BORN TO BE HIS CURSE

I was born screaming under a moon the elders would later call forbidden. They said it was too red. Too close. Too awake. My mother swore the wind howled my name before I ever learned to speak it. And somewhere far beyond our crumbling village—on the high stone throne of the Northern Pack—the Alpha King felt it. A pull. A disturbance. A curse beginning to breathe. The night I turned eighteen, the moon found me again. It hung low and swollen in the sky, bathing the courtyard in silver light thick enough to taste. The entire pack gathered in silence, their eyes following me as I stepped forward, barefoot on cold stone. I could feel their judgment like claws against my skin. I was Lunaria—the girl whispered about when fires burned low. The cursed child. The omen. The one no one touched for too long. My hair was braided tight down my back, my simple dress clinging to my body in a way that made the older women avert their eyes and the men look away too late. I hated that part—the way my body betrayed me, refusing to look as invisible as my soul felt. “Stand still,” one of the elders muttered. I did. Of course I did. The ceremonial blade hovered over my palm, ready to mark me as a full pack member. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. This was supposed to be ordinary. Simple. Yet the moment the blade kissed my skin— The wind screamed. The torches flickered violently. The moon flared brighter, turning scarlet at its core. Pain exploded through my body, sharp and deep, but it wasn’t the cut—it was something else. Something ancient. Then it happened. I felt him. Not as a face. Not even as a name. But as heat. A presence crashed into my mind—cold authority, iron will, hunger sharpened into control. My knees buckled. A gasp tore from my lips before I could stop it. “Lunaria!” someone shouted. But I was already falling. I woke in a chamber I had never been allowed to enter. The Alpha’s Hall. Stone walls carved with centuries of victories. Wolf sigils burned into pillars. The scent of power saturated the air—dominance, command, danger. And him. He stood near the hearth, tall and immovable, his back to me. Broad shoulders stretched beneath dark leather, long black hair tied low at his neck. The firelight danced over him like it belonged there. I tried to sit up. A sharp ache shot through my spine. “Don’t.” His voice cut through the room—deep, controlled, rough in a way that curled something dangerous in my stomach. My breath hitched without permission. He turned. Golden eyes locked onto mine. The world tilted. This wasn’t a man I had been meant to look at. Everything about him radiated dominance—Alpha power coiled tight beneath skin, held back by sheer will. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, but his gaze burned. I felt exposed. Seen. Chosen—and rejected—all at once. “You caused quite the spectacle,” he said calmly. My throat went dry. “I didn’t mean to.” “I know.” His eyes darkened slightly. “That doesn’t change what you are.” My fingers curled into the fur blanket beneath me. “And what is that?” He stepped closer. One step. Then another. Each movement sent heat spiraling through my body. I hated it. I hated him for it. He stopped just close enough for me to feel the weight of him, the pull between us vibrating like a live wire. “You are the girl born under the blood moon,” he said. “The one prophesied to unmake me.” My heart stuttered. “So now you’ll kill me?” I asked, forcing the words out. Something unreadable flickered across his face. “No.” His gaze dropped—to my lips. Just for a second. Then back to my eyes. “I will not grant destiny that mercy.” A shiver ran through me, slow and traitorous. “Then why bring me here?” His jaw tightened. “Because the bond stirred.” I sucked in a breath. “That’s impossible,” I whispered. “And yet,” he murmured, leaning closer, “you felt it too.” The air thickened between us. My pulse raced, my skin buzzing where his presence brushed against it. I wanted to move away. I wanted to move closer. I did neither. “You should hate me,” I said shakily. “If I’m your curse.” His mouth curved—not quite a smile. “Oh, I do,” he said softly. His hand lifted—stopping inches from my cheek. “And that,” he added, voice darkening, “is the problem.” He stepped back abruptly, as if catching himself on the edge of something dangerous. “Get her a room,” he ordered the guards at the door. “Lock it. No one touches her.” His gaze lingered on me one last time. “Not even me.” The doors slammed shut. I pressed my trembling fingers to my lips, my entire body humming with a heat that had nothing to do with fear. Somewhere deep inside me, the moon stirred. And I knew—with terrifying clarity— I had not been born to be loved. I had been born to ruin him.