Chapter 1: The moon's prophecy

The night of the Blood Moon hung heavy over the kingdom, painting the forests in a crimson veil. Wolves howled in the distance, their voices carrying an eerie hymn that made the villagers shudder and tighten their cloaks against the cold. Inside the ancient temple of Selene, the air was thick with incense and dread. The walls, carved with runes of protection, seemed to glow faintly under the moonlight that streamed through the circular opening above. Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight, prophecy would be fulfilled.

Every villager had gathered—men, women, and children huddled in nervous anticipation. They all knew what this night meant. Once every century, the Blood Moon rose high, and with it came the choosing. The High Priestess would call the name of the maiden destined to become the bride of the Alpha King. Not a bride chosen for love or affection, but for power. To soothe the curse that plagued the king.

Elara Winters stood near the far end of the hall, her slender hands clasped tightly before her as though in prayer. Her long dark hair fell in waves around her pale face, the moonlight painting her features with a fragile glow. She had always heard the whispers about the prophecy. That a girl of purest blood and untouched innocence would be chosen. But never had she thought the whispers could fall on her. She was nobody special. A quiet girl who tended her parents’ garden, read forbidden books by candlelight, and dreamed of freedom beyond the borders of her village.

Her heart raced so loud it drowned out the chanting of the priestesses. Each beat seemed to echo in her ears as she stared at the dais where the High Priestess Selene stood. Selene was formidable—tall, ageless, draped in flowing silver robes that shimmered as though woven from moonlight itself. Her eyes glowed unnaturally bright, reflecting both wisdom and power.

When Selene lifted her hand, silence fell over the temple like a shroud.

“The moon has spoken,” she intoned, her voice a soft but commanding melody. “Tonight, one will be chosen to stand beside the Alpha King. One will carry both the burden and the blessing of fate. Step forward, child.”

The priestesses behind her began to hum, their voices rising in an otherworldly harmony. Elara felt her knees weaken, her breath catching painfully in her throat. She prayed silently, desperately, that her name would not be spoken.

Then Selene’s gaze cut across the hall, piercing and unyielding. Her silver eyes locked onto Elara’s. Slowly, she raised her hand, pointing with deliberate finality.

“You,” she declared, her voice ringing like a bell in the hollow chamber. “Elara Winters.”

The words struck Elara harder than any blade. The temple erupted in gasps, the sound of disbelief rippling through the crowd. Her mother’s sob broke the silence, muffled by her father’s hand as he bowed his head in resignation. Some villagers stared at her with pity, others with envy, for to be chosen meant both honor and doom.

Elara shook her head, her lips parting in shock. “No… there must be some mistake,” she whispered, though her voice was barely audible.

But Selene’s expression never faltered. “There are no mistakes under the Blood Moon.”

Before Elara could comprehend the weight of what had just been declared, the sound of horses thundered outside the temple. Heavy boots struck the stone path, a forceful rhythm that silenced every murmur. The doors swung open, and with them came an aura so powerful it stole the breath from every chest.

Kaelen Darius Blackthorn, the Alpha King, entered.

He was a man carved by war, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black leather and fur that marked both nobility and menace. His hair was the color of midnight, falling to his jawline, framing a face that was sharp and mercilessly handsome. But it was his eyes—amber gold, glowing faintly with power—that commanded all submission. The very air seemed to bend around him, heavy with dominance.

The villagers bowed their heads instantly, none daring to meet his gaze. Elara, frozen in place, could only stare as he stepped into the temple like a storm given flesh.

His eyes found her at once.

He stopped, his lips curling into the faintest of smirks. “So,” his deep voice rumbled, smooth yet dangerous, “this is the girl fate has chosen for me.”

Elara’s chest tightened, her pulse quickening until she could barely breathe. She had heard the stories of him—ruthless in battle, merciless in punishment, cursed to rage under the moon. They said he had never known love, only conquest. And now she was to be bound to him?

Kaelen moved closer, his footsteps slow, deliberate. His gaze never wavered, as though he were already claiming her with his eyes. When he reached her, he circled once, his presence suffocating, predatory. She could feel the heat of him, smell the sharp blend of pine and smoke on his skin.

“She’s untouched,” Selene said softly, as though confirming the prophecy’s requirement.

Kaelen inhaled deeply, leaning closer until Elara felt his breath against her cheek. “She smells of fear… and purity.” His finger rose, calloused and warm, brushing along the line of her jaw. The touch made her flinch, but it also sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Her chin lifted despite her trembling. “I am not afraid of you,” she whispered, though the lie trembled in her voice.

His eyes gleamed, a predator’s amusement flickering within them. He leaned in, his lips so close to her ear that his words were almost a caress. “You should be.”

The crowd held their breath, as though terrified even to exhale. Then Kaelen straightened, towering above her.

“The Blood Moon has spoken,” he announced, his voice carrying the authority of a king and the finality of fate. “By dawn, she will be mine. Prepare her.”

Elara’s world spun. She felt her mother’s silent tears, her father’s heavy silence, the stares of her neighbors. But all she could truly feel was the burning weight of Kaelen’s gaze as he turned to leave.

He paused at the doorway, his amber eyes locking onto hers once more. They burned with a promise—dark, unyielding, and terrifyingly intoxicating.

Elara’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. She wanted to run, to scream, to beg for her life to remain her own. But deep inside, a strange spark stirred. Fear, yes. But also something else—something dangerous.

Desire.

And she hated herself for it.