The Moon Chose The Cursed Alpha

The Blood Moon hung over Ashwood Village like a crimson eye, bathing every rooftop, tree, and cobblestone street in eerie red light. Tonight was the most important night in every young werewolf's life. The Night of Choosing. Lyra Ashwood stood at the back of the crowd, her hands trembling as she tugged at the sleeves of her faded gray dress. Around her, young wolves laughed nervously while families whispered prayers to the Moon Goddess. "Don't worry," her best friend, Nora, whispered with a grin. "You'll probably end up with some handsome Alpha." Lyra chuckled softly. "I'd settle for someone who doesn't snore." The girls laughed, easing the tension for a moment. At the center of the village stood the Moon Altar, a towering pillar of silver stone that glowed brighter with every passing second. The High Elder raised both hands, silencing the restless crowd. "Children of the Moon," his aged voice echoed through the square. "Tonight, the Goddess reveals the souls destined to walk together. Accept her blessing with gratitude." A chorus of voices answered. "We honor the Moon." One by one, the youths stepped forward. As each touched the altar, silver light flowed across their wrists, revealing the name of their destined mate. Cheers erupted. "I got Damien!" "Mine says Elena!" "They're mates!" Parents cried with joy while friends embraced. Lyra smiled for them, though a strange unease settled in her stomach. Something felt... wrong. "Lyra Ashwood." Her name echoed across the silent square. Every eye turned toward her. She swallowed hard before stepping onto the stone platform. The Moon Altar shimmered. She placed her palm against its cold surface. Nothing happened. Silence. The silver glow faded. The Elder frowned. "Again." Lyra obeyed. Still nothing. Murmurs spread through the crowd. "Why isn't it working?" "Has that ever happened before?" The Elder's hands shook as he touched the altar himself. "It... it cannot be." Lyra looked down at her empty wrist. No name. No mark. No mate. A sharp sting suddenly pierced her arm. She gasped. The pain exploded through her body like molten fire. "Aah!" She fell to her knees as silver flames wrapped around her wrist. People screamed. The flames didn't burn her skin. Instead... Letters slowly appeared. R... U... N... The word glowed with unnatural brilliance. RUN The Elder stumbled backward, his face as white as snow. "No..." His voice cracked. "It has returned." Confused whispers filled the square. "What returned?" "The prophecy..." "The cursed mark..." The oldest woman in the village covered her mouth. "The Child Without a Mate." Fear spread faster than wildfire. One warrior unsheathed his sword. Another followed. Then another. Lyra stared at them. "What... what's happening?" Nobody answered. Instead, the High Elder pointed a trembling finger at her. "Kill her!" The world froze. Lyra blinked. "What?" "Kill her before the curse awakens!" The crowd erupted into chaos. People she had known all her life suddenly looked at her as though she were a monster. A spear flew toward her. She barely rolled aside before it struck the altar. "Run!" Nora screamed. That single word shattered Lyra's paralysis. She bolted. Behind her came angry shouts. "Don't let her escape!" "The prophecy must end tonight!" She sprinted through narrow streets she had walked since childhood. Doors slammed shut. Windows locked. No one offered help. Even the baker who had given her free bread as a little girl turned away. Her chest tightened. Why? What had she done? She reached the village gate just as two guards blocked her path. "Please!" she begged. "I don't understand!" One guard lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry." The other raised his sword. "For the Moon Goddess." Lyra turned sharply and leaped over a stone wall instead. She landed hard outside the village and raced toward the Blackwood Forest. Arrows hissed through the air. One sliced across her shoulder. Pain flared, but she didn't stop. Branches whipped against her face. Roots clawed at her feet. Still she ran. The forest grew darker with every step. The hunters followed close behind. "There!" "I see her!" A wolf's howl echoed through the trees. Then another. They had shifted. Soon dozens of wolves crashed through the undergrowth. Lyra's lungs burned. Her vision blurred. "I'm going to die," she whispered. Suddenly... The forest became unnaturally quiet. The howls stopped. Even the wind fell silent. A deep growl rumbled somewhere ahead. The hunters froze. One whispered nervously, "Why did they stop?" Another sniffed the air. His face drained of color. "No..." "It can't be..." Heavy footsteps echoed between the ancient trees. Thud. Thud. Thud. Golden eyes opened within the darkness. Massive. Ancient. Watching. Every hunter instinctively stepped backward. A towering black wolf slowly emerged from the shadows. It was larger than any werewolf Lyra had ever seen—its shoulders nearly as high as the branches around it. Its fur shimmered like midnight, but strange golden markings glowed beneath its skin as though liquid light flowed through its veins. The creature looked at Lyra. Then at the hunters. Its lips curled back, revealing rows of impossibly long fangs. One hunter dropped his weapon. "The Guardian..." Another whispered in terror, "No..." "The First Wolf." The beast released a roar so powerful that the earth itself trembled. The hunters fled in every direction. Some didn't even dare look back. Lyra tried to move. She couldn't. The enormous wolf approached until it stood only a few feet away. Its glowing eyes locked onto the silver word burned into her wrist. RUN. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, to Lyra's astonishment, the beast lowered its massive head. Not in attack. In recognition. A voice echoed inside her mind—deep, ancient, and filled with sorrow. "At last... I have found you." Before Lyra could answer, darkness swallowed her whole.