Chosen By The Lycan King

Juliet POV

Fire. It felt like liquid fire was being injected directly into my veins.

The agonizing burn of Silver tearing through flesh is something no werewolf can endure, let alone a frail, sixteen-year-old girl deemed a wolfless disgrace. The original owner of this broken body had already succumbed to the excruciating pain, her soul shattered by the Silver-laced whip.

But I was not her. I was a top-tier trauma surgeon and a covert operative in my past life. I had survived interrogations that would break grown men. As my consciousness violently fused with this battered shell, a flood of pathetic memories assaulted my brain.

A drunken pact made by my father, Alpha Harold, promising his favorite daughter, Charlize, to the crippled and notoriously cruel Prince Bryce. Charlize’s tearful refusal. Her running to her secret lover, the arrogant Alpha Heir Braydon, twisting the truth to make me the sacrificial lamb.

I gasped, my lungs screaming as I tasted the metallic tang of my own blood against the freezing stone of the Packhouse courtyard.

*Smack!*

A heavy hand struck my cheek, snapping my head to the side.

"Stop playing dead, you wolfless trash," a male voice snarled.

I forced my heavy eyelids open. Standing over me was Braydon Scott, his handsome face twisted in a mask of disgust. Before I could even brace myself, his expensive leather shoe slammed into my chest, stealing the little breath I had left.

"Braydon, please, don't hit my sister anymore," a sickeningly sweet voice pleaded from behind him.

Charlize. She stepped forward, her cloying rose scent suffocating me. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll, her eyes brimming with fake tears. "She just doesn't understand her duty to the Palmer Pack. She’s terrified of Prince Bryce."

I coughed, spitting a glob of dark blood onto the pristine toe of Braydon's shoe. I glared up at my half-sister, my eyes devoid of the fear she expected.