All Chapters of Chosen by the cursed Alpha king : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

133 Chapters

Marcela’s death

Days slipped by gently, like water flowing over smooth stones. Eloise settled into the pack house faster than I expected. At first, she moved through the halls carefully, as if afraid she might step on something fragile. But slowly, her shoulders relaxed. Her laughter came easier. Her scent changed too, less grief, more warmth. Antonio was… attentive to the point of obsession. He escorted her everywhere. He checked her meals. He watched her sleep like the world might steal her away if he blinked too long. The warriors teased him mercilessly, and for once, Antonio didn’t threaten anyone for it. Damon only observed with quiet satisfaction. Love suited Antonio. And it healed Eloise. As for me, my pregnancy demanded more of everything. More rest. More patience. More hands. My body felt heavier by the day, my back aching, my feet swelling if I stood too long. Damon hovered like a shadow when he could, but his duties pulled him away often. That was when Aria became my anchor. She w

Soul of the pack

The burial had to be done before dusk. That was the rule when a warrior fell beyond the borders, before the sun dipped fully and the spirits began to roam freely. I insisted on it, even though my heart ached with how rushed everything felt. Marcela deserved more time. More honor and more life. But time was no longer something we had in abundance. The pack’s burial ground lay at the far end of the territory, a quiet clearing ringed by ancient trees whose roots twisted like old bones beneath the soil. It was a sacred place. Every Alpha, every Luna, every fallen warrior of Redmoon rested there, their spirits bound to the land they had sworn to protect. Marcela’s body had been cleaned as best as possible. Her wounds were covered, her hair brushed back from her face. She looked smaller in death, quieter, nothing like the fierce she-wolf who once strode through the pack with her chin lifted and fire in her eyes. I stood at the front, my hands clasped tightly together, Eloise and Aria f

In two days time

The pack had not been itself since Marcela’s burial. It was in the way voices dropped whenever someone mentioned the borders. In the way guards lingered longer at their posts. In the way even laughter sounded careful, as if joy itself might invite disaster. And above it all loomed the blood moon. Two days away. A red-stained sky that came once every two years, turning the night heavy and strange. Even wolves who had lived through several blood moons felt its weight. It wasn’t just superstition, it was instinct. The moon tugged harder at wolves during that time, stirring power, aggression, and things better left sleeping. For Damon… it had always been worse. That afternoon, I sat in the garden with Eloise, sunlight filtering gently through the trees. Aria had insisted we sit somewhere calm, somewhere green, and had prepared lemon juice herself. It was cool, slightly sweet, and soothing against my tongue. Eloise sat across from me, her hands wrapped around her glass, her postur

The blood moon

The D-day arrived quietly. Too quietly. Morning broke like any other in Red Moon Pack. The sun rose pale and steady, birds sang from the treetops, and life strangely refused to pause for dread. Wolves went about their routines as if the blood moon wasn’t waiting for nightfall. Hunters crossed the inner forest borders, careful not to stray too far. Children attended lessons, their laughter ringing through the schoolhouse, blissfully unaware of the tension threaded through the air. Omegas bustled through the pack house, cooking, cleaning, whispering. Only the training ground betrayed the truth. Damon had been there since dawn. I watched from the balcony earlier, my hand resting on my belly as he moved like a storm among the warriors. No breaks. No water. Just relentless motion. Antonio stayed close, matching his pace, barking commands, correcting stances, pushing the men harder than I’d ever seen. Sweat slicked Damon’s skin, muscles flexing as he fought opponent after opponent. T

One life for another

The battlefield was chaos.Steel clashed against claws, roars tore through the blood-red night, and the air stank of ash and fear. Our warriors fought with everything they had, fighting for their homes, their mates, their pups. For Red Moon.But Damon…Damon was no longer fighting them. He was fighting himself.I saw him drop to one knee, his head bowed, his hands clawing into the earth as if trying to anchor himself. His body shook violently, veins darkening beneath his skin, his wolf surging and retreating in a brutal rhythm.And then….. The witch laughed.The sound slithered through me, cold and sharp, crawling straight into my bones.“I told you,” she called out, her voice carrying easily over the battle. “I promised I would return for you, little Luna.”My heart pounded as I ran toward Damon, ignoring the shouts behind me.“Damon!” I cried.Before I could reach him, his head snapped up.His eyes…..They weren’t gold.They were empty, hollow and obedient.In a blink, he was on his

The witch defeated

I don’t remember standing up.I only remember walking.Each step felt like I was moving through water, my legs heavy, my chest hollow, my arms numb except for the weight I carried. The night roared around me with metal clashing, demons shrieking, wolves howling, but none of it touched me.Because my world was silent.I walked back toward the battlefield with my child in my arms.He was wrapped against my chest, small and still, his face peaceful as if he were only sleeping. My fingers trembled as I held him tighter, afraid that if I loosened my grip, I would lose him all over again.The witch saw me first.Her eyes gleamed as I approached, lips curling into a slow, cruel smile.“Well,” she purred, her voice carrying easily. “Look at you. Still standing.”She lifted her staff and pointed it toward me. “Kill her,” she commanded.Damon surged forward.Aria, Eloise, and Antonio were still there still trying, still refusing to give up on him even though it was clearly useless. They clung t

Ashes under the blood moon

The battle ended without celebration.There were no victory howls, no cheers, no relief that the pack had survived the blood moon. What lingered instead was smoke, broken earth, and a silence so heavy it pressed against the chest.Damon was alive, but barely.Antonio and two warriors carried him through the ruined courtyard, his body limp, breath shallow, skin cold to the touch. The curse had broken, but its remnants clung to him like poison. His wolf was silent, exhausted beyond anything they had ever known.The seer met them halfway.Her face, usually calm and distant, was tight with urgency. “Take him to the inner cave,” she commanded. “Now. He must not be moved again until I say so.”I stood apart. I couldn’t follow.My arms were full.The tiny bundle I carried was wrapped carefully in white cloth, cradled against my chest as though warmth alone might undo what had already been decided. Eloise walked beside me , crying openly, while Aria stayed close behind, her face streaked with

The silence that howled

Grief settled over the Red Moon Pack like a second sky.It did not arrive loudly. It did not announce itself with screams or wails.It simply stayed.For three days, the pack moved as though we were wading through deep water, every step heavy, every breath measured. Laughter disappeared. Children whispered instead of playing. Even the wind seemed to lower its voice as it passed through the trees surrounding the pack house.The mourning rituals began at dawn on the fourth day.Black and silver banners were tied to the pillars of the pack house, swaying softly in the morning breeze. At the burial grounds, candles burned in long, quiet rows, each flame standing for a life lost. Warriors. Guards. And the unborn child whose sacrifice had altered the fate of us all.I stood at the front.I wore white.Not the white of celebration, but the white of surrender. The color worn by those who had given something sacred to the moon goddess and survived only to carry the weight of it.My hands reste

Fractures in the morning light

Breakfast had never felt so loud in its silence.The dining hall was bathed in soft morning light, sunlight filtering through the tall windows and settling on the long wooden table where Damon and I sat across from each other. Plates of food lay between us, barely touched. Steam curled lazily from his cup of tea. Mine had gone cold.Damon ate mechanically, his movements slower than usual, less assured. The confidence that once lived so naturally in him, every breath, every glance, now flickered like a flame fighting a draft.I watched him over the rim of my cup.He paused suddenly, his fork hovering midair.“Something’s wrong,” he muttered.My heart tightened. “With the food?”“No,” he said, shaking his head. His brows drew together, eyes unfocused. “With me.”I set my cup down quietly. “What do you mean?”He pressed his fingers to his temple, jaw tightening as though fighting an invisible pressure. “I keep seeing things. Not clearly. Just… flashes.”I stayed still.Firelight. Screams

The one who came back

The howl came just after midday.It wasn’t the sharp cry of alarm that usually echoed through the pack when danger was near. This one was broken. Hoarse. Dragging itself through the air like a wounded thing that refused to die quietly.I felt it before I heard it.My hand stilled against the arm of the chair, a familiar heaviness settling in my chest. The pack house stirred uneasily around me with doors opening, footsteps hurrying, murmurs rising like disturbed bees.“Luna,” Aria said softly, appearing at my side. “Someone’s at the gate.”I didn’t wait.They brought him in on a makeshift stretcher.At first glance, he barely looked like a wolf anymore.His cheeks were hollow, skin stretched tight over bone. His lips were cracked, bleeding in places, and his eyes, dear moon goddess, his eyes were sunken so deep they looked like dark pits carved into his skull. His clothes hung off him in tatters, stiff with dried blood and dirt.A border guard.Alive.The room fell silent as Damon step

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