decadent Belgian waffle, topped with mouthwatering strawberry compote and a generous dusting of powdered sugar, arrives by a smiling waitress.

That calorie-laden treat will wreak havoc on my diet. Despite what my stepmother says, I'm by no means overweight. Still, her voice enters my head when sweets are present. Anyhow, I'd rather soak up the view than eat.

Rowan finishes his coffee and flashes me with a warm smile. Locking my blue eyes with his browns he says, “You light up this place.”

To be honest, such attention leaves me feeling awkward and conflicted. Wolves are brawny by nature, and extremely handsome. Their scent makes me sit up and take notice. I ignore it. The reason? My loyalty towards my fiancé, Thomas Cartwright.

I won't give into temptation and cheat…no matter how compelling the flattering or the compliments may be. From a human, a wolf, or any other supernatural creature. Not even the Lycan King himself. He's from Wayne as well. I've never met him… or seen him. And from the rumors that swirl about town, I don't want to. Tall, muscular with dark hair and gray eyes to match his cold, ruthless demeanor, he dispenses justice to all the wolves in Oregon who step out of line.

At least, that's what I've heard.

The trip from Belgium to Wayne was a blur. I didn't sleep a wink over the Atlantic. In New York, I slogged through customs, and when the agent asked me what the purpose of my visit was, I burst into tears. Luckily I dozed from New York to Oregon only waking up when I heard the *ding* *dong*. Of the landing gear brushing the runway with a screech. The jet taxied to its assigned terminal, the wheels grinding against the asphalt. I reached for my carry-on luggage from the compartment above and collected my ticket from my bag. I stood up, ready to disembark.

No one was waiting for me in baggage claim. Not my stepmother, Thomas, nor even my stepsister Viola.

*Sigh* Just my luck, there was a big delay with the luggage. Not wanting to waste a second more, I ran through the terminal, weaving in and out of other travelers, and as I neared the exit, a sudden fragrance seized me. *

A heavenly scent of sweet, rich earth. Like a freshly plowed field on a warm spring day. It was... familiar.

My breathing quickened. I half turned around to follow my nose back into the terminal. My legs felt like they were made of jelly. And there was an internal battle waging inside of me to seek out the owner of that tantalizing scent. My heart pounded, and I felt overheated. Only when my mouth was almost too dry to talk did I turn away from the heady fragrance.

My father needed me.

“Scarlett!”

There he was, Thomas after all. I welcomed the sight of his familiar face, the man I intended to marry. "Hey, Scarlett," he said, pulling me into a hug.

With the greeting out of the way, Thomas took control, like he always did. Before I had a chance to reach for my bag, he swooped in and handed it to me saying, "Let's go home."

He walked by my side all the way to his car without saying a word. That was fine. I didn't necessarily want to talk. Some conversation would have been nice, but I didn't call him out on it. His presence alone provided all the reassurance I needed.

As we drove deeper and deeper into the countryside of Oregon, winding our way towards Wayne, I started to feel more and more overwhelmed. I used up tissue after tissue silently crying and wiping at my eyes, the worry for my dad gnawing at me like a beast.

Every now and then, I would take a quick glance in Thomas' direction, hoping that a comforting look would ease some of my worries. But he was lost in his own thoughts.

We draw closer to the outskirts of Wayne, the city that I was born in. As we approached, familiar buildings and streets became distorted by the tears that continued to fall from my eyes. The search for tissues in my bag was fruitless. I had used them all.

I opened the glove box, remembering Thomas kept a package of them there. As I flipped it open, a lipstick fell out, unmistakably feminine.

In a vain attempt to lighten the mood, I quipped, "Trying a new shade, are we?"

Thomas didn't laugh.

A delicate pink hue caught in the corner of my eye. I slipped my fingers back into the box and pulled it out from behind the car manuals and packet of tissues.

A lacy pink thong. Designer by the look of it. Size four.

I was an eight on a good day.

Suddenly, Ghent didn't feel so far away. Memories surged. The gap between his phone calls was growing larger, his texts coming fewer and farther between, and the sweet emails he used to send had all but stopped. His absence weighed heavily on me until I couldn't take it anymore.

“Is there someone else?” I asked, my heart in my throat and my voice trembling as I spoke the words.

Thomas didn't respond right away, instead choosing to look away and remain silent. That one moment felt like a lifetime of uncertainty and dread as I waited for an answer.

Finally, he glances my way, eyes evasive. "No."

He stops the car.

"Scarlett," Thomas pleads, reaching out to me with his pale hands like a ghost getting ready to maul its next victim. "I can explain."

"Explain?" I choke on my words, anger seeping through my veins. "How can you explain having an affair?"

His blue eyes, once so bright and full of love, now hold nothing but deceit.

"Scarlett, please," Thomas implores, his voice cracking. "Let me try to make this right."

"Make it right?" I scoff, my hands trembling as I clutch the fabric of my flowing skirt. "You can't just undo what you've done."

"Scarlett, I love you," he says, desperation lacing his voice. But it's too late. The trust that once bound us together has shattered, leaving jagged shards of heartache in its wake.

For a moment, I falter, remembering the boy who used to make me laugh when I was sad and the man who proposed to me under a sky full of stars.

I almost cave with the nostalgia of the memory, but then the reality of the present crashes over me, drowning any lingering affection.

How could something so beautiful turn into such pain?

"Love isn't supposed to hurt like this, Thomas," I state bitterly, my hands balling into fists. "It's not supposed to break trust and tear people apart."

“We are done, Thomas,” I said, my heart breaking into a million pieces. “We are over.”

With tears streaming, anger bubbling, I stepped from the car, yanked my suitcase from the back seat and left Thomas, hailing a cab in the next moment as shouts from Thomas to “come back” rang in my ears.

Lorien's POV.

The airport is a chaotic hive, teeming with humans who are desperately rushing to destinations they'd rather avoid. I observe as their young cry incessantly, while the women valiantly hold everything together and the men feign confidence they clearly lack. It's an amusing sight, yet utterly pathetic at the same time.

I despise them all.

Humans, who desired to strip us of our mineral-rich land, bribed the six pack members to execute my father and brother. They would have killed me as well, but I had left that very morning to start my classes at MIT.

In my role as Lycan King, I deal with humans because I have to. Not because I want to.

I grab a seat at the first cafe inside the Portland terminal. After a few moments, a server comes up and asks me if I'm ready to place an order. She's younger than me, blonde and bubbly. With a smile, she eyes me like the last hamburger on the barbecue grill.

“Are you…” She pops her hip and licks her lips seductively. “Ah, ready to order?”

I tell her my choices, and while I do, her nipples pebble under her tight white t-shirt. If she only knew how much I can't stand to be around her kind, she wouldn't be so obvious in her flirty appraisal.

“Evian and a ham and cheese croissant?” she questions, like I'm too stupid to know what I want. “Is that all? We have–”

“That's it.” I say, trying to check my impatience. “Thanks.”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, tongue darting out once again to lick her pink lips. “You really should try–”

“No,” I say tightly. “That's it.” My expression must be darker than sin, as much like Lila this morning, the server slowly backs away, only turning once her ass hits the double swing doors that lead into the kitchen.

And if she gets pissy and spits in my food, I'll know it. I'll smell it.

The heightened olfactory senses of Lycans often prove to be both a gift and a curse. While I appreciate the ability to perceive scents on a level far beyond any human, dog, or elephant, it also means that unpleasant odors can knock me to my knees. Take for instance the human mother passing by with a baby in a smelly diaper. That shit nearly puts me off my croissant. I devour it though. With all the work I had to get through this morning, this is the first thing I've eaten all day.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Shakespeare was right about that.

Being the Lycan King is not an easy task. It comes with responsibilities and burdens that almost overwhelm me at times. Daily I'm reminded of my duty to my pack and my kind.

As the secret crime enforcement unit for the Western Territories, I'm constantly surfing the Dark Web, trying to locate Lycan criminals and the humans they work with. The safety of my territory for wolves and humans alike rests on my ability to stay one step ahead of those who seek to cause harm.

The challenges do not end there. As the owner of a shifter bar, there is a never-ending stream of paperwork that requires my attention. Licensing, permits, and the countless regulations that come with running a business all fall to me.

And then there are the daily tasks of managing my staff and creating schedules. A King is nothing without the loyalty and support of his followers. The responsibility of ensuring their well-being and maintaining order within the pack is my responsibility.

But amidst the chaos, there is one thing that keeps my sanity intact and that is sex. I find it an outlet for my frustrations, a form of escape from the constant demands of my position. In those intimate moments, I can forget about the troubles that plague me and simply be.

Even with this respite, sleep remains elusive. My enforcers tease me constantly to pick a she-wolf and settle down. I can't. The restlessness of my wolf, the instinctual drive to find my mate, consumes my nights. It is an ache that gnaws at my very soul, a constant reminder of what I am missing.

As the Lycan King, finding my mate is not just a personal desire. It is a necessity, an integral part of maintaining the balance and harmony within my pack. The longer I delay this search, the more my wolf's restlessness grows, threatening to plunge me into madness.

So, I endure the weariness. I push through the exhaustion. One day, I'll find my mate. A strong she-wolf who will help me alleviate the burden on my shoulders.

And I look forward to that day with every fiber of my being.

Finished with my meal, I dab the plate with my fingers and lick off the crumbs. I push back my chair and rise to pay my bill at the register. I haven't seen the server since she dropped off my check. I must have really scared her.

I don't feel bad about it. The female was annoying.

“How was your meal, sir?” The woman at the counter is a grandmotherly type with gray hair in a bun so tight, her scalp must be screaming. Still, she has kind brown eyes and a sincere smile.

“It was great. I–”

The sweet smell of violets of damp earth after a spring rain hits my nose and fills my brain. My heart thumps like a gong in my chest. I barely hear the cashier ask if I'm alright before I throw some bills at her and race off, trying to follow the scent of…

My phone rings. It's Jasper's ringtone. If it was anyone else, I'd let that shit go to voicemail. I pull the device from my jacket and bark out, “Damn you, Jasper.”

“Whoa, I just got back and you're yelling at me already?”

I rake a hand through my hair. “I thought… I just…” I look around, scanning every female I see. Not one of them is her.

“What? Is the Lycan King at a loss for words? No! It can't be true!” Jasper ends in a falsetto that nearly explodes my skull with its high pitch.

If he weren't like a brother to me, I'd smash his face the moment I saw him. “You'd better shut that snout of yours right. The F. Now.”

Jasper chuckles, his laughter grating on my last nerve. "Oh, come on, Alpha. Can't I have a little fun? It's not every day I witness the almighty Lycan King speechless." His words drip with sarcasm, and it takes all my self-control not to lose my temper entirely. “I have my bags and I'm waiting for my Prince Charming.”

I clench the phones so tight, the screen cracks. Taking a deep, calming breath, I respond, trying to keep my annoyance in check. “I'll meet you at the escalator. And enough with the theatrics, okay? You know what today is.”

Shitty of me to use today as an excuse, I know. If I told Jasper what I thought I smelled…Well, he wouldn't believe me. And damn me if I want to hear his mouth about it during the long car ride home.

“Sorry, Lorien,” Jasper says, contrite. “I forgot. I'll meet you by the escalator, okay, bro? You just hang in there.”

We hang up, and as I head towards Jasper, I seek out the sweet scent of violets and earth tinted with spring rain.

The scent of my mate.