FOREWORD
Destroyed, wounded, and rejected. That is what I was for far too long. It was not a metaphor, not an exaggeration born of pain; it was the bare, merciless truth. He rejected me. He looked at me with cold indifference, as if I were not enough, as if my very existence held no value. And he did it at the precise moment when I was at my weakest, most broken, most human.
It was not a simple rejection, not a decision made with distance or restraint. It was mental and emotional torture — slow, deliberate, carried out with carefully chosen words and calculated silences. He stripped away the dignity I was barely managing to hold onto and let it fall in front of everyone. He turned me into a visible mistake, a reminder of what should not exist.
He rejected me and, with that single act, finished destroying what little was left of me. He did not merely turn his back on me; he exposed my wound to his pack, leaving me open, vulnerable, defenseless. He made me feel miserable, insignificant, disposable — as though my pain were irrelevant and my downfall necessary.
One would think that with time, the difference between wolf and human should have faded. That evolution, coexistence, and years of shared blood would have erased that absurd dividing line. But it did not. It never did. That difference still exists, rooted in pride, inherited violence, and a belief in superiority.
The werewolves believe themselves above everything else. Their egos swell day after day, fed by fear and submission. They see themselves as untouchable, lethal, flawless. And he… he embodied that arrogance. The great and powerful alpha — admired, feared, revered. The one who never hesitated, never failed, never bowed his head.
In time, I understood something far more terrifying: it is not their animal side that is most dangerous, but their human one. That sick need to possess, to dominate, to take more than their nature allows. His cruelty did not come from the wolf, but from the man hiding behind the title of alpha, using strength as justification and leadership as a mask.
He rejected me because there was never a transformation in me. Because my wolf never awakened. I was twenty years old, and the silence of my body was enough to condemn me. I never understood his contempt for humans, never grasped that instinctive hatred, that need to humiliate those deemed inferior. I had lost my family, had been left utterly alone in a world that was never mine… and still, he rejected me.
Could it have been worse?
Yes. It can always be worse.
Because he did not only reject me. He shattered me. He left me without shelter, without identity, without purpose. And yet, I rose. Not for them, not out of vengeance at the time, but because pain did not kill me. Because even broken, I was still breathing.
To them, I was nothing more than a useless human — a burden, a mistake that needed to be erased. But the truth was always there, waiting. All that time, I was the Goddess. The Goddess who had to remain hidden, restrained, silenced. Not out of fear, but survival. My enemies were lethal, and my existence threatened the balance they believed they controlled.
I was the Goddess forged by loss. The Goddess shaped by rejection. Every humiliation taught me patience; every wound sharpened my awareness. I learned to observe, to listen, to wait. I learned that power does not always roar — sometimes it hides, grows quietly, and waits for the exact moment to emerge.
He rejected me and allowed his pack to try to destroy me. They hunted me, chased me, treated me like prey. They left me for dead. And for a time, I was — at least in their eyes. My name became an uncomfortable rumor, then a forbidden memory, and finally nothing at all.
I left. I vanished. I died to them.
Years later, the most powerful pack began to fall. Not suddenly, not with obvious violence. Slowly. Painfully. Almost imperceptibly at first. Illness, internal betrayals, poor decisions, relentless losses. A silent erosion no one could explain. I did not cause it directly — at least not at first. It was destiny reclaiming balance.
He was meant to accept the will of the Moon Goddess. He was meant to bow his head and acknowledge his failure. But he did not. He defied the inevitable. He placed another in my position, believing the irreplaceable could be replaced.
Good for him.
Bad for them.
Because to their misfortune, I am not just any Goddess. I am not a distant, merciful figure watching from afar. I am not a forgotten myth or a convenient legend. I am the Goddess.
The Goddess who lost empathy along with innocence. The Goddess with a thirst for vengeance, with dark instincts and a memory that never forgets. No one anticipated my power. No one imagined that the broken human would return as something far worse than an enemy.
He searched for the best she-wolf for his pack — a strong, fertile, flawless queen. And a human could never be that. But let him ask himself now which is worse: a human who never transformed, or a Goddess turned against him? An obedient wolf, or a deity driven by destruction?
I did not return to ask for forgiveness.
I did not return to beg for a place that was never mine.
I returned to reclaim what was taken from me.
I returned to remind them that even alphas kneel when true power awakens.
Look at me now.
"Trust me as your queen and kneel before me as your Goddess"
Because my name is not a plea. It is a sentence.
Nemesis.
Goddess of solidarity, vengeance, and fortune.
And I have returned to collect every debt.
Author's note: I hope you like this fantasy story and werewolves that I hope you are impressed, comment to know if you like it, thanks for reading.
