The cursed Alpha Virgin bride

I have always known that I was hated by my family and also in the Night veil pack, I was seen as a wolfless omega, useless and unwanted in the pack But a replacement bride to a brutal, cursed and killer Alpha for my sister This was entirely different I stood there, my hands clenched at my sides, listening as the pack elders and my father spoke,as they decide my fate.

As the sacrifice bride to the brutal Alpha of the Shadowclaw Pack, I was nothing more than an offering to a monster. You should be grateful to the pack elders and me,” my father said coldly. “Your worthless life will finally be of use, you did not expect your sister to be given as a bride sacrifice to Alpha Draven” Grateful? I couldn't help but scoff as my eyes met his and that of the elders. “It has already been decided,” Elder Thalos said coldly. “Guards, take her and lock her in the dungeon until she is sent to the Shadowclaw Pack as Alpha Draven’s bride.” “That was my fate.” By the time I woke up, morning had already broken.

My legs were chained to the cold stone wall. Through the half-open door, I heard the voices of Elder Thalos and the other elders. Moments later, rough hands seized me, dragging me out of the dungeon and back to my room. Waiting there was a wedding dress laid neatly on the bed. Two servants stood beside it, already prepared to dress me, their only task to conceal the scars on my face and body Then my parents entered.

“Make sure those scars are well covered,” my father said coldly. “We wouldn’t want Alpha Draven to think otherwise of us.” My mother scoffed, bursting into laughter. “Please, as if he would care or even look at her.” Their laughter echoed in the room, heavier than the chains had ever been. By the time they were done with me, the entire pack was waiting outside. My clothes were shoved into an old, broken trunk.

Elder Thalos didn’t even look at me when he spoke, ordered two guards to take me to the train station and make sure I was dropped at the border of the Shadowclaw Pack. The Shadowclaw Pack House loomed before me like a beast carved from dark stone and ancient timber, radiating an aura of wealth and suffocating tradition. As the heavy oak doors groaned open, I didn't step into a welcoming home; I stepped onto a battlefield. Standing in the center of the entrance hall was a woman who wore her bitterness like a second skin. Cordelia Whitmore, the former Luna.

Her eyes raked over me, dissecting my simple travel clothes with surgical precision. "So," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is what the Elders dragged in from the backwoods." Before I could introduce myself, she snapped her fingers. An Omega servant scurried forward, trembling, clutching a spray bottle that smelled of acrid herbs and chemical lemon. "Cleanse her," Cordelia commanded, wrinkling her nose as if I were a walking disease. "We cannot have the filth of the rogue lands and public transport contaminating my son's home."

The servant hesitated, fear in her eyes, before spraying a mist of the stinging liquid toward me. It settled on my skin, cold and insulting. My Inner Wolf bristled, pacing in the back of my mind, urging me to bare my teeth. Disrespect, she growled. I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. I simply lifted my chin, channeling the icy composure my grandfather, the Alpha of the Nightveil Pack, had drilled into me since birth. "You can stop," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried the undeniable weight of authority. The servant froze, the bottle lowering instantly. I locked eyes with Cordelia. "You can spray me with all the sage and lavender in the world, Mrs. whitmore, but it won't cover up the scent clinging to you." I took a deliberate step closer, inhaling deeply. "It smells like sour milk and insecurity. Jealousy is a hard scent to wash off."

Cordelia’s face turned a mottled shade of red, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Without waiting for her retort, I brushed past her, signaling the end of the conversation. I walked into the Great Hall, a cavernous space dominated by a massive stone fireplace and trophies of past wars. Sprawled across a leather sofa was a girl about my age, scrolling through her phone with bored affectation. Althea Whitmore. She looked up, her lip curling. "Oh, look. The mail-order bride has arrived." She sat up, tossing her hair. "I heard you took the train here. How quaint. Did your little pack not have enough gas money for a car? Or do you just enjoy smelling like the unwashed masses?" I almost laughed. If only she knew that I was just a substitute bride. But lions do not explain themselves to sheep. I didn't break my stride.

I didn't even look at her. I simply treated her like part of the furniture insignificant and dull. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" Althea's voice pitched higher, the sting of being ignored far worse than any insult I could have thrown. I stopped at the foot of the grand staircase and turned to the trembling Omega servant who had followed me. "Show me to my room. It's been a long day". Before the servant could answer, Althea scrambled off the couch, a wicked glint flashing in her eyes. She practically ran to the stairs, cutting off the servant. "I'll show you," Althea said, her voice suddenly dripping with fake sweetness. She pointed a manicured finger toward the top of the stairs, to the end of the long, dimly lit corridor. "You're in the Master Suite.

The big double doors at the very end. Only the best for our... guest". She shot a glare at the servant, a silent threat that sealed the girl's lips. I narrowed my eyes. It was a trap, obviously. But I was too tired to care about the petty games of a jealous child. I hauled my bag up the stairs, the silence of the house pressing against my ears.

When I reached the heavy double doors at the end of the hall, I paused. The wood was carved with the intricate crest of the Shadowclaw Pack a snarling wolf entangled in thorns. I pushed the handle down and stepped inside. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the air changed. It hit me like a physical wave a scent so powerful, so dominating, that my knees nearly buckled. It didn't smell like the herbal spray or the dusty hallway. It smelled of deep cedar, worn leather, and the ozone charge of a coming storm. It was an Alpha's scent.

The Alpha's scent. My Inner Wolf, usually restless and agitated in new places, suddenly stopped pacing.She let out a low, vibrating purr that rattled my ribs. Safe, she whispered. Home. The room was massive, dark, and cool. A giant four-poster bed sat in the center, looking more inviting than anything I had ever seen.

The scent was strongest there. It wrapped around me, thick and intoxicating, dulling my senses, lulling me into a trance. I should have questioned why the guest room smelled like pure, unadulterated power. I should have noticed the lack of feminine touches. But the exhaustion of the journey and the strange, hypnotic comfort of the cedar scent pulled me under. I dropped my bag and walked toward the bed, unaware that I had just walked straight into the lion's den.