S. Yule - Lycan It

He fought the pack with the ferocity born of years of abuse and anger that tore at him. He’d never agreed on the brutal beliefs of his pack, but hadn’t been strong enough to break free . . . until now. Or so he thought.

Last night, when Damon had dragged that poor woman in and used her in front of everyone while they laughed and egged him on, had been the last straw for Raze. The woman’s terrified screams still echoed in his mind. He’d no longer been able to fool himself into believing that he could continue to witness the ever increasing violence.

The pack had been singling out women with the mating scent for months now, and while he’d known it was wrong, he’d forced himself to turn a blind eye. Every potential mate had two scents—a main scent, which all lycans could smell, and a mated scent, which could only be detected by a fated mate.

The lycans were dying out, and every potential mate was crucial and sacred in playing a role to revive their race. The alpha male, Damon, had decided that those with the scent were marked for one thing only. Sex. Raze, on the other hand, felt differently. Those who carried the main scent were supposed to be protected until their true mate was found, not brutalized.

When he’d first been born, the pack had had their faults, could act unusually generous or unusually brutal at any given time. For the most part, he’d been on the latter end of their actions, but the violence had been at a minimum for the most part. Over the years, things had gotten out of control and the pack had lost all trace of morality, and did what they pleased to whomever they pleased.

When he’d walked away from the den only a few moments earlier, he’d had no intention of ever returning. Those plans had abruptly changed when Damon had stepped into his path. Now, Raze was fighting for his freedom, a fight he was likely to lose as more pack members joined in. He was a skilled fighter and size was on his side, but he was no match for this many lycans at once. You may win, but I’ll make sure you know I was here, you bastards.

His determination renewed by anger and desperation, adrenaline shot through him, and he shifted into full wolf form. He bit down hard on a leg that had been mistakenly put close to his mouth, and a yelp told him he’d at least taken one of his attackers down. It was a losing battle, for every time he’d throw one body from him, another would take its place. Before long, his strength began to ebb, exhaustion slipped deep into his bones, and blackness started closing in on him. The last thing he remembered before tumbling into unconsciousness was teeth clamping around his neck.

When Raze came to, he was lying flat on his back, and had no idea how long he’d been out. Minutes? Hours? Longer? He tried to move, but his entire body screamed in protest. He was back in human form, and most of the wounds inflicted by the pack had healed, but the injuries must have been severe for him to feel pain at all. His body felt as if it was weighted down with lead, and every muscle ached.

He took a few deep breaths and rolled to a sitting position. It was several moments before he realized that the sound of chains rattling came with his movement. He looked down, reached up to his throat, and fury pulsed through him. A thick, iron cuff hugged his neck. A chain ran from it to the wall behind him where it was bolted into the rock. Son of a bitch! Even if he changed, he wouldn’t be able to get free. He was such a large wolf when in his lycan form, the collar would likely choke him to death, a fact Damon exploited for this exact situation.

He was worse off now than before he’d tried to leave the pack. Now, he was the focus of attention, and he had no doubt that Damon would make an example of him. Raze could probably take the leader, but he’d then be required to take his place. He’d be able to do whatever he wished from then on, but the pack would follow him wherever he went until the day he died.

He didn’t want anything to do with the lycans he’d been raised with, much less be their leader. There was no possible way to reform the corruption Damon had caused amongst rogues. They were too far gone, and he had no desire to waste his time on an impossible mission.

Raze crouched into a fighter’s stance when Damon walked into the cave where he was being held. “Let me out of these chains,” Raze growled.

Damon smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile brought forth by happiness. It was the kind spawned by the knowledge that satisfaction would soon be gained by revenge. Damon steepled his fingers together and tapped the tips. “Hmm. Let me think for a moment. Um. No, I don’t think you will be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Just let me leave, Damon. I no longer wish to be part of this pack. That is my choice, and our race has always allowed each individual member that option. It is lycan law.” Raze glared at Damon with all the hate he’d developed for the man over the years.

“As you know, our pack does not abide by ancient, out-dated, preposterous rules. We do as we please, thus, you have no choice but to obey what we, or rather, I, decide. Fortunately for you, I am in a very forgiving mood after last night’s festivities, so your punishment will be seen by most as a reward.” Damon squatted and focused his eerie yellow eyes on Raze. “I, however, expect you to enjoy it even less than the normal punishment dealt in these situations.”

Raze didn’t have a clue as to what could be worse than being tortured, starved, and beaten for a month, which is what any other lycan had gotten that had tried to leave the pack. To make matters worse, the collar would not be removed for the entire punishment, therefore making it impossible to shift. A lycan could only heal injuries sustained in human form by changing into wolf form. Mathew had been the last to try to escape. He’d been worked over so badly he’d nearly died, and had become a recluse who barely spoke a word since.

“Let me go now, Damon, and I swear I will never set foot back here again. So help me God, if you don’t, I will kill you.” Raze clenched his jaw, and itched to wrench the bastard’s head from his body.

Damon snarled. “Do not threaten me. You will do as I say. I am the alpha male.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” Raze snarled back, and was pretty sure that, one day, he would carry his threat to kill Damon out because Damon had no intention of releasing him.

3

Janine hummed softly as she slid a tray of cupcakes into the oven. Her love for cooking and baking had started years ago as a teenager. It had been her own personal therapy when the world around her had become too stressful. Now, that simple action that had brought her so much peace during those trying high school years had become her passion.

Five years ago, she’d started a small cupcake business out of her home quite by accident. After years of baking more cupcakes than she could ever eat on her own, or should eat on her own, she’d started taking all her overflow to the local businesses, friends, neighbors and co-workers at the office where she’d once worked at. The smiles she’d brought to so many faces gave her much contentment. One day, a simple statement from her sister set her on the idea of baking for a living.

Sherry had always been her number one cupcake fan even if Janine had been a little envious of how her younger sister could scarf down more sweets than a college football team and still stay slim. Janine apparently didn’t get the coveted stay-skinny-while-I-stuff-my-face gene that had unmistakably come from their father’s side. Nope. Janine got the look-at-a-grape-and-gain-five-pounds gene.