Claiming the Cursed Wolfless Deviant

Draven.

The Lunar Ball was a place for weak men to fight over their mates.

I had no interest in this event. No patience for the petty politics of desperate Alphas trying to shove their daughters into my arms.

But the moment I stepped into the ballroom with my beta and a few other important people, something changed. My wolf snarled violently inside me, forcing me to stop mid-step.

A scent hit me like a drug.

Something wild. Something untamed. Something... Wrong.

The entire room had frozen, every eye locked on the girl at the centre of the spectacle.

She sat there on the floor, her silver-white hair spilling like strands of moonlight, her slender frame stiff with barely contained rage.

Even from across the ballroom, I could see the way her violet eyes burned with unshed tears. And then I saw the scar. A jagged, brutal wound slashed down her left cheek—a wound that should have healed if she were a proper wolf.

My wolf rumbled, unsettled. Then, the whispers reached me.

"Beta Marc rejected her. Right in front of everyone."

"She's cursed. She doesn't have a wolf."

"Then she had the guts to release her wild pheromones. Pathetic!"

My gaze returned to the girl—Meredith Carter. And then I realized something else. Her pheromones, which had been spilling wildly just moments ago—suddenly vanished like someone had flipped a switch.

That shouldn't be possible.

I took another step forward, locking eyes with her. Her breath hitched, and for a split second, something ancient and dangerous clawed at my chest.

Recognition. Possession. Mine.

I ignored it. I ignored the way her scent curled in my lungs, the way my entire body tensed as if preparing for war.

I completely ignored the woman in front of her and focused on the fool standing to her right.

Marc Harris; the future Beta of Moonstone Pack. A man I had no respect for.

He stood there, smirking, his posture relaxed as if he hadn't just humiliated his fated mate in front of a room full of wolves.

I could end him in seconds. I considered it.

Instead, I let my power roll off me in waves as I took steps forward. "What the hell is going on there?"

The laughter immediately died. Wolves lowered their heads, instinctively bowing. And Marc, to his credit, stiffened but didn't kneel.

Brave. But stupid.

I stopped just a few feet away.

Meredith, the cursed girl, stared at me, her hands curled into fists, bracing herself for another attack as she finally got on her feet, wincing in pain. She didn't lower her gaze.

Interesting.

"Marc Harris." My voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Do you reject her?"

Marc smirked. "I already did, Alpha."

My wolf snarled.

Wrong answer.

I barely contained the urge to crush the bastard's throat between my fingers. Instead, I turned back to Meredith. She was now standing tall despite everything.

The entire room expected me to turn away. To ignore her like the rest. They were fools.

I saw what they refused to see. The force curled beneath her skin. The rage simmering in her veins.

She wasn't weak. She was caged.

And if there was one thing I knew, it was that caged creatures were the most dangerous. So I made my decision. And I burned the entire ballroom down with my next words.

"Then I will take her."

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Meredith's breath caught. Marc blinked, his smirk dropping. "What?"

I barely spared him a glance. "You rejected her," I said simply. "She belonged to no one, which means she belongs to me now."

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

I stepped closer to Meredith, watching her body go rigid. I expected fear, but I got fire. Her violet eyes blazed with defiance.

"I am not some object to be passed around," she suddenly spoke, meeting my gaze head-on.

The room went still.

Interesting.

For the first time in years, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch in amusement. 'Oh, little wolf, you have no idea what you are.'

But I didn't say that. I reached forward—slow enough for her to jerk away if she wanted, but she didn't move.

Good.

I took the shredded remains of her veil from the floor. Gently, I lifted it, covering her face once more, shielding her from their stares. Then I spoke.

"Tomorrow, I will take you. In two days, you will be my wife," I stated, leaving no room for negotiation.

Another shockwave rolled through the room. Marc's expression twisted with disbelief. "You're joking."

I turned my gaze back to him, my power rolling off me in waves. "Do I look like I joke?"

Marc paled, stepping back. The message was clear. I was claiming Meredith, and no one would stop me.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. No one moved. No one breathed.

Then, the next second, the room exploded with murmurs, gasps, and hushed arguments.

I expected it. Welcomed it, even.

Werewolves had their precious hierarchy, their obsession with bloodlines and ranks. A Beta rejecting his mate was unfortunate. But an Alpha claiming a wolfless, cursed woman?

Unacceptable.

I let the noise build for a few moments, letting the weight of my words settle like a boulder on their chests.

Just as the whispers exploded into chaos, another voice cut through the tension.

"Draven."

I turned my head slightly as my childhood friend, Wanda Fellowes, stepped forward. Her red gown shimmered under the chandeliers, her green eyes sharp as they met mine with barely concealed outrage. Unlike the others, she did not cower.

Wanda had always carried herself with control, always calculated in her words. But tonight was no different.

"Are you certain about this?" Her voice was low, careful. Not a challenge, just a question.

I held her gaze. "You disapprove?"

"I question the wisdom of this choice." Her attention flickered to Meredith, who stood beside me, silent but tense.

"This woman is cursed. She has no wolf, and she has no strength. Her pheromones are wild and unnatural. And look at her—" She gestured toward Meredith with an exaggerated sigh. "She carries a scar that will forever stain her face. Is that the Luna you want standing beside you? Is that the Queen you want to present to our people? You need a Luna who will elevate you, not—"

Not weaken me. That's what she wanted to say.

I cut her off, my eyes fixed on her. "And you believe she weakens me?"

There was a brief hesitation. Then, quietly, she replied, "I believe you should be careful."

We stared at each other for a moment. Wanda was not my enemy. But she would never understand this. 

I gave her a slight nod—acknowledgement, but not agreement. She exhaled softly and stepped back. "I hope you know what you're doing."

So do I, Wanda.

Before I could speak again, another voice cut through the air.

"Draven."

I already knew who it was. I turned to see Randall Oatrun, my father.

He moved through the crowd like a man still accustomed to power, every step measured, every glance sharp. When our eyes met, I saw no anger. Only disappointment.

"What are you doing?" His voice was smooth, unreadable.

I rolled my shoulders. "Claiming my wife."

His gaze flicked to Meredith, then back to me. "You could have chosen any woman here. Any strong, capable female worthy of a King's side."

And yet, I had chosen the most dangerous option.

He exhaled slowly, his tone edged with finality. "Draven, this is your last chance. You must leave this Ball with a wife. I gave you that ultimatum. And I expect you to make a choice worthy of our bloodline."

I smiled. "Then you should be pleased, Father. I have chosen."

My father's jaw ticked. He had expected me to bend. I never had before, and I would not start now.

I turned to Meredith. She was angry. Confused. Furious. 

She didn't want me. That was fine because the moment I looked at her tonight, the moment my wolf had recognized something within her—

She was already mine.