Surrogate Bride To The Alpha Stand-in

Long ago, before the rise of packs and Alphas, the Lycans ruled.

Beasts of unmatched strength and primal grace, they were not mere werewolves, nor were they any lesser creature that walked the earth. They were the firstborn of the Moon Goddess, divine and immortal, forged from celestial fire and ancient blood. Hidden from mortal eyes, they lived in harmony within the sacred kingdom of Elaren, a realm lost to time.

But peace is fragile when envy brews in silence.

The werewolves, lesser descendants of the Lycans, watched from the shadows. They envied the immortals’ strength, their dominion, their sacred bond with the divine. To them, the Lycans were not rulers but relics—dangerous and untouchable. Jealousy turned to resentment. And resentment, in time, birthed rebellion.

For the first time in history, the scattered wolf clans united under a single creed: eradicate the Lycans.

Even against an entire species, the Lycans stood unbroken. They were faster. Smarter. Stronger. Victory should have been theirs.

But wars are not won by strength alone.

Cornered and desperate, the werewolves turned to an ancient and forbidden power: the Twelve Blood Witches.

In exchange for protection from future conflicts, the witches agreed to craft a spell unlike any cast before. It was a curse laced in shadows, woven through time itself. It seeped into the Lycan bloodline, corrupting their divine essence. One by one, the mighty began to fall. Their healing slowed. Their minds frayed. The immortals bled, and with them, their legacy withered.

The war that followed was a massacre. A slow, suffocating genocide. The proud Lycan dynasty was decimated, erased from memory, their history buried beneath ash and bone.

But power always leaves a trace.

Though the werewolves claimed victory, their hunger deepened. There remained yet another lineage they despised: the Wolf-Men.

The Wolf-Men were not Lycans, but they were ancient. Regal. Born of the first werewolves, they had ruled the clans long before Alphas were ever chosen by dominance or challenge. A true royal line, their blood was revered and feared.

The pack leaders wanted no rivals.

Once again, they turned to the Blood Witches.

On the night of the Lunaris Convergence, when the full moon touched the sacred stones and the Werewolf King and his heir fell into their ancestral trance, betrayal struck. With ritual daggers and dark incantations, the leaders carved away the crown. Blood soaked the soil, and the royal line was butchered in silence.

Their heads rolled. Their legacy ended.

Or so they believed.

Until centuries later, when the daughter of the fallen king was found.

---

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

Giselle’s breath hitched. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Why? What’s happened?”

“They’ve discovered your secret,” Alaric said grimly.

She froze. “That’s not possible… no one knew.”

“There’s no time for explanations,” he snapped, already grabbing a woolen shawl from the bed. He swept her belongings into it with fierce urgency.

“No!” She surged forward, seizing his arm. “We leave together. I won’t run without you.”

Alaric halted, meeting her eyes. His jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, tenderness flickered in his gaze and then vanished beneath a hard mask of command.

“You must go,” he said, voice like iron.

“Not without you!” Her voice broke, desperate and raw. “We can still escape if we move now, before they....”

“Giselle.”

Her body went still. His voice was not a plea but an Alpha’s order, weighted with power that sank into her bones and stilled her breath.

“Please,” she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes.

Alaric reached for her, cupping her face with both hands. “I will find you. I swear it on the moon. But if they find you here, they will kill you and our unborn child.…”

Before Giselle could respond, the door slammed open, and a maid burst in, breathless and frantic. "The ritual has begun! The pack leaders are gathering by the fire!"

Alaric’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and resolute. "Miriam, take this." He shoved the shawl carrying Giselle’s belongings into the maid’s arms without hesitation.

Then he turned to Giselle, cupping her face with trembling hands. His touch was tender, but his eyes burned with urgency. "I will find you," he vowed, voice raw. "I swear it."

He kissed her—desperate, aching, full of love and all the words he couldn’t say. Giselle’s tears flowed freely as she clung to him, unwilling to let go.

"Go," Alaric whispered, lips brushing hers, voice cracking. "Please."

Miriam tugged gently at her arm, urging her to move.

Through blurred vision, Giselle let herself be guided down a narrow passage. At the end of the great cavern, they halted abruptly.

Lydia Voss stood in their path.

Giselle’s heart surged with relief. "Lydia—"

She stepped forward but stopped. Something was wrong. Lydia stood motionless, eyes cold and distant. The warmth that had once defined her was gone. From the shadows, wolves emerged, flanking her with silent menace.

Giselle’s stomach twisted. Her voice faltered. "Lydia?"

The woman who had once been her closest ally tilted her head, gaze predatory.

"Please… you don’t have to do this."

Lydia’s lips curved into a bitter smile. The affection that used to linger there had vanished.

"If you want to avoid harm or protect the child, come with us," she said, her tone flat and calculated.

Giselle blinked, as if clearing a fog. This couldn’t be real. Not Lydia. The same Lydia who had sworn loyalty, who had stood by her through every storm.

Miriam stepped forward, fierce. "How dare you block the Luna’s path?" she snapped. "Stand down!"

Lydia laughed, sharp, humorless, chilling. "Luna?" Her gaze swept to Giselle with disdain. "After tonight, she will be no such thing."

Giselle’s chest tightened. "Why? Why are you doing this? We were friends! You—"

"Friends?" Lydia’s smile twisted, cruel. "I was never your friend."

The words landed like a blade, cold and final.

Giselle reeled. "That’s not true!" she cried, voice trembling. "You were there when I wed Alaric. You saved me more than once. You’ve been by my side since I was named Luna!"

Lydia’s eyes flashed, her face contorted with long-buried rage. "And you stole everything from me," she hissed. "It was supposed to be me. I was to be Luna. But you, some outsider, stumbled in and took it all."

Giselle shook her head, disbelief sharpening her voice. "You’re wrong. I didn’t steal anything. Alaric is my mate. That is not something that can be taken. Why would you betray your Alpha, your pack?"

Lydia’s laugh was low and cruel. "Because betrayal has its rewards."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You are the daughter of the traitor king. And the pack leaders have hunted you for years. They offered me power, rank, and a new life in exchange for you. So I gave you to them."

The world tilted beneath Giselle. Her knees weakened.

She had known. Lydia had known everything.

All the secrets she had shared… all the trust she had placed... every moment had been a lie.

"You..." Giselle’s voice broke. "You knew?"

Lydia’s expression was devoid of remorse. Only pity, and not for Giselle. "For many moons," she murmured. "You understand what that means for your child, don’t you?"

Giselle instinctively clutched her belly, a fierceness rising in her. "No one will harm my child."

Lydia’s eyes gleamed. Her voice grew colder. "If you resist, they will burn you both. Be wise. Come quietly."

Before Giselle could respond, Miriam stepped between them, her voice steady and defiant. "Over my dead body."

Lydia’s smile turned predatory. "As you wish."

With a flick, her nails elongated into razor-sharp claws.

Miriam barely moved before Lydia struck.

A sickening crack echoed through the cavern.

Miriam’s body hit the stone wall with brutal force, crumpling to the ground, unmoving.

Lydia turned with eerie calm and gestured to the wolves.

Giselle’s power surged within her, wild and desperate. She thrust her hands outward, and a shockwave exploded from her core.

The wolves were thrown back, slamming into the jagged cave walls. Dust rained down.

But Lydia stood untouched. Smirking, she reached into her skirt and drew out a glowing crystal.

"Don’t fight, my dear friend," she purred, sickly sweet. "It won’t take long."

The crystal flared, its light searing into Giselle’s mind like white-hot fire.

A scream tore from her lips as her power was wrenched from her, ripped from her veins until she trembled, hollow and fading. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision.

The last thing she saw was Miriam’s broken form and Lydia’s triumphant smile.

Then, nothing.