CURSED FOR LOVE

The night the curse was cast, the moon burned red.

It hung low in the sky, swollen and furious, watching as two great packs clashed against a common enemy in the Valley of Thorns.

The air smelled of blood and iron,wolves howled in pain and victory alike, their roars echoing through the mountains.

Alpha Luca of the Nightfang Pack fought back-to-back with Alpha Ronan of the Silvercrest Pack.

They had been brothers long before the war.

Bound not by blood, but by loyalty. By laughter shared over fire pits and scars earned in the same battles. They ruled neighboring territories, strong, respected, feared. And when the enemy rose—an alliance of rogue wolves protected by dark magic—they rose together.

They won.

By dawn, the battlefield was silent except for the dying groans of the defeated. The witches hidden within the enemy ranks were dragged out, killed, their bodies falling lifeless into the mud.

All except one.

She crawled from beneath the corpses, her black hair tangled with blood, her hands shaking as she clutched something small to her chest.

A child.

Her daughter.

Dead.

A silver blade lay buried in the girl’s tiny chest—Silvercrest steel.

The witch’s scream split the air.

The scream of a mother whose soul had been torn open.

Her eyes locked onto the two alphas standing victorious at the center of the battlefield. She didn’t need to ask whose armies had slaughtered her coven.

“You took my child,” she whispered, blood spilling from her lips.

“You… took… my baby from me,” she trembled, grief ripping through every word.

Her eyes lifted, filled with rage and hatred .

“Now I will take what you love most.”

For a heartbeat, silence fell.

One of the alphas stepped forward, fury burning through his grief.

“End this,” he snarled. “Kill her. Kill everything she’s tied to.”

But before any of the wolves could get any closer, magic surged from her broken body in a violent wave. The wolves howled as the ground cracked beneath them, shadows twisting unnaturally.

Her eyes, once dark and human, now shimmered like molten silver, flickering with crimson fire and liquid shadows that seemed to crawl beneath her skin. pierced through time itself.

She saw the future.

Two infants.

A boy with storm-grey eyes.

A girl with silver-gold hair.

Fated.

Mates.

The witch smiled, teeth stained red.

"Your children will carry my pain,” she hissed.

“They will crave each other. Their bond will be irresistible.”

The wind shrieked as her magic split the sky.

“And when that craving bears fruit, the girl’s womb will become her grave. Neither mother nor child shall draw breath beyond it.”

The wind screamed as her magic ignited.

Kael roared, lunging forward—but it was too late.

“When she dies,” the witch added louder this time , her voice echoing unnaturally,

“the boy will descend into madness. Love and pain of losing her will rot him from the inside until he destroys himself… or she destroys him.”

The magic snapped.

“No! Soldiers—don’t let her escape!”

Alpha Ronan surged forward, fury ripping through his voice.

“How dare you ?” he roared. “If you think he will die so easily, you are dead wrong. I will make sure those children never cross paths. They will be separated.”

Before any of the wolves could reach her, a violent wind erupted, slamming into the battlefield and throwing them back like leaves.

The witch laughed softly, even as blood filled her mouth.

“Separated?” she whispered.

Her smile widened, broken and knowing.

“Distance won’t save them.”

In the center, Time seemed to stretch as she raised her blade, slow and deliberate. Her molten silver and crimson eyes met each of them, carrying centuries of rage, grief, and inevitability.

And then — she stabbed herself.

The blade slid through her chest with a quiet finality, her body collapsing into the whirlwind she had summoned. The wind howled louder, as if mourning her, carrying the remnants of her magic across the world.

When it settled, silence fell. The alphas stared, horrified. She was gone. Dead. Yet the curse had been cast, the children marked.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then the alphas understood.

The curse had not been meant to kill the children — it was meant to bind them. To twist fate itself. To ensure that if they ever found each other, everything they loved would burn.

Alpha Luca’s hands shook as he wiped blood from his blade.

Not the witch’s blood.

The child’s.

“We separate them,” Alpha Luca said at last, his voice cold with certainty. “Completely.”

“No borders,” the other added. “No pack ties. No trace.”

The decision was final.

The girl was taken first.

Her mother did not argue. She did not plead. She only gathered her child into her arms and ran far enough that the moon felt unfamiliar.

Far enough that the pack’s howls faded into memory.

She didn’t ask permission.

She didn’t look back.

She chose her daughter over the world that had failed her

She raised Liora among humans, burying her wolf deep beneath carefully constructed lies.

And so Liora grew up believing herself human — strange, stronger than the rest, yet unaware of the power that slumbered just beneath her skin.

The wolf slept.

Or so they thought.

They made sure the children never heard each other’s names.

Never saw the same moon.

Never crossed the same path.

Years passed. The world changed.

The curse waited.