Offered To The Cursed Alpha

Isabella Hart’s footsteps quickened as she darted through the thickening woods, the familiar path to the pack house now shadowed in the fading light of dusk. Dinner preparations would have started already, and if anyone noticed her absence, she’d be in serious trouble. But she couldn’t help it. The sharp cry of a pup from the eastern border had pierced through the forest like a blade, and her instincts had taken over.

She hadn’t thought twice. She never did when someone was in pain.

By the time she reached the border, the scent of rogue wolves lingered in the air—foul and metallic—and her stomach churned. Her heart clenched at the sight of the young pup, bloodied and trembling, his flank torn open. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands moving without hesitation.

No one knew what she truly was.

Even she didn’t fully understand it.

But from a young age, Isabella had been able to heal. With just a touch, pain would fade, wounds would close, bones would mend. She never questioned it—not really. She believed it was a gift from the Moon Goddess, a sacred power meant to be used quietly, selflessly.

She pressed her hands over the pup’s wound, whispering softly. A gentle warmth spread from her palms, weaving through torn muscle and broken skin. In seconds, the bleeding stopped. The pup’s breathing evened out. He blinked up at her, dazed but no longer in pain.

And just like that, she vanished into the shadows.

No one could know.

If they ever found out, they’d ask questions—questions she didn't have answers.

She ran back toward the pack house as the sky began to darken. The rogue attacks were growing more frequent, more vicious. The Night Howl Pack’s borders were weakening. Her father, Alpha George Hart, was losing control. His warriors were exhausted, their numbers thinning after each raid. Now she had heard her father, Alpha George Hart, was planning to ask for help from the neighboring packs.

When she finally arrived at the pack house, there was a strange silence—the kind that came right before a storm. Isabella quietly made her way to the kitchen, head down, but froze in her tracks when she saw someone blocking her path.

She slowly looked up and met the furious eyes of her mother, Linda Hart—Luna of the Night Howl Pack.

"You little brat, where have you been?" her mother screamed, her voice sharp with rage. Without warning, her hand lashed out and struck Isabella hard across the cheek.

Her eyes burned, a mix of physical pain and emotional hurt stinging her as her mother continued.

Tears streamed down Isabella's cheeks, but she couldn’t tell her mother the truth.

She had to prepare the entire meal alone. No omega was allowed to help her. Though she was the Alpha’s daughter in name, her status in the pack was no better than an omega.

What she couldn’t understand was why her parents treated their daughters so differently—why they hated her, yet loved her older sister Jessica like she was a precious gem.

She was quick to finish cooking, just before the pack members and warriors arrived. After serving them their food, she glanced back at the large pot—only to find it scraped clean, with nothing left but crumbs and a bit of mess stuck to the bottom. No one—let alone a beggar—could eat that. But after healing the pup and taking on his pain, her body was drained. She felt weak and dizzy. She needed food, something—anything—to keep herself on her feet.

With no other choice, she gathered the scraps from the used plates and swallowed them down. Her wolf growled in protest, but her stomach snapped back.It was food… and right now, that was enough."

Once the kitchen was cleaned, she moved on to her next task—preparing the bedchambers for the Alpha and Luna. But just as she stepped into the hallway, she froze.

Her father’s voice echoed from the study.

“The wedding will take place in two days. And the only change is… the bride will be Isabella. She’s the one who will marry the ruthless Alpha Killian Nightbane.”

Her heart stopped.

What?