His Soul Marked Luna

My mother, a dark witch driven mad by the abandonment of her werewolf mate, unleashed all her hatred for his kind on me.

She sealed my werewolf bloodline with a vicious death curse, stripping me of my scent and leaving me reeking like a worthless human. She branded my back with a pure silver whip, leaving scars that would never fade, and seared a chilling warning into my very soul: "If you even think about getting close to another werewolf, I will carve out his heart and feed it to the hounds."

To survive, I desperately pretended to be an invisible, useless outcast on the fringes of the pack, letting anyone bully me.

Until the pack's youngest, most bloodthirsty Alpha—Wesley—stopped before me during his patrol.

At his side stood Paige, his noble-blooded, intended Luna. But his eyes, glowing with an eerie green light, were locked on me, caked in filth.

Though I smelled of nothing but grime, the crazed, possessive growl of his wolf echoed deep in my soul.

He didn't know that the insignificant creature before him was the one who'd nearly died to save him.

For his sake, I could only shove him away with all my might each time he gave in to his obsessive pursuit. Then I would turn and retreat to the pure silver cellar my mother had made my prison.

But I underestimated the depths of an Alpha's obsession.

And I underestimated the storm that would be unleashed inside me when I saw him drenched in blood, all for me.

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1

"Useless! Can't you even hold a platter steady?"

A sharp piece of ceramic grazed my ankle, blood instantly seeping through my worn linen shoe.

I bit my lip, sinking to my knees to silently gather the shards. The heat from the bonfire baked my cheeks, but my blood ran cold.

The Thunderfang Pack's Full Moon Festival was underway.

The roaring bonfire licked at the night sky, and grease from roasting meat dripped onto the firewood, bursting into sparks. The nobles, dressed in luxurious fur robes, raised their ale and laughed loudly.

And I, in a threadbare linen dress, scurried among them like an invisible mouse, clearing away their leftovers.

"Emilia, hurry up," the steward's voice barked from behind me. "The nobles are waiting for more ale."

I nodded and picked up my tray to continue serving.

With every step, the scars on my back throbbed with a dull ache. Just last night, my mother had punished me with the pure silver whip again, all because I had returned ten minutes late.

"Remember your place," her words still echoed in my ears. "You are a worthless piece of trash. Never forget that."

Yes, I was trash.

An omega with no scent, no lineage, and no purpose.

At least, that's how everyone saw me.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

A cloyingly sweet voice sounded, and a foot in a soft silk shoe suddenly shot out in front of me.

Paige Amota.

The most distinguished woman in the pack, boasting the purest bloodline, and the one everyone assumed would be the future Luna—Alpha Wesley's mate-to-be.

She wore a silver fur gown, a pearl belt cinched at her waist. The moonlight cascaded over her long, golden hair, making her a dazzling sight.

And I was about to become the dirt beneath her feet.

"Crash!"

The tray and all the goblets fell heavily to the ground, splashing ale everywhere. I lost my balance and fell headfirst into a nearby mud puddle.

My palms were scraped raw, and rough pebbles embedded themselves in my knees.

Harsh laughter erupted around me.

"Hahaha! Look at this idiot!"

"She can't even walk properly, what a waste of space!"

"Lady Paige, why do you even bother with something like this?"

Paige covered her mouth, feigning surprise. "Oh my, Emilia, I didn't mean to. Are you alright?"

A flash of triumph flickered in her eyes.

I struggled to get up but found the hem of my dress was caught on something. It was the heel of Paige's shoe, pressing it firmly into the mud.

"Lady Paige," I said in a low voice, trying to remain calm, "could you please let go?"

"Let go of what?" she asked, blinking her innocent, wide eyes. "I'm not doing anything."

The laughter around us grew louder and more piercing.

My inner wolf cowered, completely suppressed by my mother's death curse and unable to fight back.

Just then, the laughter abruptly stopped.

The air suddenly grew cold.

An immense, powerful pressure descended, forcing everyone to instinctively lower their heads.

The sound of heavy military boots echoed on the stone path, each step landing like a hammer blow on everyone's heart.

The crowd automatically parted, clearing a path.

Still lying in the mud, I saw a pair of mud-splattered black military boots stop right in front of me.

Then, a pair of long legs encased in black leather pants.

My breath caught in my throat.

Wesley Jones.

The Thunderfang Pack's youngest, most powerful, and most brutal Alpha.

He stood nearly seven feet tall, his muscles clearly defined. Beneath his short black hair was a face with sharp, chiseled features, a high-bridged nose, and thin, sensual lips.

But what was most striking were his eerie green eyes.

"Wesley!" Paige immediately released my dress and rushed toward him with delight. "You're here! I just accidentally..."

Her words were cut short by a cold glare.

Wesley ruthlessly shoved past Paige as she tried to cling to him, his military boots stopping in front of me.

The sheer force of his Alpha aura made every werewolf bow their heads, barely daring to breathe.

Except for me.

I lifted my head and met his gaze.

In that instant, my heart gave a violent thump.

A storm of emotions crossed his face. Anger, confusion, and something else I couldn't decipher… desire?

"Get up," he said, his voice low and raspy, a command that couldn't be refused.

I bit my lip and forced my body up. My dress was soaked with muddy water, clinging to me, a picture of misery.

Wesley crouched down, his rough, calloused fingers gripping my mud-stained chin, forcing me to look up.

His grip was rough, yet I sensed a hint of caution in the way he held me.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I didn't dare disobey and could only stare directly into his eerie green eyes.

They churned with the raw hunger of a starving wolf that had just scented blood.

The surroundings were deathly silent.

Paige's face had turned ashen, and the other nobles held their breath, waiting for the Alpha's next move.

Wesley stared at me intently, as if trying to read something in my eyes.

His breathing was a little ragged, his chest heaving.

Then, he did something that shocked everyone.

He leaned in, his high-bridged nose almost touching my scentless neck.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice was so hoarse it was a gravelly whisper. "You're clearly a worthless creature without a scent, so why does my wolf… want to devour you whole?"