THE CURSED ALPHA’S STOLEN LUNA

Sierra

The car slowed to a halt, the tires crunching on the gravel of the Northern fortress. My hands were shaking so hard I had to sit on them. This wasn't just some remote outpost. This was the lion's den.

"Get out of the car, Sierra," Ansel commanded. His voice was like ice, but his hand reached out and gripped mine. It wasn't a comfort. It was a warning. "And remember. You love me. If you look like you’re about to faint, I’ll give them a reason to actually worry."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped out. The mountain air was biting, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the man standing at the top of the stairs.

Giberano. The former King. Ansel’s father.

He didn't look like a monster. He looked like an elder statesman, his silver hair neatly combed, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Beside him stood a younger man with a sharp, rat-like face.

"Ansel," Giberano called out, his voice booming. "You’ve finally returned. And I see you didn’t come alone."

Ansel pulled me flush against his side, his arm heavy around my waist. "Father. Ricosta. I believe you were expecting us."

Ricosta, Ansel’s half-brother, stepped forward. He raked his eyes over me, making me feel like a piece of meat at an auction. "So this is the little Vanguard stray? The one Santiago was so eager to get rid of? I heard she was a murderer, not a prize."

Ansel’s grip tightened on my hip, his fingers digging into my skin. "Watch your tongue, Ricosta. You are looking at my fiancée. The future Luna of the North."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Giberano’s smile faltered.

"Fiancée?" Ricosta laughed, a high, irritating sound. "You’ve been gone for forty-eight hours and you’ve found a soulmate? Does she even know about the curse, or did you forget to mention that in your marriage proposal?"

"She knows everything she needs to know," Ansel growled. The air around him began to vibrate with a low, dangerous hum. "She’s here to secure the line. Which is more than you’ve done with your string of tavern girls."

"Enough," Giberano barked, though he was still looking at me with intense curiosity. "If she is to be the Luna, she must be vetted by the Council. They are already inside. They heard the rumors of your arrival and they are... impatient."

We were led into a hall that felt more like a courtroom than a home. Twelve elders sat behind a long stone table, their faces etched with centuries of tradition and skepticism.

"Ansel," the head elder said, not even looking at me. "You claim this woman is your chosen. But the North does not accept claims of convenience. If she is the anchor to your curse, we need proof."

"What kind of proof?" I asked, my voice small.

The elder finally looked at me. "The bond of the North is sealed in blood and consummation. If you are to be his Luna, the union must be finalized tonight. Under the watchful eye of the Pack’s traditions. We will not wait for a spring wedding while the throne sits unstable."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," Giberano added, his voice smooth as oil. "Unless, of course, my son is lying and this is all a desperate ploy to keep his crown."

"She stays," Ansel said firmly. He turned to me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Take her to the royal chambers. Prepare her."

Before I could protest, two stern-faced women in grey tunics approached me. They didn't ask. They simply took my arms and led me away from the only person I knew, even if I hated him.

The preparation was a blur of rose-scented water and silk. They stripped me of my emerald dress, washing away the scent of the South until I smelled like the pine and snow of the North. They dressed me in a sheer, white silk gown that felt like nothing against my skin.

"You are lucky," one of the women whispered as she brushed my hair. "Many would die to be in the Alpha’s bed."

"I’m not lucky," I whispered back. "I’m a prisoner."

They left me in a massive room lit only by the glow of the fireplace. The bed was draped in furs, looking more like an altar than a place of rest. I sat on the edge of it, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

Ansel walked in. He had discarded his suit jacket and tie. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing the intricate tattoos that told the story of his battles. He looked lethal. He looked beautiful.

He didn't say a word. He just walked toward me, his boots heavy on the stone floor. Every step felt like a countdown.

He stopped right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Up close, the scent of him was overwhelming—cedarwood and something uniquely him.

"They are waiting outside the door, Sierra," he said, his voice a low, rough velvet. "They won't leave until they hear what they came for."

"I can't do this," I breathed, my hands clutching the silk of my gown. "This wasn't the deal. You said three months."

"The Council changed the rules. My brother is whispering in their ears as we speak." He reached out, his large hand cupping the side of my neck. His thumb brushed over the spot where Santiago’s mark should have been, but was now just scarred, empty skin.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips. It wasn't the cold aggression from the car. This was something else. Something slower.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered, his dark eyes searching mine. "But I need them to believe you are mine. Truly mine."

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing mine, his hand sliding down to the small of my back to pull me against him. I let out a soft gasp, my eyes fluttering shut as the world narrowed down to just the two of us and the crackle of the fire.

"Sierra," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver straight down my spine. "Look at me."

I opened my eyes, and for the first time, I didn't see the Cursed King. I saw a man who was just as trapped as I was.

He started to lean in his grip tightening, but then a sharp, frantic scratching came from the balcony window.

A white wolf was perched on the ledge, its eyes glowing a frantic, bloody red.