Substitute Bride: Marrying The Hidden Lycan King

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

Alaric Stonefang’s burning gaze was fixed on me. I instinctively took a step back, right into the solid wall of Dravon’s chest as he moved to stand behind me.

The Stonefang Alpha barely glanced at Dravon, dismissing his suppressed aura as insignificant. His focus was entirely on me.

"Alpha Stonefang, what is the meaning of this?" my grandfather finally managed to ask, his voice shaky.

Alaric let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. He looked at the members of my pack as if they were the stupidest creatures he had ever seen. "That was a Blood Moonflower! One single petal can help a warrior break through a plateau, can add ten years to an elder's life! And you," he roared, pointing a trembling finger at the trough, "you fed it to your livestock!"

A collective gasp went through the crowd. *Blood Moonflower.* The name was from legends, from children's stories. I saw my grandmother Moira sway on her feet, her face ashen.

Elara’s face was no longer pale; it was the color of death. The priceless, mythical treasure she had thrown away in a fit of pique... it was real.

"I've been tracking a surge of power for days," Alaric continued, his voice filled with a mix of fury and awe. "I was hoping to find the powerful stranger who brought it into these lands. They say only the Shadow Lord of the Moonstone Vale has the right to possess such a thing." He scanned the crowd again, then shook his head in disappointment. "Clearly, the great one was merely passing through and dropped his prize, and you fools stumbled upon it."

No one, not a single person, made the connection between the mythical "Shadow Lord" and the quiet, unassuming rogue standing behind me. The pack’s conclusion was immediate and unanimous: Dravon had gotten lucky. He’d found a priceless treasure in the woods like a simpleton finding a gold nugget.

And I had eaten it.

The way they looked at me changed. The pity and scorn were gone, replaced by something far uglier. Naked, ravenous greed.

Grandmother Moira was the first to speak, her voice sharp and commanding. "Seraphina! You will surrender that flower! It is pack property!"

"That's right!" Elara chimed in, her voice shrill with desperation. "We need to get it out of her! Use a purging tonic, now! We can't let its power be wasted on a cripple!"

A low growl rumbled through the crowd as several warriors started to close in, their eyes fixed on me like I was a piece of meat.

Dravon stepped in front of me. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't shift. He just stood there, and an invisible wall of pressure slammed into the advancing wolves, stopping them dead in their tracks.

"She is my mate," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Touch her, and you die."

His aura was still faint, but the sheer, raw menace in his voice made the air crackle.

Alaric watched the scene with detached interest. He didn't care about our pack's internal squabbles. He just wanted more flowers. "Boy," he said to Dravon. "I don't care about your mating games. Have her tell me where she found the flower. I will give you riches beyond your wildest dreams."

Dravon didn't even honor him with a look. His eyes were on me. "Let's go."

He placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me away. We walked through a sea of hateful, greedy, and envious glares, but no one dared to make a move.

Back in the suffocating confines of our tiny shack, I was still shaking. "It... it was a sacred artifact?" I whispered, looking down at my hands, then at my leg. The tingling sensation was stronger now, a constant, pleasant hum.

Dravon closed the flimsy door, shutting out the prying eyes. "It was," he confirmed, his voice calm. "And now, it is a part of you. No one can take it away."

I looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time. Gratitude, fear, and a burning curiosity warred within me. Who was this man?