They speak of love in three distinct forms.

The love you'd take a life for.

The love you'd give your own life for.

And the love you'd sacrifice everything to keep alive.

Yet, a cursed soul like mine was never meant to embrace any of these in my tale of love. My heart is a barren wasteland of emotions, and the mere mention of love grates on my nerves, setting off a seething anger that churns my stomach until I feel sick.

How can people willingly surrender to love when it holds the power to shatter them in an instant?

In this world, love should be banished, and that's precisely what I intend to do once I ascend to the throne as the Lycan king. I'll fashion a realm where romance, and all its kin, are outlawed, with death as the consequence.

Love had wrought havoc upon me, leaving me broken into irreparable shards. Its agony is all-encompassing, akin to an unending, relentless fire that burns without consuming, leaving you perpetually tormented.

Damn it!

I'm a freak of nature. My life unfolded as I watched two of my mates perish in my arms at the hands of my savage, cursed beast. For three years, beginning when I turned 20, and continuing now at 23, I've been a serial killer of my own mates. A hidden curse has transformed me into a monstrous executioner.

During every full moon, I morph into a ferocious creature under the control of my Lycan beastly form, and I relentlessly pursue my mate like a hunted prey. I revert to my normal state only after I've committed the gruesome act, consuming her heart. It's a horrifying ordeal, for I remain fully aware of my actions, haunted by her screams, cries, and pleas that never fade from my memory.

The ghastly specters of their horrific deaths linger, a relentless torment. The vivid memories of tearing their flesh and plucking out their eyes replay in my mind, serving as a grim reminder that I am a heartless murderer, compelled to destroy the mate who once ignited love within my cold heart, each full moon of the year.

The moon goddess was well aware of the curse that plagued me, and yet, she continued to bind me to my fated mates. I resented her for this cruel twist of fate. These radiant young women entered my life like a breath of fresh air, a momentary respite in the midst of life's tempest, a brief light that brightened my world and made me feel almost normal. But it always ended within a year, for I would inevitably become their assassin, no matter how they sought refuge.

During those three dreaded full moon nights each year, I would be confined to a cave, bound and chained, forced to endure the most excruciating torment of my existence. My body would transform into the ferocious form of my Lycan beast, and I would feel as though I were consumed by agonizing flames. Yet, one way or another, I would break free and track down my mate, for her death was the only way I could return to my human state.

This must be one of the most wretched ways to exist. After having taken the lives of three fated mates, I noticed a terrifying transformation within myself. I had become extraordinarily powerful, yet I had also become a relentless force of destruction, a cruel entity devoid of compassion.

Love had become a mocking word that echoed in my ears. I could vividly recall killing couples simply for sharing a kiss. I resided in the abyss of my own dark heart, devoid of the emotions that others took for granted. Not even intimacy could provide solace. My parents feared me, and they struggled to remain near me, but I had never desired close company. I loathed being around people, as their gazes served as constant reminders of my heartlessness and malevolence.

The only purpose I served in the kingdom was on the battlefield, where I harnessed my formidable powers to vanquish our foes, sparing our warriors the effort. However, my brutal methods left a gruesome aftermath that haunted the memories of all who witnessed it.

Now, another year had begun, and the impending full moon approached. It marked yet another year of facing the most agonizing moment of my life when I encountered the beautiful, innocent girl who would ignite a profound and overwhelming love within me, only to meet her grisly end at my hands.

Can you fathom the kind of existence I lead? Do you understand how terrifying it has become? Everyone flees from me, and now parents in the kingdom conceal their daughters from my sight, for if the mate bond ever connected me to one of them, her fate was sealed. I was a curse that should have never been unleashed upon the world.

I am Atticus Wagner, the Lycan prince of the Mystic Shadow Pack. At 23 years old, I am on the verge of turning 24, marking the fourth year of this nightmarish existence. I can't help but wonder whose turn it will be this time.

A knock abruptly interrupted my thoughts, and I swiftly turned to face the source of the sound.

"Son, please, we need your presence in the palace," my mother's voice quivered as she entered. I couldn't blame her; my anger issues had become increasingly uncontrollable.

"Tell me why," I responded bluntly, inwardly chastising myself for my harsh tone with my mother. I could still recall the days when I was a normal young man, and those twenty years felt like precious memories that taunted me when I realized they were gone forever. It was as though I could never return to my old self. Now, I was a freak feared by everyone.

"We've summoned a powerful sorcerer who has promised to find a way to rid you of the curse," she explained briefly, her voice trembling with nervousness.

"Okay," I shrugged, and the next thing I heard was the rapid retreat of her footsteps as I rose from my bed. She must have been trying to put some distance between us.

It was morning, and I had already finished cleaning up, so I simply threw on a red robe over the shorts and singlet I was wearing before heading out.

Many sorcerers had come and gone, each with their futile suggestions. It seemed like they were all just trying to extort money from my father.

Let's see what this one has to say. I hoped I wouldn't lose my temper and slit his throat, as all these fake magicians seemed to be trying to exploit my father's desperation.

As I stepped out of my room, the guards in the hallway immediately bowed, and with each step I took toward them, their legs trembled instinctively. None dared to meet my gaze.

Ignoring them all, I descended to the second floor, where the palace was located. The door was opened for me, and my presence cast a tense atmosphere over the room. Elders and my parents were present, and the sorcerer in crimson robes sat on the floor in the center with his magical tools and paraphernalia.

Without uttering a word, I made my way to the lower throne beside my father and settled in, causing a collective sweat to break out and lumps to form in their throats.

My father cleared his throat and began.

"Please, proceed," my father gestured to the sorcerer, who nodded in acknowledgment before shifting his gaze towards me. He appeared to be an elderly man with a snowy white beard. His eyes bore an unsettling crimson hue, reminiscent of a wild beast, and his fingers bore a collection of ornate rings. I struggled to find a suitable comparison; he simply looked distinct from the other visitors.

In many ways, he resembled an ancient shifter.

Perhaps he held the answers I sought.

"Your parents didn't summon me as they did with the other sorcerers or magicians. I embarked on a long journey to be here, to share the truth before my time is up," he began, and I sneered, wondering why anyone would care about what he had to say.

"Whether you came on your own or at their behest, it matters little to me. Say what you came to say and be gone before I lose my patience!" I snapped, my irritation mounting, and he offered a weak smile.

"There are three types of love, but the most powerful is the kind for which you're willing to live, even if it means accepting the possibility of dying and never seeing your beloved again. You will meet her soon, and she will be the one," he continued, his eyes fixed on mine as he beamed. Instantly, I felt an overwhelming surge of irritation. Who cared about love?

"Can you please leave now before I do something we'll all regret?" I growled, my heart heavy with anger and disgust. The mere mention of the word 'love,' which I despised with every fiber of my being, had the potential to set me off. I didn't care if he had anything else to say; in my eyes, he had nothing but gibberish and utter nonsense to offer.

"I cannot say more. Just know that she will be the one to make you fall in..." He began, but paused, sensing the fury in my eyes. He then smiled at me, and then at my father and mother, before gathering his belongings and taking his leave.

"So, is this the nonsense that brought me here?" I demanded of my mother, who remained silent.

"Don't you think he meant your next mate will break the curse?" My father blurted out, and before I could restrain myself, my hand shot up with a heavy punch aimed at his face. However, one of the guards reacted swiftly, shielding him, and to my astonishment, he collapsed as my blow landed on his chest.

Wide eyes met my shocked gaze, including my own. Had I just nearly killed my own father?

"You shouldn't say that to my face, you know!" I growled, dropping my hand and staring at the unconscious body of the bodyguard. An inner turmoil raged within me, as my inner demonic wolf nearly seized control. The word "mate" was a nightmarish trigger for me, and I loathed hearing it.

"You nearly killed me!!" my father exclaimed in terror, and a sharp pang of guilt shot through me, especially when my mother began to weep.

Just then, a group of young women rushed into the palace, but the moment they saw me, they sprinted away in sheer terror.

"I think it's time to face the reality of leaving this kingdom. I don't belong here. I've taken many lives, and the punishment is banishment, which you couldn't bring yourself to impose because you were afraid of me, Dad. Please, arrange for my exile before I harm more of my own people. It's time to live among the werewolves instead," I spoke, and relief washed over their faces.

It was evident that everyone desired my absence from their lives and from the Kingdom, even though I was the designated heir to the throne. It seemed that I was never meant to be with my own people, as I am a freak.

Hattie's POV

My head throbbed with pain as my hand flailed about, desperately trying to silence the blaring alarm beside my bed. My heavy eyelids reluctantly fluttered open, and I grumbled angrily under my breath. The intrusive noise had yanked me from my slumber so abruptly that I lunged at the accursed device, shutting it off with more force than necessary, as if it were the root cause of my troubles. I yearned to smash it against the floor, but I knew all too well the consequences that would follow such an act.

My bleary eyes traced the room's walls to the slightly ajar window, revealing the first light of dawn. It was far too early for anyone to be up except for me. An audible hiss escaped my lips as I lowered my head, weighed down by the heavy heartache that had gripped me. A surge of both anger and sorrow coursed through my veins, and I battled to hold back tears.

Although it had been just a couple of hours since I had gone to bed, it felt as if mere seconds had passed, given the fatigue that had settled in my bones. I sat on the edge of my bed, leaning against the wall, and yawned repeatedly, rubbing my eyes.

My body protested every movement, yearning for nothing more than to return to the welcoming embrace of sleep. I was too feeble to extricate myself from the bed's gravitational pull. The house was eerily silent, as if it were uninhabited, but appearances were deceiving; everyone else was sound asleep. They were all enjoying their rest while I had been roused at this ungodly hour to tend to household chores, despite being the last to retire for the night.

Another yawn escaped me, and I stretched, wincing as the welts from the previous day's lashings on my upper arms and back throbbed with a fiery sensation. My eyes flicked toward the clock, and I gritted my teeth. It had been over a minute since the alarm had gone off, and I dared not linger in bed, lest I incur the wrath of my stepmother and face a beating for my perceived laziness and disobedience.

The thought of enduring another round of physical punishment, on top of the torment I had suffered the previous day, spurred me into action. Hot tears welled up in my eyes as a pounding headache assaulted me.

My legs ached with sharp spasms, serving as a painful reminder of my frail health. Every inch of my body pleaded for rest, but I knew that was a luxury I couldn't afford. I felt groggy and weighed down, my scrawny legs struggling to support me, while the bed seemed to leer at me, a menacing trap ready to ensnare me.

I sensed my heavy-lidded eyes fighting to close as I grappled to keep them open, caught between exhaustion and the urge to surrender to sleep. All I longed for was the solace of my bed, but I knew better. I was acutely aware of the torment I would invite if I dared to lie down and doze off after the alarm had sounded. The last time I had attempted such defiance, I had been left with an indelible scar on my back from the slash of my stepmother's wolf's claw.

You might be wondering who I am and what I could have done to endure all this suffering. Allow me to introduce myself.

I am Hattie Goleman, the daughter of Alpha King Hugo Goleman, one of the most formidable and feared Alphas among all the packs.

History held a chilling account of his unparalleled military prowess, where victory was a constant companion, and the very pack responsible for his parents' tragic demise during his childhood had met its end at his hands. His growth was marked by an astounding surge in power, rendering him an unstoppable force on the battlefield.

The origins of his enigmatic abilities remained a mystery to all, shrouded in obscurity. His combat skills were as swift as the wind and as elusive as unseen phantoms. His wolf, an embodiment of terror, was infamous for its unrelenting brutality, consuming adversaries with ruthless efficiency.

One would expect that being the sole offspring of his Luna should have bestowed upon me reverence and awe for the rest of my days. However, my fate diverged dramatically from that expected trajectory. Instead, I found myself relegated to the status of a slave, scorned and loathed by everyone, forbidden from mentioning the Alpha as my father or appending his surname to my own.

Inexplicably, I was cast out and stripped of my royal heritage, reduced to a status beneath even the omegas. My father, too, had turned his back on me, publicly disowning me in front of the entire pack, threatening my expulsion. He subjected me to relentless torment, turning my life into a never-ending nightmare. All of this was the consequence of an unimaginable and horrific act I had committed.

I had murdered his mate, the Luna, my own mother. But it had been an act born out of sheer survival. It transpired three years ago when I was a mere 15 years old.