Scorned Luna To Alpha Queen
Book Two of the Betrayed Luna to Alpha Queen Series
Can be read as a standalone or after Book One
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"They were supposed to hate me. All four of them. But the Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes, she just has a twisted sense of humor."
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"Let me die free rather than live as his possession."
Those were Lyralei Ravenwood's last words before she jumped off Widow's Cliff, choosing death over marriage to a monster hiding behind a charming smile.
She should have died.
Instead, she wakes in the camp of the Four Great Alphas..the most powerful, dangerous men in the ancient werewolf world. Men who look at her with resentment. Men who make it clear she's not welcome.
The Moon Goddess sent her to unite them against a rising darkness.
But they don't want unity. They don't want her.
Lyra didn't ask to be sent anywhere. She just wanted to escape a cage.
Now she's trapped with four hostile Alphas who see her as an obligation rather than a person. Who resent every breath she takes. Who make it clear that prophecy or not, she will never command their loyalty.
But something is awakening between them. Something ancient and undeniable.
The Primordial Mate Bond-a force that links one soul to multiple Alphas, pulling them together whether they want it or not.
As shadow wolves attack and an ancient evil rises, Lyra must navigate not just war, but the far more dangerous battlefield of four hearts that were determined to hate her.
Because feelings without trust are torture.
CONTENT WARNING: This book contains mature themes including explicit sexual content, violence, death of major characters, psychological trauma, and morally complex situations. Recommended for readers 18+
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Chapter 5
Malachai was seriously pissed.
The early morning mist still clung to the Convergence Point, the sun barely cresting the eastern horizon. He sat on a smooth rock near the stream, listening to the distant waterfall while the other three argued for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour. His eyes drifted to the water, watching it flow past without purpose and effort. That's what he wanted to be doing right now. Flowing, drifting and maybe sleeping.
Instead, he was stuck here listening to grown men bicker like children.
"Malachai!" A sharp voice cut through his thoughts and he sighed before dragging his attention back to the present.
Gerald Stormborn stood glaring at him, those red eyes glowing with barely contained fury. The youngest of them all paced like a caged animal, his crimson hair wild around his face. He wore simple leather and fur, practical fighting gear that showed off the claw marks running from his right shoulder down to his left abdomen. Scars from battles Malachai didn't care to know about.
Malachai wondered where he got the energy to be so loud and angry all the time. It was really exhausting just watching him.
"Calm yourself, Gerald," said another voice, cold as winter ice.
Ugh, Blackwood.
Joefrey Blackwood didn't pace. He stood perfectly still in his dark armor, arms crossed, silver streaking through his black hair despite being barely past his twenties. The man looked like he'd been carved from stone and left out in the cold. His ice blue eyes held no warmth as he watched Gerald's tantrum with obvious disdain.
This was the one who somehow thought he was in charge, though he didn't remember anyone voting him in that position.
What a self pompous prick.
"Perhaps you could contribute something useful to this discussion instead of daydreaming?" Joefrey's gaze shifted to Malachai.
Before Malachai could respond, the fourth Alpha leaning casually against a tree and examining his nails scoffed with apparent disinterest. Nikolai Vale looked like he belonged at a royal court rather than a war council. Golden hair perfectly styled even at this ungodly hour, green eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture. He wore expensive clothing that somehow stayed clean despite the wilderness around them.
Of all the Alphas here, Nikolai was the only one who truly made Malachai uncomfortable. There was something too calculating behind that easy smile.
Malachai stretched lazily. "I'm waiting for you all to cool off before we actually have a conversation. Right now, no one is making sense or coming to any real conclusion."
Gerald's face went red and he took a step forward, fists clenched. But to Malachai's genuine surprise, the young Alpha bit back whatever he was about to say. His jaw worked, veins visible in his neck, but he stayed silent.
Malachai felt a sudden urge to provoke him further. But he supposed he should actually contribute something useful first.
"My scouts have been tracking the shadow wolves," Malachai said, his tone still lazy despite the serious subject. "They're strong. Invulnerable, it seems, but I don't believe there's no weakness. Everything has a weakness."
Joefrey nodded once, sharp and precise like a military commander acknowledging a report. "Agreed. We just haven't found it yet."
Gerald grunted his acknowledgment, still pacing, still radiating that barely controlled energy.
"I thought as much," Nikolai added smoothly, pushing off from the tree with fluid grace.
Malachai continued, "But here's what concerns me. My people bring reports that these creatures are beginning to coordinate. They're attacking as groups now, not the usual mindless charges we first saw. There's intelligence behind it."
Gerald stopped pacing. "Intelligence? They're mindless beasts, Malachai. Some kind of disease turning wolves mad. There's no way they have the capacity to plan coordinated attacks." He ran a hand through his wild hair, frustration evident in every movement.
Nikolai's easy smile turned cold. "Perhaps if you spent less time swinging your sword and more time actually observing, you'd notice the patterns forming. But then again, expecting strategic thinking from you might be too much to ask."
Malachai felt a smile tug at his lips. He couldn't help it. The subtle insult was refreshing after an hour of pointless arguing.
He laughed.
Joefrey's expression shifted to one of tired frustration, the kind of look a man gets when he knows exactly what's about to happen and can't stop it. "Don't..."
"What did you just say to me?" Gerald's voice dropped dangerously quiet. His eyes began to glow gold, his wolf rising close to the surface. Every muscle in his body tensed like he was about to spring.
Malachai leaned forward, unable to resist. "Come now, Nikolai isn't a coward. If he had something to say, I'm sure he'd be brave enough to repeat it. Wouldn't you, Vale?"
To his absolute delight, Nikolai did exactly that. He crossed his arms, green eyes glittering with amusement. "I said that strategic thinking might be beyond Gerald's capabilities. His approach to most problems seems to be 'hit it until it stops moving.'"
Gerald moved forward, closing the distance between them in three strides.
"Gerald, no!" Joefrey stepped between them, one hand on the younger Alpha's chest. The silver in his hair caught the early morning light as he physically held Gerald back. He shot a glare over his shoulder at Malachai. "Damn it, Duskbane! Stop instigating!"
Malachai took a moment to observe the scene he'd helped create. The four greatest Alphas in the known territories, all gathered at the Convergence Point because of strange new attacks by beasts they'd come to call shadow wolves. This was supposed to be a unified front against a common enemy.
Instead, they were moments away from tearing each other apart.
Honestly, Malachai had provoked them on purpose. He wanted to see each Alpha's temperament, to gauge if he could actually work with these men. But right now? He was disappointed.
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7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
7.2
Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt.
Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake.
After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust.
Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders.
Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her?
But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet.
"Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever."
He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.