Sold To The Cruel Alpha: His Omega Mate

In a world of magic and fate, three mother goddesses met to decide the fate of the world they had made for their children. These goddesses were beautiful and kind, strong and wise, caring and graceful; they were Celeste, the moon goddess, Luna, the goddess of the wolf child, and Geya, the goddess of fertility and life. They had formed the world as it was, kingdoms of men created from their dust, and then by the hands of Luna, gifted with a spirit wolf. These werewolves became a civilization, kingdoms rich in a history that lasted for years and years, wars were fought, and blood was shed as kingdoms tried to take over kingdoms, and the goddess Geya wept as precious life was slaughtered and destroyed. A time of peace slithered through the war like fingers of dawn across stormy clouds, but that would last for only a moment. The hands of fate made a prediction: a war would come more savage and dangerous than all the wars before it, wolves would destroy wolves, and the balance of the earth would be shifted, but in the night of hallows, a child would be born, a goddess touched, she would be a sign of peace to come, she would be power to whoever could possess her and death to those who could not, her life would be fraught with dangers and death that looked constant and everlasting, and if she was cut down, earth would weep. On hearing this dire fortune, the three goddesses would come to a choice. "She must be hidden," Celeste muttered, her silver gown flapping against the breeze like soft silk curtains. Luna stretched her bow and dropped it onto the table. She was the coarsest of the three, dressed in brown, simple clothes that allowed her to move for the hunt. "She cannot be like them all; if she must be safe, she has to be different." "Too much difference, and she will die for it," Geya countered. She was the levelheaded one, always calm and graceful; she had no thought of anything else. "We will make a protector; this war will give us many to mold." Luna huffed, pulling away with a smile. Geya rose, stirred the water of divinity, and peered through the realm. With a sigh, she smiled. She had found one. That night, as councils sat on their round tables and began their war councils, a woman took in a child. The war ranged long and fierce and was a battle of two powerful packs, the Moon Claw and the Red Raven. Blood wet the earth, souls left its plane, mother's and sons, fathers and daughters, babies that had lived not two cycles. The queen and Luna of the Moon Claw prayed each day that she would live and that her daughter would live, and live they did, slowly and surely as days turned to weeks and then months. In the realm of the gods, a war had broken out as well. The realms fought over what to do with the werewolves who caused all this bloodshed, and as fate had said in the night of hallows, two great events happened: the queen began her labor, and the goddess Celeste was wounded fatally. That night the moon turned blood red; it was the first of its kind in the whole history of wolves. Men brutally killed one another in a fervor that would be whispered in folklore for centuries to come. It was in this fierce war that the Alpha kings of these two packs would meet. Legends say the battle was fought for days; others claim it was for hours. Tension filled the realms as these men crossed each other brutally. In the Moon Claw, the queen cried out in pain; her baby was not coming. She hissed against the cloth and tried to hold in the wail that threatened to escape her lips, but that was of no use; the baby was not coming. In the Red Raven, troops intruded on the castle and struck down all in it, without regard to age or gender; all the royal family was lost except for one. The Red Raven king fell first, his knees buckling beneath his almost death weight, his eyes widened with the shock of loss. The Moon Claw king fell as well, blood black dripping from his lips, his eyes widened with grief and loss. Two great kings fell, and a child was born. The wail of the Moon Claw Princess filled the room; it was already burnished red from the color of the moon. The queen clutched the child to her chest, and as her mating bond faded, she cried for the child and for herself. That night, as the moon waned, the queen passed away, her little baby clutched in her arms. Fate had begun its weave; the child was born and the kings were dead; the rest would unfold. The goddesses met over their sister's resting place; she would sleep for her recovery, and at that time, men would be allowed to make their choice. Geya wept on her sister's dress, a vibrant white now stained with crimson blood. As she wept, the sky opened, pouring rain in large drops. In a world of magic and fate, three mother goddesses met to decide the fate of the world they had made for their children. These goddesses were beautiful and kind, strong and wise, caring and graceful; they were Celeste, the moon goddess, Luna, the goddess of the wolf child, and Geya, the goddess of fertility and life. Their creation had devastated them sorely, and a sister lay wounded and crushed beneath the heel of rebellion; there seemed to be no hope left for man. Deep in the forests of the Moon Claw, a child wailed,a sorrowful sound that spoke of the loss that no man should have to bear, her tears and silver drops sliding down her face. As her nurse cradled her to her chest, a red crescent scar glimmered and disappeared.