The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 209

Lyra

The instant my gaze meets his, something deep inside me shifts and rearranges itself around a truth I had never anticipated confronting. The legendary silver thread of true mates ignites between us like a living flame, pulsing with such fierce recognition that it nearly brings me to my knees.

My basket slips from my grasp, precious dream flowers spilling onto the forest floor like scattered jewels. I rise shakily, unable to tear my eyes away from the man standing at the edge of the clearing. Even stripped of his royal finery, I would recognize him anywhere—the violet eyes that bear the mark of his lineage, the commanding aura that no simple clothes could ever hide. Prince Alexander, heir to the throne, son of the king whose ancestors hunted my people almost to extinction.

My true mate.

“It’s you,” he murmurs, his voice carrying softly but clearly across the quiet clearing.

I find myself frozen, unable to speak or move. Every instinct within me pulls me forward toward him, yet every rational thought screams danger. The mate bond hums between us, demanding acknowledgment, completion. My healing power stirs on its own, reaching out to his, recognizing its match.

“Who are you?” he asks cautiously, stepping forward with measured care.

Suddenly, another man appears behind him—tall, alert, his hand instinctively moving toward his sword’s hilt the moment he spots me. The prince waves him back with a calm gesture but never takes his eyes off me.

“My name is Lyra,” I finally manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel inside.

“Lyra,” he repeats, as if tasting the name. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” I cut in, gathering my scattered thoughts. “Prince Alexander.”

His companion makes a sharp noise of warning, but Alexander silences him with a raised hand. “We’re not here officially,” he explains, his gaze locked on mine. “We’re investigating reports of strangers in these woods, asking questions about healing bloodlines.”

Surprise must be written all over my face because he quickly adds, “Not to hunt them—only to understand why someone else is.”

The coincidence is too striking to ignore. “I was investigating those same strangers,” I admit, deciding honesty is my best course. “They’ve been mapping locations, searching for information about healers.”

“You’re not surprised such hidden healing communities exist?” he observes.

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. The mate bond pulses insistently between us, urging trust, but generations of survival instinct cannot be silenced so easily.

“I’ve heard stories,” I say cautiously.

A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “As have I. Though perhaps from different perspectives.”

He steps closer, and the bond flares brighter, almost unbearably so. I fight the urge to close the distance, to reach out and complete what fate has begun. Behind him, his companion—his Beta, I realize, understanding the subtle dynamics between them—watches us with growing concern.

“You’re one of them,” Alexander says softly. “A healer.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “And you’re the son of a king whose subjects want my kind controlled, if not wiped out.”

Pain flashes across his face. “My mother is of healing blood. I carry that legacy myself.”

“The exception that proves the rule,” I reply bitterly. “One healer accepted because she was the king’s true mate. The rest still hide, still fear discovery.”

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