Charles’ breath quickened, and his movements became more urgent. “I’m close,” he gasped in my ear, his voice breaking between moans. My own pleasure surged, and I couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from my throat. A wave of electric tingles swept through me, my temples throbbed, and the world around me faded into white…
Every pore on my body felt wide open, heat radiating from me in waves. It was surreal, as if I were in a dream, feeling everything but grasping none of it…
I could hardly believe it—I had married this man, the infamous Alpha of the Black Valley Pack, Charles McLean, and I had just slept with him.
But there was no love between us. We weren’t fated mates.
Since his first shift at eighteen, Charles McLean had never found his fated mate. And after one engagement after another, each of his fiancées had died under mysterious circumstances. Rumor had it that he wore a mask to conceal his hideous face and that he was a cruel, violent man who would kill without hesitation. People whispered that he had murdered his previous fiancées.
His last fiancée—my sister—was terrified of him. Horrified by the stories, she had vehemently refused to marry him. And just before the wedding, she found her fated mate. So, without warning or preparation, I was forced to take her place, pushed into marrying Charles in her stead, to stand as his wife in name only and the unacknowledged Luna of the Black Valley Pack…

A Substituted Bride But A Fated Luna

The metallic scent of blood overwhelmed my senses.


A harsh tug yanked me up, my arms tightly bound to a rope, suspending my body downward. Every breath sent waves of pain coursing through my bones. I felt like my skeleton was splintering with each inhale.


“Crack!” A whip snapped through the air as a guard approached, followed by two more. They surrounded me in a triangle, each gripping a whip with cold, sadistic intent.


On any other day, three guards would be nothing, but now, drained of energy and undoubtedly drugged with aconite, I was powerless. My wolf was too weak to stir—I could hardly sense his presence, let alone shift. I had no choice but to brace myself as they raised their whips.


I clenched my jaw, trying to stifle the sounds of pain escaping my lips.


One of the guards leaned closer, sneering, “Still kicking, huh?”


I shook blood-soaked hair out of my eyes and glared at him. “If this is your best shot, you’re just giving me a tickle!”


140 Betrayed and Bound