The Lycans Curse by Xiaochun22 epub vk download

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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Lyra’s POV

“You’re hurtIng me,” I whIsper, my voice hoarse and splintered.

Jack doesn’t look at me.

“Good,” he mutters, and yanks harder.

My knees slam Into jagged stone. Pain explodes up my legs, but It’s nothIng compared to the fIre tearIng across my scalp as he drags me by the haIr. My skIn scrapes agaInst the cold floor—stone soaked In blood, filth, and ancIent cruelty.

I try not to cry. Goddess, I try.

But the tears come anyway—hot, angry, useless. They fall silently, mingling wIth the crimson dripping from my legs. I want to fight. To bite. To shift.

But I can’t.

The silver shackles around my wrists burn wIth every breath I take, dulling my senses, robbIng me of strength. Of Identity. Of everything that made me wolf.

And through the haze of paIn, one question claws at the back of my mind:

How did I become a prisoner in the kingdom I once called home?

“I was just tryIng to find her. Just trying to bring her home before they did.”

Three years. That’s how long I’ve chased ghosts.

I’ve crossed abandoned villages, picked through burnt-out rogue dens, bribed traders, snuck through borders, even stood in the ruins of temples older than memory. All to find her.

Lira.

My twin. My mirror. My mistake.

I used to believe I’d feel her before I saw her—that some invisible thread would tug at my chest and say she’s here. But the truth is quieter, crueler. Each dead end stung worse than the last.

Until I found Jack.

He said he knew something. Said he could help. And for a while, I believed him. I wanted to. His voice was steady, his eyes kind—too kind. I mistook his silence for safety. I mistook him for hope.

Now he’s dragging me like garbage toward my execution.

And still—still—I think about her.

Where she is.

Who she’s become.

We were born cursed.

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