The Alpha's Second Born Son: A Curse of Fate

Aveline Delaire was twenty-three when she finally gave up hope that she was whole. Wolves shifted at sixteen. She didn’t. By twenty-one she was pitied. By twenty-three, she had been whispered about like a curse word — wolf-less, fatherless, useless. And yet the Moon called her into the circle tonight. Or rather, the Moon Goddess Herself was mocking her with the cruelty of a child dangling a moth over a flame. The circle of stones yawned around her, old and uncaring. The jagged pillars around her leapt up to the heavens like teeth, wet with frost, dripping into the night. Beneath her bare feet the rock was bitterly cold, slicing through flesh until she felt nothing at all. Torches hissed along the periphery, their flames meek against the mountain winds, smoke twisting into the night like gray claws. The pack pressed against the circle outside the firelight, a wall of eyes and shifting shoulders. Their scent was everywhere: wet fur, musk, pine smoke and the faint copper tang of blood. Hundreds of wolves — some in skin, some already half-shifted, claws skittering over stone — glared at her with contempt so sharp she felt skinned alive. The ceremonial gown that clung to her only intensified the humiliation. White linen, threadbare and soaked in the mist, clung to the curves of her body, exposing the line of her legs, the swell of her breasts. It was supposed to be symbolic of purity. On her, it looked obscene. A rope tied around her waist chafed against her skin; a leash more than a belt. The whispers came quickly, cruel, louder than the winter wind. “She’s wolfless.” “Three more years and still no shift.” “Bastard-blood. Her father was a nobody.” “She’s a blasphemy. The Goddess mocks us by letting her stand here.” Aveline’s teeth ground together. She would not let them see her fall apart. She had heard these words all her life — at the training grounds she had not been allowed to use, during the hunts where she was always left behind, on long nights when others her age had shifted under the Moon, and she had been silent. They had torn her to pieces year after year. Tonight, they pressed down harder than ever. She cast a glance at the edge of the circle where her mother stood, hood up against the wind. Seliora’s face was a mask, pale eyes steady, hands folded at her belly as if she was carved from stone. The only thing she had ever given Aveline about her father was the same mysterious refrain, whispered like a curse word: “The Moon touched your birth. That is all you need to know.” But touched how? In light or in shadow? In blessing, or in damnation? Across the circle from her was Evander Ashborne, the Alpha’s heir. His presence loomed like heat from a flame. His cloak, lined with silver, flapped in the wind. His hair was dark, combed neatly back from his strong jaw, his emerald eyes slicing through the throng to rest on her. He was perfection — chiseled, commanding, preordained. Where she was unwanted, he was everything the pack worshiped. Aveline’s heart thundered painfully. If the Goddess had any shred of mercy in Her, it would manifest through him. To be chosen as Evander’s mate would silence every whisper. To be Luna would erase every humiliation. For a single breathless moment, she allowed herself to imagine it — his hand tugging her to his side, his power shielding her from every envious eye. The High Elder Malrick raised his staff, the wood carved with runes glowed faintly in the torchlight. His voice boomed across the stones, sonorous and cold. “The Moon sees. The Moon binds. Tonight, the Goddess will make Her choice.” The crowd stilled instantly. Not a cough, not a footstep broke the silence. The air grew heavy, pressing on Aveline’s chest until she could scarcely breathe. She closed her eyes. She dared not speak aloud, but inside she whispered in desperation: Please, Goddess. Please. Let me belong. Just once, let me be enough. The response came like fire. Heat stabbed her chest, sudden and violent, tearing a gasp from her throat. Her spine arched as white-hot light spread across her ribs and into her heart. The tether burned into being, a silver cord of flame leaping from her chest across the circle. Gasps rose like wind. Wolves bowed their heads in awe. Aveline’s eyes flew open. The tether pointed unyielding toward Evander. Relief crashed through her so hard her knees nearly buckled. After twenty-three years of silence, she felt something inside her stir. Her wolf. A low growl rumbled in her bones, alien yet hers, wild, ancient. Her vision sharpened, her amber eyes glowing faintly in the torchlight. She pressed her hand to her chest, trembling with wonder. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t wolf-less. The Goddess had chosen her. Evander took a step forward, the tether bright in his eyes. For a single heartbeat she believed in salvation. She saw herself as Luna, the whispers silenced forever. Then his lips curled into a smile — sharp, cruel. “I reject her.” The words cracked like thunder. Pain exploded in her chest. The tether ripped apart, tearing her heart with it. Aveline screamed, collapsing to her knees, the cold stone bruising her bones. The pack erupted — some gasping, some laughing. “Rejected!” “She’s unfit!” “The Goddess mocks her!” Her tears blurred the torches. Her wolf keened inside her, howling in despair. Shame burned hotter than the pain, pressing her into the dirt. She wanted to disappear. She wanted the Moon to snuff her out like a candle. But then — the fire returned. Hotter. Wilder. Her back arched as lightning tore through her veins. Silver fire ripped from her chest, scorching her skin, dragging her upright. The Moon above glowed brighter, swollen with light, as if the Goddess herself leaned down to watch. The glow crawled across her arms, across her throat, branding her in its fire. The crowd recoiled. Some shielded their eyes. Others whispered frantic prayers. Aveline clawed at her chest, gasping. This wasn’t mercy. This was a judgment. Another tether ignited, brighter, unbreakable. The pack shouted, voices climbing into chaos. And Aveline raised her head. Storm-blue eyes met hers. Zarek Ashborne. The Alpha’s second-born son. The cursed one. Tattoos slithered across his chest and arms, scars slashed across his skin like battle wounds. He had always stood in his brother’s shadow, wild where Evander was smooth, despised where Evander was loved. And now — fate had bound him to her. The tether blazed between them, crackling, undeniable. Chaos exploded. “Two mates?” “Blasphemy!” “The Goddess curses us!” Wolves shouted, some snarling, some retreating, the circle quaking in fear. Zarek went rigid. His chest rose and fell as the tether pulled at him. His eyes, storm-blue and merciless, pierced her where she stood. He did not look at her like salvation. He looked at her like damnation. The Moon’s fire burned silver between them, the Goddess’s will seared into their flesh. And Zarek’s voice cut through the uproar, low and vicious, silencing every tongue: “I will never be your mate.” Her wolf screamed inside her blood, clawing at her heart. And Aveline knew then — the Goddess had not blessed her. She had cursed her.