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Surrogate Bride To The Alpha Stand-in

Surrogate Bride To The Alpha Stand-in

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Magdalena had lived her life as a slave in the Crimson Moon Pack, invisible, unwanted, and bound to the whims of others, until the day she was sold. Not for her own worth, but as a mere substitute for the Beta's daughter, traded to the Shadow Fang Pack as one might barter a mere commodity. She had believed that leaving would bring her freedom. It did not. It was a sentence...a sentence to a fate far darker than she had ever imagined. The moment she crossed the threshold of Alpha Darius's lands, the weight of her new captivity settled upon her like an iron shackle. His words struck her with a force that no sword could match. "You shall suffer for your mother's sins. For the blood she spilled, my mother's blood. You will plead for mercy, but I shall show you none." She knew not the deeds her presumed mother had committed. Yet to him, guilt was a legacy passed down through bloodlines, and punishment, it seemed, was a personal vendetta. Now, bound in an enforced marriage to the most merciless Alpha to ever walk the earth, Magdalena must endure a life where her sole crime is being the daughter of a woman whose sins were not her own. Warning: This is not your typical werewolf tale. Set in a bygone era, this narrative is woven with period-appropriate language, blending dark romance with intense and explicit themes.

Chapter 1 Prologue; The beginning

"Pack your bags. You must leave at once."

Giselle's breath caught in her chest, her heart racing. "Why? What's happening?"

"They have discovered your secret."

Her pulse quickened. "That cannot be. It's impossible!"

"There is no time for explanations," Alaric said, his voice sharp with urgency. He swiftly snatched a heavy shawl from the bed and began gathering her scant belongings, throwing them into the fabric with practiced haste.

"No!" Giselle moved toward him, grasping his arm with trembling hands. "I will not leave without you. We can flee together-"

Alaric paused, his hands faltering as he met her gaze. His eyes, filled with conflict, softened for an instant, but then his features hardened, a mask of resolve settling in place.

"You must go," he said, his voice unyielding.

"Not without you!" Giselle's plea was raw, desperate. "If we flee together, we-"

"Giselle."

His tone was a command, firm and final. The power of his Alpha status settled between them, an invisible weight that grounded her to the spot. Her breath caught, and her body became heavy as though shackled by his presence.

"Please don't," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes.

Alaric's expression softened, though his voice remained steadfast. "I shall find you. I swear it. But for now, you must be safe. Should they capture you... should they lay hands on the child..."

Before Giselle could respond, the door swung open with a crash, and a maid entered, breathless and frantic. "The ritual begins! The pack leaders are assembling by the fire."

Alaric's gaze hardened as it fixed upon her. "Miriam, take this." He seized the shawl containing Giselle's belongings and thrust it into the maid's arms without hesitation.

Turning back to Giselle, he cupped her face with his hands, his touch tender yet urgent. "I will find you," he promised, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. "I swear it."

His lips met hers in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender-full of love, of a plea that hung unspoken between them. Giselle's tears fell freely as her fingers clung to him, unwilling to release him.

"Go," Alaric whispered against her lips, his voice breaking with the weight of it. "Please."

Miriam pulled gently at Giselle's arm, guiding her away.

Through blurred eyes, Giselle followed Miriam down the narrow passage, the shadows creeping in around them, threatening to engulf them both. At the end of the corridor, a great cave loomed, but they came to a sudden halt.

Lydia Voss stood in their path.

A flicker of relief washed over Giselle, and her breath caught. "Lydia..."

She moved to step forward, but something was amiss. Lydia remained motionless, her eyes cold and distant. The familiar warmth was gone, replaced with a chilling emptiness. From the shadows, wolves began to emerge, flanking Lydia on either side with silent menace.

Giselle's stomach clenched. Her voice trembled. "Lydia?"

The woman who had been her steadfast companion for so long simply tilted her head, watching her with the gaze of a predator.

"Please... you don't have to do this."

Lydia's lips curled into a slow, bitter smile, a smile that lacked the affection it once held.

"If you wish to avoid harm-if you wish to protect the child-come with us," she said coldly, her words calculated.

Giselle blinked, as if trying to clear the fog in her mind. This could not be Lydia. The same Lydia who had been her rock, who had stood by her through countless trials. The same Lydia who had sworn loyalty to her, and to Alaric.

Miriam stepped forward, standing between Giselle and Lydia with defiance in her posture. "How dare you impede the Luna's path?" she spat. "Step aside!"

Lydia's laugh was sharp and humorless, the sound carrying no warmth. "Luna?" She regarded Giselle with a look of contempt. "After today, she will be no such thing."

Giselle's throat constricted with sorrow and disbelief. "Why? Why are you doing this? We were friends! You-"

"Friends?" Lydia's smile twisted into something dark and cruel. "I was never your friend."

The words struck like a blow, cold and final.

Giselle staggered back, her breath catching in her throat. "That cannot be true!" she cried, her voice trembling with disbelief. "You were there when I wed Alaric. You rescued me when danger loomed. You stood by me, by my side, since I was named Luna!"

Lydia's gaze hardened, her eyes flashing with bitterness. "And you stole everything from me," she spat, her voice venomous. "I was to be Luna. Me. But you, a mere stranger, arrived and seized what was rightfully mine."

Giselle shook her head in frantic denial, her voice growing stronger. "You are mistaken. I did not take what was yours. Alpha Alaric is my mate; it is my place by his side. What do you gain by betraying your pack, Lydia?"

Lydia's laugh was low and dark. "A great deal."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping into a venomous whisper. "I sold you out. You are the king's daughter-the traitor king's spawn. The pack leaders have sought your blood for years. They promised me power in another pack in exchange for you. So I gave you to them."

Giselle's world seemed to shift beneath her, her legs unsteady.

She had known? Lydia had known all along?

For years, Giselle had trusted Lydia with her innermost thoughts, her deepest fears, her unspoken hopes. And all the while, Lydia had bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"You..." Giselle's voice faltered, barely escaping her lips. "You knew?"

Lydia's lips curled, though her expression was devoid of any remorse. It was pity, but not for Giselle. "For many moons," she murmured, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "You understand what this means for the child you carry, do you not?"

Giselle instinctively placed her hand on her belly, her face hardening. "Nothing shall happen to my child."

Lydia's eyes darkened, her face becoming a mask of cruelty. "The pack leaders have vowed to burn both of you should you refuse to surrender. Be wise, Giselle. Come quietly."

Before Giselle could respond, Miriam stepped forward, her stance defiant. "Not while I draw breath."

Lydia's smile sharpened, becoming predatory. "That can be arranged."

With a swift motion, Lydia's nails elongated, her fingers shifting into deadly claws. Her half-shifted form moved with speed.

Miriam barely had time to react before Lydia struck.

A sickening crack echoed through the cave.

Miriam's body was hurled against the stone wall, the impact knocking her unconscious in an instant.

With a casual flick of her wrist, Lydia signaled to the wolves.

Giselle felt the surge of her power, wild and uncontrollable, flare to life. She thrust her hands outward, unleashing a shockwave that radiated from her very core.

The wolves were thrown back, their bodies crashing violently against the cave's jagged walls, dust and debris falling from above.

Lydia, however, remained untouched. She smirked, her expression one of cruel satisfaction, as she withdrew a glowing crystal from her pocket.

"Do not resist, my dear friend," Lydia purred, her voice sickly sweet. "It will not take long."

The crystal's light flared bright, searing into Giselle's skull like fire.

A scream tore from her throat as her power was torn away, drained from her veins, leaving her trembling and weak. Darkness crept in, swallowing her vision.

The last thing she saw was Miriam's broken body, crumpled against the stone, and Lydia's triumphant smile.

Then, all was still.

Introduction:

Long ago, before the rise of packs and Alphas, the Lycans ruled. Beasts of unmatched strength, they were neither mere werewolves nor any lesser creature that walked the earth. They were power itself, immortal, indomitable, divine. Hidden from the world, they lived in peace and thrived in their secluded kingdom.

But peace never lasts when jealousy takes root.

The werewolves envied them and resented their power. They saw the Lycans as a threat, an insult to their existence. For the first time in history, the scattered werewolf clans united under a single cause: to bring down the Lycans.

Even against an entire species, the Lycans stood unshaken. They were stronger, faster, and more intelligent. Victory should have been theirs.

But power is never just about brute strength.

Desperate, the werewolves turned to an ancient force, the Twelve Blood Witches. A deal was struck, and a truce was made. In exchange for sparing the witches from future wars, the witches agreed to weave a spell of darkness. A curse seeped into the very bloodline of the Lycans, poisoning their strength and weakening their dynasty.

The war that followed was brutal. It was a massacre. One by one, the Lycans fell, their legendary resilience turned to dust beneath the weight of the witches' dark magic. The dynasty was wiped out. Erased.

But greed is never satisfied.

The werewolves had won, but their hunger for dominance was endless. There was still another kind they despised: the Wolf-Men.

The Wolf-Men were not just werewolves. They were the ancients, the first of their kind. Stronger than any ordinary wolf, they were the original rulers of the werewolves, the royal bloodline to whom all packs once answered. A legacy of might and command.

The pack leaders, hungry for absolute control, conspired once more with the Twelve Blood Witches.

On a night bathed in moonlight, the final betrayal unfolded. During the sacred full-moon ritual, when the Werewolf King and his son fell into their ancestral sleep, the pack leaders struck. Silent and merciless. Blades met flesh, and the royal bloodline was severed, quite literally, from their throne.

Their heads rolled. Their legacy ended.

Or so they thought.

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