A Slap to Remember

Valerie POV

The Lycan King.

Those words echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull until they felt like a physical weight. The ruler of all werewolves. The man who sat on a throne made of bones and legends, the most powerful being in existence after the Moon Goddess herself. He was a ruthless, heartless monster cursed with immortality, a shadow that rarely left his own frozen territories.

And he was my mate.

If I hadn't been so overwhelmed by the sudden, frantic intruder screaming in my head, I might have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. But the voice in my mind wasn’t laughing. It was moaning like a dog in heat, a primal, desperate sound that made my skin flush with a heat I couldn't control.

*“Mate! Mate! Mate! Yay! We finally found him! Oh my Goddess, Valerie, look at him! I love you so much, Moon Goddess, thank you! He’s so fucking hot. Look at those shoulders, look at that jawline. I can’t believe he’s ours! Bite us! Please, make him bite us right now!”*

I wanted to scream. I wanted to reach into my own brain and pull out whatever was making that embarrassing noise. My life had become a chaotic whirlwind in the span of an hour. First, I had been yanked back from the cold embrace of death and dumped into the past—back to the very day I was supposed to marry that traitorous bastard, Declan. Second, I was hearing voices, which usually meant a one-way trip to a padded cell.

And third...

I swallowed hard, my eyes locked onto the man standing inches from me. He was breathtaking in a way that felt dangerous, like staring directly at a solar eclipse. His features were carved from granite, cold and perfect, and his eyes—a piercing, unnatural silver—seemed to see through my skin, through my bones, and straight into the wreckage of my soul.

The Lycan King. My mate.

My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might actually crack a bone. My palms were flat against his chest, intended to push him away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn't budge an inch. His muscles were dense and hard, radiating a terrifying amount of heat that seeped through my gloves and into my veins.

The entire hall had fallen into a silence so thick it felt suffocating. The air was charged with a tension that tasted like ozone. Everyone—the guests, the elders, the warriors—was staring at him as if they were looking at a ghost. Or a god.

I managed to tear my gaze away from him for a split second, looking toward the high table. My father, Alpha Evander, was frozen. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes bulging in sheer disbelief as he pointed a trembling finger at the King. He looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.

*Help,* I mouthed at him. *Help me.*

My father blinked, snapping out of his stupor. He started to rise, his face pale, but before he could utter a single word, a voice like a thunderclap shattered the silence.

“Bow to the King!”

The command came from a black-haired man standing in the center of the aisle—the King’s Beta, no doubt. His eyes were sharp, scanning the room with predatory intent.

“Show your respect to the Lycan King!” he roared.

“Oh my Goddess, it’s really him,” someone gasped from the crowd.

The reaction was instantaneous. Like a wave of falling dominoes, every person in the hall dropped to the ground. The sound of hundreds of knees hitting the floor echoed like a muffled drumbeat. Alphas of the strongest packs, men who had spent their lives demanding respect, now shuddered as they pressed their foreheads to the carpet.

I watched, my breath hitching, as even my father followed suit. And then there was Declan. My "fiancé." The man who had murdered me in my previous life. His face, which had been twisted in a mask of possessive fury only moments ago, was now a portrait of raw, unadulterated terror. He fell to his knees so fast he nearly stumbled, his head bowed low, his body trembling as if he were standing in a blizzard.

The sight should have been satisfying, but I was too focused on the man who still held me. Every single person in this room had submitted, yet I was still standing, held upright by the King’s iron grip.

In my past life, the Lycan King was a myth. He stayed in his northern fortress, untouchable and isolated. He had never appeared at weddings. He had never interfered in the politics of the southern packs. So why now? Why was everything different this time? Was it because I had come back?

My thoughts were cut short when the King moved. He didn't speak. He leaned in, his movement slow and deliberate. His breath fanned over my skin, hot and smelling of mint and something dark, something ancient. He lowered his head toward my neck, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear.

And then, he sniffed me.

*Thump. Thump.*

My pulse went wild. The sensation of his nose against my skin sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. It wasn't just a scent; it was a claim.

*“Fuck! He smells like the forest after a storm. Valerie, I can’t take it. Do you think he’ll mark us? He has to mark us! Look at him, he’s perfect!”*

I inhaled a shaky breath. *Mark us?* The voice in my head—it was my wolf. I finally had a wolf. In my first life, I had been a "late bloomer" who never bloomed. I had been the shame of my pack, the wolfless daughter of an Alpha. But now, she was here, and she was absolutely feral for the man currently inhaling my scent.

His nose trailed down to the crook of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin. My body betrayed me instantly. My knees went weak, and I found myself wanting to tilt my head back, to offer him more access, to let him sink his teeth into my flesh and claim me right there in front of the bowing masses.

“This is impossible,” the King finally muttered.

His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against my skin. He pulled away, his silver eyes locking onto mine again. The intensity was still there, but the heat had vanished, replaced by a flash of disbelief. And then, something far worse.

Disgust.

“My mate?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he were trying to convince himself of a lie. “There is no way this is possible.”

He looked at me as if I were something he’d stepped in—something insignificant and broken.

Around us, the whispers started. The werewolves on the floor couldn't help themselves; their curiosity was overbearing their fear.

“Mate? The wolfless daughter of Alpha Evander is the King’s mate?”

“Is she a second chance mate? But the King has never had a mate at all!”

“Look at her… she doesn’t even have a scent of her own. She’s useless.”

The whispers stung, but it was the look in the King’s eyes that truly ignited the fire in my gut. Disgust. He was rejecting the bond before it had even begun because of what he thought I was. He saw a weak, powerless girl in a white dress, not the woman who had already lived through a massacre and come back for blood.

My eyes darted to Declan. He was still on his knees, but his hands were secretly reaching out, grasping Lydia’s hand where she knelt beside him. They thought they were being discreet. They thought I was too distracted by the King to notice.

Rage, cold and sharp, flooded my system. The memory of my death—of Declan’s laughter, of Lydia’s sneer, of my father’s blood on the floor—washed over me. I hadn't been reincarnated to be some King’s disappointment. I hadn't been brought back to be an "inconvenience."

I was here for vengeance.

I didn't care if he was the Lycan King. I didn't care if his aura was currently trying to crush the soul out of everyone in the room. I reached up and placed my hands firmly against his chest, meeting his silver gaze with a defiance that made his eyes widen slightly.

“You are right, my King,” I said. I meant to whisper it, but my voice carried through the silent hall, clear and sharp. “This is a mistake. A massive one. So, if you’re quite finished with your assessment, would you mind letting go of me? I was in the middle of something before you decided to interrupt.”

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. People actually lifted their heads, risking the King’s wrath just to see the girl who had the audacity to speak to him like he was an annoying houseguest.

The King’s expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed. He was studying me now, looking for the fear that should have been there. He was looking for the submissive she-wolf who should have been groveling at his feet. He didn't find her.

I puffed out my chest, refusing to blink. “Would you please. Let. Me. Go.”

For a heartbeat, I thought he might snap my neck. Then, slowly, his fingers uncurled from my waist. He took a deliberate step back, his presence still looming like a shadow, but the physical contact was broken.

My body screamed at the loss of his touch. My wolf let out a dejected whimper, but I shut her out. I turned my back on the Lycan King, ignoring the fact that I was likely the first person in a century to do so and live.

I turned my focus exactly where it belonged: Declan.

The "groom" was still on his knees, looking back and forth between me and the King with a mixture of confusion and growing greed. He saw a chance to climb even higher. If his "fiancée" was the King’s mate, what did that make him?

He stood up, brushing off his suit, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. He stepped toward me, his face softening into that fake, manipulative look I had once been stupid enough to love.

“Valerie… baby,” he started, his voice dripping with false concern. “What is wrong? You’re acting so strange. The King… he must have confused you.”

He reached out for me, his fingers closing in on my arm.

The moment he touched me, something snapped. It wasn't the bond with the King—it was the memory of the knife in my back.

I didn't think. I reacted.

*WHACK.*

The sound of my hand connecting with his face was like a gunshot. I put every ounce of my rage, every bit of my past life’s suffering, into that swing.

Declan’s head snapped to the side. He staggered back, his hand flying to his cheek as his eyes went wide with shock. The entire room was paralyzed. You could have heard a pin drop on the other side of the pack lands.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘baby,’ you bastard,” I hissed, my voice trembling with a fury that felt like liquid fire. “Not after what you’ve done!”

Declan blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to play the victim. He looked around the room, seeking support, but everyone was too terrified of the King—who was still standing right behind me—to move.

“Baby, what are you talking about?” Declan stammered, his voice rising in fake desperation. “What did I do? I love you! Today is our wedding!”

He tried to step closer again, his hand reaching out as if to soothe a frightened animal.

I stepped into his space, my eyes boring into his. The stench of his betrayal was more sickening than any scent in the room.

“What did you do?” I repeated, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “How dare you ask me that, when you already have a mate?!”