Werewolf


**Thelma Zane’s POV**  
A searing pain throbbed in my head, pulling me out of unconsciousness. I tried to open my eyes, but the effort was futile. All I could see was an oppressive black void. Panic began to creep in, the sensation of helplessness wrapping itself tightly around me.  
Had I hit my head against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the fall had left me blinded. The thought lingered, conjuring images of Benard’s mocking expression if he saw me like this—broken and pathetic.  
As I lay still, I became faintly aware of muffled voices around me. They swirled together, incomprehensible snippets of urgency: “She’s awake!” and “Inform the others!” The noise grew louder, pressing against my already pounding head.  
"Quiet!" I croaked, my voice hoarse but commanding enough to silence the commotion.  
The abrupt stillness was a small comfort, and I


**Thelma Zane’s POV**  
“Don’t push yourself too hard. Take things slowly,” the tall, slender girl said in a calm, reassuring tone. She had been the voice I’d heard in my restless dreams, a presence that coaxed me into sleep when the pain became unbearable.  
Her voice softened further as she continued, “The doctor mentioned that overthinking could delay the healing of your wound. Please, try to rest.”  
Another voice chimed in, just as comforting but slightly more formal. “There’s no need to worry, Your Highness. Someone has already informed your parents. They’ve been here for a long time, but they had to leave temporarily to deal with matters concerning the Lycans. They’re on their way back to see you now.”  
Parents? Lycans? The words didn’t make any sense to me.  
The girls hovered near my bed, speaking in soft, melodic voices, but instead of clarifying my confusion, they only deepe


**The Lycan King’s POV**  
I woke suddenly, my chest heaving as the remnants of another familiar dream faded into the darkness of my room. It had been years, yet the dreams persisted, haunting me like shadows that refused to disappear.  
Always the same. The forest. The lake. The faint sound of crying.  
It all went back to that accident—the day my daughter disappeared. No matter how hard we searched, no matter how many leads we chased, she was simply gone. The helplessness I felt then had not lessened over the years, and it surfaced in my dreams as a cruel reminder of my failure.  
Perhaps the mounting pressures of leadership had stirred these old memories, or perhaps something deeper was at play. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered, like a storm waiting to break.  
As I rose, the urge to visit the forest became overwhelming. It had been my habit for years—a desperate ritual, clinging to the faint hope that my daughter might somehow return. At first, it was fueled by determination, but over time, it became a solace, a way to feel close to her even if only in spirit.  
Tonight, however, was different.  
As I made my way through the winding trails, an unfamiliar restlessness overtook me. My chest tightened, and a strange agitation coursed through my veins. It was as if something was pulling me forward, guiding my steps with an urgency I couldn’t ignore.  
The air itself seemed charged with energy, and when I encountered a group of small animals darting around my feet, I froze. It was unusual. Normally, my presence would send them scattering, yet here they were, moving chaotically as if fleeing from something unseen.  
I followed the direction they had come from, my instincts sharpening. Whatever lay ahead, it did not belong here. This was my territory, and nothing would be allowed to disturb it.  
The scent hit me suddenly—orchids. Strong and pure, it filled the air around me like a melody I hadn’t heard in years. My heart pounded in my chest.  
No wolf outside the Lycan bloodline carried the scent of orchids. It was a gift from the Moon Goddess, a mark of distinction that identified those of my lineage. The realization left me breathless.  
Could it be?  
Memories of my daughter flooded my mind. It had been over a decade since she was taken from us. My wife and I had scoured every inch of the forest, clung to every sliver of hope, only to be met with despair time and again.  
Yet here it was—that unmistakable scent.  
I quickened my pace, my thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and yearning. The scent grew stronger as I neared the lake, and when I broke through the underbrush, my eyes locked onto a scene that made my blood run cold.  
An ugly beast hovered over a figure lying in the shallows of the lake, its teeth bared and ready to strike. I didn’t think—my body moved on instinct, and a powerful kick sent the creature flying. It yelped before retreating into the shadows.  
The figure in the water drew my full attention now.  
She was young, her face pale and lifeless as the moonlight illuminated her fragile form. Her breaths were shallow, barely perceptible, and her lips were tinged with blue. Even with her eyes closed, I felt an unexplainable pull toward her.  
Could it really be her?  
I stepped closer, my chest tight with emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. If my daughter were still alive, this was the age she would be. The realization sent a surge of hope through me so powerful that it left me trembling.  
Without a second thought, I scooped her up into my arms. Her body was limp, her warmth fading. The scent of orchids was faint now, as though it too were fighting to cling to life.  
“Dear Moon Goddess,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please don’t let this be the only time I hold my daughter again.”  
I ran faster than I had in years, the forest blurring around me. I pushed myself to the brink, unwilling to slow down for even a moment. When I finally reached the packhouse, I burst through the doors, startling everyone inside.  
The royal doctor was summoned immediately. My hands shook as I laid her on the table, and I stepped back only when the attendants ushered me away.  
“Your Majesty, you’re drenched,” one of them said cautiously. “You should change before—”  
“Leave me,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.  
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Every second felt like an eternity as the doctor worked, his movements precise and methodical.  
“Your Majesty,” he said hesitantly, “this girl appeared so suddenly. Could it be...”  
He didn’t finish the thought, but I already knew what he meant.  
I forced myself to focus, to see her not just through the haze of my emotions but with the clarity of my role as king. Her features were strikingly similar to my wife’s, and the scent—there was no mistaking it.  
“She is my daughter,” I said firmly. “Even if appearances can be faked, her scent cannot. It is the mark of the Moon Goddess herself.”  
The room fell silent. Memories of that fateful day years ago came rushing back. The accident that tore my daughter from our lives had left us broken. My wife had cried endlessly, and I had buried my grief beneath the responsibilities of the crown.  
Yet here she was, returned to me as if by some divine miracle.  
“She is a gift,” I murmured, my voice filled with conviction. “A gift from the heavens.”  
“Your Majesty,” the doctor interrupted gently, “you must prepare yourself. She is alive, but her condition is critical. We are doing everything we can, but the fall was severe.”  
His words shattered the fragile hope I had been clinging to. She was here, but she wasn’t safe.  
“No matter the cost,” I said, my voice trembling, “you must save her. Do whatever it takes.”  
For the first time in years, I wasn’t speaking as a king but as a father. A father who had been given a second chance and would not lose it.  
Hours passed like years, but at last, the doctor returned with news.  
“She is stable,” he said with a tired smile. “The princess will recover, but it will take time. For now, you must rest and allow her to heal.”  
I nodded, though I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side. My heart ached with relief, gratitude, and a lingering fear that this was all too fragile.  
I thought of my wife and was grateful I hadn’t told her yet. The news would overwhelm her, as it had overwhelmed me. For years, she had lived with the guilt of losing our daughter, unable to forgive herself.  
Now, perhaps, we would all have the chance to heal.

**Thelma Zane’s POV**  
A searing pain throbbed in my head, pulling me out of unconsciousness. I tried to open my eyes, but the effort was futile. All I could see was an oppressive black void. Panic began to creep in, the sensation of helplessness wrapping itself tightly around me.  
Had I hit my head against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the fall had left me blinded. The thought lingered, conjuring images of Benard’s mocking expression if he saw me like this—broken and pathetic.  
As I lay still, I became faintly aware of muffled voices around me. They swirled together, incomprehensible snippets of urgency: “She’s awake!” and “Inform the others!” The noise grew louder, pressing against my already pounding head.  
"Quiet!" I croaked, my voice hoarse but commanding enough to silence the commotion.  
The abrupt stillness was a small comfort, and I slipped back into unconsciousness, exhaustion overtaking me.  
When I awoke again, the pain wa

Chapter 5: The Awakening