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?"

"No!"

I jerked my head down, my sharp teeth sinking viciously into the back of Wesley's hand.

Blood instantly gushed out, and Wesley hissed in pain.

Now was my chance!

I shoved him aside and scrambled through the crowd, sprinting towards the dark forest.

"Emilia!" Wesley's furious roar exploded behind me. "You dare bite me?!"

I didn't dare to look back.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind me, but I ran faster. The hem of my dress was torn by thorns, and my legs were scratched by branches, but I didn't care.

I knew that if my identity was exposed, my mother would turn this place into a slaughterhouse.

To protect him, I could only flee.

Even if it made him angrier, more confused.

The darkness swallowed my figure.

The wooden cabin on the edge of the forest appeared before me, and I stumbled towards the door.

"Bang!"

I pushed the door open forcefully, gasping for breath.

"Mother, I..."

Before I could finish, a leather whip laced with pure silver lashed out from the darkness, coiling tightly around my neck.

"Ah—!"

A searing pain instantly tore through my throat. The moment the pure silver touched my skin, it made a hissing, corrosive sound, and the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.

Martha emerged from the shadows.

She was so thin she was a skeleton, her long, gray-white hair messily draped over her shoulders. A crazed fury burned in her sunken eyes.

"You whore! Trying to seduce a werewolf?!" she roared, dragging me towards the cellar with the whip. "I saw everything in the scrying mirror! That Alpha touched your face!"

I was dragged until I was covered in blood, my nails scratching deep marks into the wooden floor.

"Mother, no, I didn't..."

"Shut up!" She kicked me in the ribs. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? You want to escape? Find a werewolf to protect you?"

The cellar's iron door swung open.

A damp, foul stench hit my face, and the pure silver chains on the wall gleamed in the torchlight.

Martha slammed me onto the stone floor, splattering blood everywhere.

A ruthless glint flashed in my eyes, and I suddenly grabbed the whip, trying to wrestle it away.

A flicker of magic gathered in my veins, a faint whisper of power.

"You still dare to resist!" Martha kicked me square in the chest.

The pressure of the death curse intensified. The magic I had just gathered vanished in an instant.

I curled into a ball in pain, gasping for air.

"You will never escape my control," Martha sneered, taking a thick pure silver chain from the wall. "Tonight, I'm going to teach you the meaning of obedience."

The cold silver pierced my collarbone.

"Ahhh—!!"

A heart-wrenching scream echoed through the cellar. The moment the silver made contact with my flesh, my skin instantly rotted away, a glimpse of white bone faintly visible.

Martha secured the other end of the chain to the wall, ensuring I couldn't escape.

Then, she raised the pure silver whip, now stained with my blood.

"Count them," her voice was a frigid whisper from the depths of hell. "How many is this? I want you to remember every moment of pain."

"Crack!"

The first lash landed on my back.

Flesh tore instantly, and blood splattered. I bit my lip, desperately trying not to scream.

"Crack! Crack! Crack!"

The whip fell again and again.

Each strike brought with it a thick smoke of burning flesh, and the cellar filled with a nauseating, scorched smell.

My body convulsed, my consciousness fading.

But I couldn't fall, couldn't beg for mercy.

Because if I showed any weakness, she would only become more vicious.

"Beg me!" Martha panted, sweat trickling down her twisted face. "Get on your knees and beg me for forgiveness!"

I lifted my head, glaring at her with all my strength.

"Never."

"Good," she said, her smile growing even more crazed. "I love it when you're stubborn like this. It makes breaking you all the more interesting."

The whip swung down again.

This time, she held nothing back.

The tip of the silver whip embedded itself deep into my flesh, then was violently torn out.

A large piece of skin was ripped away.

I couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a suppressed moan.

But just as the sound was about to turn into a wolf's howl, I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue.

Blood filled my mouth, and the sharp pain kept me lucid.

I can't expose myself.

Absolutely not.

I dug my fingers into the dirt floor, my nails breaking as I forced the howl back down my throat. I knew if Wesley dared to follow the sound, he would be torn to shreds by a lethal sorcery trap.

"Bang!"

The silver soup bowl slammed against the wooden post of the tent, shattering into pieces.

The scalding tonic splashed onto Paige. She screamed and jumped back, a large wet patch instantly appearing on her magnificent dress.

"Wesley! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Get out!"

Wesley stood in the center of the tent, his chest heaving violently, his eyes bloodshot.

His tent was in a state of chaos.

The heavy oak table was overturned, and parchments were scattered on the floor. The weapon rack on the wall had been violently knocked over, a sharp dagger on the ground reflecting the cold light.

Paige trembled, wanting to get closer. "Wesley, you're not well. Let me help you..."

"I said, get out!" Wesley's roar was like thunder, and the terrifying Alpha pressure made Paige's legs go weak, causing her to collapse to the ground.

She scrambled out of the tent.

Wesley remained alone in the darkness, his fists clenched tightly.

A sharp pain twisted in his heart; every beat was agonizing.

The bite that wild girl had given him hadn't healed. Instead, it burned like fire.

No, it wasn't just pain.

It was a deeper… craving.

He stared at the teeth marks on the back of his hand. They had already healed, but the ache was getting stronger.

It was as if something was burning in his veins, roaring deep in his soul.

"Damn it…" he cursed under his breath, slamming a fist into the wooden post. "What the hell did she do to me?"

A worthless, scentless creature… how could she drive his wolf into such a frenzy?

Midnight.

The wind howled through the treetops, making an eerie, ghostly sound.

Wesley lay on his bed but couldn't sleep. The strange pain intensified, as if his nerves were being gnawed away inch by inch.

He sat up abruptly, gasping for air.

Just then, a faint breeze slipped through a gap in the tent.

In the wind was an extremely faint… scent of blood.

It was so light it was almost imperceptible. But to Wesley's keen sense of smell, it was as clear as a lightning strike.

His pupils contracted instantly.

This scent of blood made a part of his soul scream wildly.

Reason snapped in an instant.

Wesley's body began to change violently. Bones creaked, muscles swelled, and black fur sprouted from his skin.

In a flash, he transformed into a giant black wolf.

"Awooo—!!!"

A piercing howl tore through the night sky.

The massive wolf crashed through the wooden rails of the tent and shot into the deep forest like a black bolt of lightning.

Moonlight spilled into the forest, casting mottled shadows on the ground.

The great wolf followed the scent of blood, running wildly. Wherever he passed, the small nocturnal animals fled in terror.

The scent grew stronger.

A stream appeared ahead, its water glistening like silver under the moonlight.

The great wolf's steps faltered.

On a rock by the stream, a thin figure was hunched over.

Emilia.

Her back was to him as she washed her wounds in the stream.

The moonlight illuminated her once-white back, which was now crisscrossed with silver burns that were deep enough to show bone.

The wounds were still bleeding, and the blood dripped into the stream, dyeing the entire creek a pale red.

Those wounds… were not from a wild animal.

They were whip marks.

And they were caused by a pure silver whip.

Rage flared in the great wolf's eyes.

Who would dare to torture her like this?

He approached slowly, trying not to make a sound.

Emilia's shoulders trembled slightly, either from pain or cold. Her movements were very light, as if she were afraid of disturbing someone.

When she turned to clean the wounds on her chest, Wesley saw her face.

Her face was pale, her lips bitten raw and bloody.

But her eyes were still stubborn, without a trace of submission.

In that instant, Wesley felt as if his heart had been struck a heavy blow.

He wanted to rush out, to hold her, to kill everyone who had hurt her.

But he forced himself to stay calm.

The massive wolf silently retreated behind the bushes, waiting.

After cleaning her wounds, Emilia stood up with difficulty. Her steps were unsteady, and she nearly fell several times.

She was about to leave.

Just then, Wesley leaped out from the bushes.

The moment the giant black wolf landed, he transformed back into a man.

Emilia was startled and instinctively tried to run, but due to her blood loss, her body went limp, and she almost fell.

Wesley rushed to her side in a few steps.

When he saw the shocking wounds clearly, the blood vessels in his eyes instantly burst.

Every wound was deep enough to show bone, with blackened, scorched edges. This was clearly the work of a pure silver weapon!

For a werewolf, pure silver was the cruelest form of torture.

"You… what are you doing here?" Emilia's voice trembled as she tried to cover the wounds on her chest with her hands.

Wesley didn't answer. He quickly took off his black overcoat and, ignoring her resistance, wrapped it tightly around her shivering body.

A furious, murderous aura radiated from him, shaking the leaves on the surrounding trees.

"Tell me," his voice was as low as if it came from hell, every word trembling, "who did this?!"