Semua Bab The Butcher's Bride: Bab 1 - Bab 10

‎13 Years Ago‎‎They say history is written by the victors, but my story began with the defeated.‎‎Decades ago, my grandfather, a ruthless Alpha obsessed with blood purity waged war on the Silver Moon Pack. He slaughtered them all, leaving only one survivor: a young girl named Masia. She was brought back not as a guest, but as a slave.‎‎That slave would become my mother.‎‎It was the oldest cliché in our world: the Alpha Heir falling for the servant. My father, Loine, didn't care about bloodlines or politics; he only cared about her. But his father would not let his legacy be "stained" by the blood of a defeated enemy. He banished my mother to the wild as a Rogue and forced my father to marry a woman he didn't love, Angel, a Beta’s daughter who would later on bring upon herself her own demise.‎‎Years passed. My grandfather died. And the first thing my father did was hunt for the woman he never stopped loving.‎‎He found her. They reconciled. And though my mother tried to leav

The ballroom smelled of champagne, expensive perfume, and lies.‎‎Hundreds of wolves from allied packs filled the grand hall of my father’s estate. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sea of silk dresses and tailored tuxedos, but beneath the glamour, the air was thick with primal scents. I could smell the musk of dominant Alphas, the floral sweetness of unmated she-wolves, and the sharp, metallic tang of rivalry.‎‎I stood at the top of the staircase, my hand gripping the velvet railing so tight my knuckles turned white.‎‎"Smile," my step-sister Beth whispered, leaning close to my ear. "Try not to look like you're walking to the gallows. It’s embarrassing."‎‎I forced the corners of my mouth up, though it felt like the skin might crack. "I’m just overwhelmed, Beth."‎‎"You’re just weak," she corrected, smoothing her own crimson dress. "If Magnus had chosen me, I would be down there ruling the room, not shaking like a frightened rabbit."‎‎She wasn't wrong. I was fri

The medical wing of the Pack House usually smelled of pine disinfectant and healing herbs. It was a place where warriors came to stitch up scratches from training or where pups were born.‎‎But today, the room Magnus had brought me to smelled of something else.‎‎Cold.‎‎It smelled of antiseptic, sharp and stinging. It smelled of steel. And beneath that, a faint, lingering scent of something chemical—like bleach trying to mask the smell of decay.‎‎"Sit," Magnus commanded, pointing to the exam table.‎‎I hesitated. "Magnus, I’m fine. I don't need a check-up before the trip. I just need to pack."‎‎"You are pale," Magnus noted, his voice devoid of warmth. He checked his watch, a gold Rolex that glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights. "And you still have not shifted. Dr. Aris needs to ensure your... vitals are compatible with the induction serum."‎‎"Induction serum?" I froze, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "You said I would shift naturally. You said we would wait."

The transition from civilization to the wild wasn't subtle. It was violent.‎‎One moment, the tires of the Rolls Royce were humming smoothly over the paved asphalt of my father’s territory, passing manicured lawns and electric streetlights. The next, the pavement ended abruptly, replaced by a rough, gravel-strewn track that wound like a scar into the heart of the forest.‎‎The Neutral Territory.‎‎No pack claimed this land. It was a no-man's-land—a buffer zone of ancient, gnarled wilderness that separated the civilized packs from the chaos of the Rogue lands. It was a place where laws didn't exist, where cell service died, and where monsters were said to roam freely.‎‎The car dipped into a pothole, jarring my spine.‎‎"Sorry, Miss," the driver grunted. I had learned his name was Vance—a Beta from Magnus’s personal guard. He was built like a tank, with a neck as thick as my thigh and a scar running through his left eyebrow. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other restin

CELESTE‎‎My scream died in my throat as the massive, blood-stained hand wrapped around my upper arm.‎‎I expected pain. I expected the crushing force that had snapped Vance’s neck like a twig. I braced myself for death, closing my eyes tight.‎‎But when his skin touched mine, the world didn't end. It exploded.‎‎A jolt of white-hot electricity surged from his fingertips straight into my marrow. It wasn't the static shock of a doorknob; it was a lightning strike. It sizzled through my veins, hot and immediate, snapping every nerve ending to attention.‎‎My eyes flew open.‎‎The air in the car suddenly grew heavy, suffocatingly thick. The metallic stench of blood and the damp smell of the forest vanished, replaced by a scent so potent it made my head spin.‎‎It smelled like a storm breaking after a long drought. It was intoxicating. Terrifying.‎‎I gasped, my breath hitching. My body, usually cold and sluggish, flushed with a sudden, confusing heat. My heart wasn't just racing