The Lycan King and His Mysterious Luna (eBook)

A Secret Baby Rejected Mate Billionaire Werewolf Romance

Isaac Freddie (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
225 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-110727-4 (ISBN)

Infos

He's the Lycan King of a global tech empire-ruthless, untouchable, feared by wolves and humans alike.
She's the human strategist hired to save his company from corporate war and scandal.
They should never have met again.

But when Jessica Hinton steps into Kameron Atkins' boardroom, one glance at the crescent mark on her neck shatters his unbreakable control. Memories he's tried to bury claw back to life-
a burning forest, a stolen newborn's cry,
and the woman he loved as she died in his arms.

Because Jessica isn't just a brilliant partner or forbidden desire-
she is his fated mate reborn.
And the unborn baby she secretly carries is a miracle the supernatural world will kill to erase... again.

As jealous wolves plot to expose her and a sentient AI forged from prophecy glitches with the cries of their first child's soul, Kameron faces the truth he once ran from:

He cannot protect Jessica by pushing her away.
He can only save her by claiming her-
as Luna, as queen... as the heartbeat he refuses to lose twice.

Their love ignited a war in another lifetime.
This time, they'll burn the world before letting destiny tear them apart.

Perfect for fans of high-stakes fated mates, second-chance soulmates, billionaire alpha tension, and secret baby danger so intense it claws through time itself.

The moon remembers their tragedy.
This lifetime, it demands their victory.

Textauszug

Prologue

Run.

The command slams through the king’s mind before anyone speaks, before the first accusation leaves an elder’s mouth. His lungs tighten as if they already hold smoke, even though the air in the clearing is still clean—heavy only with damp earth, pine resin, and the metallic edge of too many wolves gathered in one place.

He tightens his hold on the bundle in his arms instead.

The baby shifts, soft and warm, a tiny fist pushing free of the linen wrap. Eyes open—silver shot with gold, bright as starlight spilled into flesh. The sight steadies him for a breath.

“She is not one of us,” an elder snarls, voice roughened by age and authority. The words shake the half-circle of wolves, men and women in partial shift, claws digging into soil, teeth showing in mouths that still look almost human. Torches spit and crackle in their hands, orange light licking at the edges of fur and leather.

The king draws himself up. His shoulders ache from battles, from years of carrying a crown that is teeth and iron rather than gold. Tonight it feels heavier than ever.

“She is my mate,” he answers, each word a stone laid between him and the madness rolling through the pack. “This child is mine. That makes them ours. You will stand down.”

Beside him, his Luna steps forward so she’s at his side, not behind him. Her hair falls in dark waves down her back, lit from behind by the swollen blood moon hanging low over the treetops. To them, she is the problem: too soft-featured, too unmarked by the full-blood lines that trace back through generations of wolves. To him, she is the only thing that ever made power feel like more than a prison.

She doesn’t look afraid. That terrifies him more than the row of torches.

“We were blessed,” she says, voice clear enough to carry to the outer ring of younger wolves who are watching with wide eyes. “By the goddess herself. You saw the mark at the birth.”

“She saw what she wanted to see,” another elder spits. His eyes glow faintly amber, wolf too close to the surface. “The bond you forced on us is a threat. You bound a stranger to our lines. You brought in something… wrong. Look at it.”

The king lowers his gaze to the baby again, cradling the small body closer. The child’s scent is new life and milk and the faintest trace of wild power that makes his own wolf stretch inside his ribs in recognition. There is nothing wrong here. There is only possibility.

“Look,” the elder insists.

The pack’s front rank shifts, leather creaking, claws flexing. Some have already chosen a side. Too many have not.

The Luna steps closer to her child, fingers brushing the king’s arm. Her touch calms the beast in him as it always has. Her eyes burn dark, defiant.

“If you feared the prophecy,” she says, “you should have killed me before I carried the heir.”

He jerks at the bluntness of it. “Don’t.”

“It’s the truth,” she murmurs. “They never wanted me. They only tolerated me because you would not bend.”

He wants to tell her that’s not true, that time would have softened them, that power and results would have silenced doubt. But the torches answer for him. Flames sway, eager as tongues.

An elder woman steps forward, the oldest among them, skin mapped with age, eyes like dull coins. “We begged you to take a wolf-blood Luna,” she says. “One of us. This… union… bends too many laws. You called it love. We call it hubris. The omen at the child’s birth proves it.”

The king grits his teeth. “The omen was a blessing. The moon doubled itself in the sky. You saw it. Two lights. Two chances.”

“Two warnings,” the elder snaps. “The child is a bridge. Bridges can be crossed both ways. You would link us to what should remain separate. That is why the forest burned in the seer’s vision. That is what we are here to prevent.”

Torches shift. Heat brushes the king’s face, not yet dangerous, but hungry.

His wolf presses harder under his skin, aching to shift fully, to throw his head back and call the pack to heel. That might work with dissent. It will not work against fear.

“She carries our blood,” he says, forcing himself to keep his voice level, kingly. “The child bears my mark. If the goddess wished to punish us, she would not have let this life take root.”

“Or she put the blade in your arms so we would not hesitate,” the elder replies. “No throne is worth extinction, my king. Hand the child to us. We will end this quickly. Take your Luna, leave this place, and our lines might yet survive.”

For a heartbeat, the clearing holds its breath.

The idea is a wound. Hand over his child. Walk away. Pretend he never felt that first tiny heartbeat against his palm. Pretend he doesn’t wake in the night clinging to his Luna, shaking from dreams he never speaks aloud.

His wolf answers first. A low, dangerous sound rumbles up from his chest.

“No.”

The elder sighs, as if he’s a stubborn boy again, not the king who led them through wars. “You leave us no choice.”

“Choice?” His voice breaks out sharper than he intends. “You think you have a right to this choice?”

He steps forward, the baby still in his arms, and the pack surges back at the intensity in his gaze. For a moment, he sees what they see: a man with moon-madness, clutching a child the seer called a hinge between worlds.

“The only ones who get to choose anything for this child,” he says, low and lethal, “are me and my Luna. You will not—”

A torch flies.

He doesn’t see who throws it. He only sees the arc of flame against the dark, the accidental grace of it, the way the unborn fire seems to smile as it sails past him.

It lands in the dry underbrush at the edge of the clearing. Leaves hiss. Sap pops. Heat rolls out in a wave.

He hears his Luna swear under her breath. Another torch follows the first, wilder, thrown not in warning but in panic. It misses the brush and hits a trunk, fire licking up the bark. Sparks leap to low branches. Dry needles glow and catch.

“Stop!” he roars, but his command arrives too late. Fear has no master tonight.

Wolves shift fully now, bones reshaping with wet cracks. Some leap back from the growing wall of flame that begins to curl around the edge of the clearing. Others move forward, drawn into frenzy, hackles high.

The baby in his arms senses the change. A thin wail edges out of that small chest—a fragile, frightened sound that spears through him more deeply than any blade.

He turns to his Luna. “We have to move. Now.”

Her face, usually so composed, has gone stark white. Smoke snags at the ends of her hair. Heat flashes across her cheekbones. Her eyes, though, are steady.

“They won’t let us leave,” she says.

“We are king and Luna.”

“We are a problem they have decided to solve.”

Her gaze flicks to the elders. Some look sick, torn. Others look grimly resolved. The oldest woman still stands at the front, torch in hand, its light casting her features in harsh relief. Her fingers tremble. For all her certainty, she is not untouched by doubt.

“If you step away from the circle,” the elder says, her voice raised over the crackle of flames, “you will be hunted, both of you. The child will be taken either way. Do not make us do this hard.”

The king tightens his grip on the baby, who is crying harder now, tiny face scrunched, lungs fighting to drag something other than smoke into a brand-new body. He can feel the small heart hammering under his palm. This is what he would hand over to them. This is what they call a threat.

His wolf surges, breaking past his last restraint.

“Then you will hunt,” he growls, voice roughening, bones beginning to shift, “and you will fail.”

He thrusts the baby into his Luna’s arms. “Stay behind me. When I move, you run for the river path.”

“You’ll be cut off.”

“I’m faster.”

Her eyes flash. “I’m not leaving you.”

“This time you will.” The words slip out before he can catch them, wrong and too loaded. This time. As if there were another. As if some part of him already remembers losing her in another life he’s not supposed to know.

She hears it too. A question glints in her gaze, quick and sharp, but there is no time to give it shape.

The nearest wolves lunge.

He shifts fully in a heartbeat, muscle and bone stretching into his larger form, claws tearing furrows in the dirt. The ground feels different under paws than under boots, more honest. Heat batters his fur, but his wolf relishes the burn.

He launches himself at the first attacker, jaws closing around a shoulder, tasting fur, blood, and the bitter tang of betrayal. The wolf yelps and goes down. Another takes its place. Claws rake his flank. He barely feels it.

Behind him, his Luna runs.

He hears her feet pounding the earth, the baby’s cry thin against the roar of fire and snarls. He fights toward the river path, trying to carve a corridor through bodies that used to be his. Each impact is a memory he wishes he didn’t have: a shared hunt, a training session, a laugh around a fire. All burned away now.

“Stop him!” someone screams. “Do not let the child leave!”

They come harder after that.

He loses track of time in a blur of teeth and heat. Smoke thickens, scratching his throat, obscuring shapes. Flames climb trees, fall in bright sheets when branches collapse, sending sparks shooting into the air like demented stars.

A body slams into...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.11.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-110727-5 / 0001107275
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-110727-4 / 9780001107274