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Claiming The Tyrannical Alpha: Eighteen Petals To Bond Or Die

Claiming The Tyrannical Alpha: Eighteen Petals To Bond Or Die

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*"Every petal is a ticking bomb. Every glance could be her last. And the Alpha who holds her life in his claws is the one who craves her ruin.* **Thalassa**, a dying Omega with eighteen petals etched into her skin, is trapped in a lethal mating attempt with **Kaelthar**, the Alpha who despises her existence. Their bond, forged by a vengeful witch's curse, is a death sentence: *Find your true mate or perish by eighteen.* But Kaelthar's hatred runs deeper than claws-his pack thrives on crushing the weak, and Thalassa's fragile humanity threatens everything he's built. As petals fall and her magic flares, Thalassa uncovers a secret that could unravel Obsidian's empire: *Kaelthar's wolf aches for her, even as his pride vows to destroy her.* To survive, Thalassa must seduce the tyrant who vows to break her. To conquer, Kaelthar must deny the bond that could shatter his reign. But as petals fall and secrets ignite, their game of hatred and hunger spirals into a war neither can control. **Love is a lie. Survival is a battlefield. And every petal lost is a step closer to ruin-or revolution.** *Will she claim the heart of the wolf who hates her... or carve hers from his chest before the last petal falls?*"

Chapter 1 The Curse

The forest reeked of iron and ash. Alaric Silverfang crouched in the shadows, his silver-tipped claws digging into the damp earth as he watched the coven's firelight flicker through the trees. The witches of the Blackthorn Coven chanted in unison, their voices weaving a melody as ancient as the moon itself. At the center of their circle stood Morana, her raven hair streaked with blood-red runes, her hands raised to the sky as she channeled raw magic into a glowing orb.

*The Heart of the Coven*-a relic of untamed power. The very thing Alaric had come to steal.

"For the pack," he muttered, though the words tasted hollow. His warriors waited in the trees, loyal to a fault, their amber eyes gleaming like embers. They believed this raid would secure Silverfang's dominance for generations. They didn't know *why* Alaric wanted the Heart. They didn't need to.

He lunged.

The witches scattered like startled crows as Silverfang wolves tore through the clearing. Alaric seized the orb, its heat searing his palms. Power surged through him-wild, intoxicating, *wrong*.

"Thief!" Morana's scream split the air.

He turned, the orb's light casting her face in jagged shadows. Her eyes, violet and furious, locked onto his. "You dare steal from *us*?"

"Your magic belongs to those strong enough to wield it," Alaric snarled, clutching the Heart. "My pack will rise. Yours will burn."

Morana laughed, a sound like cracking ice. "You think *this* is power?" She gestured to the orb. "You've stolen a curse, wolf. And now you'll choke on it."

Before he could react, she slashed her palm, blood splattering the earth. The ground trembled. The orb shattered.

Alaric staggered as shards of light pierced his skin, his veins burning. "What have you done?"

"A gift," Morana hissed. "For every daughter born of your blood-a life cut short. Eighteen years to find a mate, or their hearts will wither like plucked roses." She bared her teeth, blood dripping from her lips. "And you, Alaric Silverfang, will watch them die."

The coven's flames roared higher, swallowing their screams as the Silverfang wolves retreated.

---

Three moons later, Alaric stood over his mate's birthing bed, the scent of blood and magic thick in the air. Seraphine's cries had faded to whimpers, the infant in her arms swaddled in linens stained crimson.

"A girl," Seraphine whispered, her face pale. "Our Alpha heir."

Alaric's chest tightened. *Eighteen years*. Morana's curse coiled in his mind. He peeled back the blanket, revealing the child's tiny wrist.

Eighteen petals glowed there, etched into her skin like scars.

"No," he breathed.

The infant wailed, her voice piercing the silence. Seraphine frowned. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Alaric turned away, the truth lodged in his throat like a thorn. *My fault. All my fault.*

---

Morana's laughter haunted him that night. He found her at the coven's ruins, her body broken but alive, propped against a charred oak.

"Come to finish it, wolf?" she rasped.

"Break the curse," he demanded.

"Never." Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Your line will suffer as mine did. Your daughters will die gasping for love, and you'll mourn each one."

He lunged, claws aimed at her throat-but stopped.

The infant's cries echoed in his mind. *Eighteen petals. Eighteen years.*

Morana smirked. "Kill me, and the curse binds tighter. Let me live, and watch your heir wither."

He withdrew, snarling. "I'll find a way."

"You'll *fail*," she called after him. "Love is a blade, Alaric. And your kind only knows how to bleed."

---

By dawn, the petals on Thalassa's wrist had darkened from rose to crimson.

A countdown.

A promise.

And somewhere, beneath the weight of the cursed forest, Morana's laughter lingered.

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