Paschalinelily

Meredith Carter was once the pride of her pack—until the Lunar Curse marked her as wolfless, unwanted, and a disgrace. Humiliated, abandoned, and rejected by her fated mate, she thought the Moon Goddess had forsaken her.

But her curse came with a cruel side effect—wild, uncontrollable pheromones that drove men insane with desire and disgust. A scent so intoxicating, it made her a target.

The night she was cast aside when her pheromones spiralled beyond control, Alpha Draven Oatrun—the most feared and untouchable Alpha in the kingdom—claimed her instead.

But Draven doesn’t want love. He doesn’t even want her. His reasons for marrying her have nothing to do with fate.

Thrust into a world of ruthless politics, deadly enemies, and a mate who sees her as nothing more than a pawn, Meredith must fight to survive, reclaim her dignity, and uncover the secrets behind her curse.

Because something is awakening inside her. Something powerful. Something… ancient.

And when the truth is revealed, not even Alpha Draven will be able to resist what she becomes.

Rejected. Cursed. Desired. Chosen.

Will Meredith break free from her fate?

Above all, what is this mystical force pushing her to start a war?
—
Excerpt:

"You may have claimed me," Meredith whispered, her violet eyes burning with defiance, "but you will never own me."

Draven exhaled a low, dangerous laugh. His golden eyes gleamed as he caged her in, his presence suffocating.

"Own you?" His voice was velvet and steel. "Little wolf, I don’t need to own you."

He brushed a strand of silver-white hair behind her ear—a touch so light, yet it sent shivers down her spine.

"Because whether you like it or not…" His breath ghosted against her skin. "Your body already responds to me."

Meredith clenched her jaw, ignoring the traitorous warmth pooling deep inside her. It was the pheromones. It had to be.

"I hate you," she forced out.

“Good,” Draven smirked. Because hate was just another form of obsession.

The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven

(Third Person).

"I could have had any daughter," Reginald spat. "And I ended up with a coward who can't even eliminate a girl that's already on the brink of death."

Wanda's fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt, her nails threatening to tear through the seams. Still, she said nothing. No matter how hurt she was by her father's words.

"Listen to me carefully, Wanda," Reginald growled. "I put you there for a reason. And if you've failed me, I will not hesitate to clean up the mess myself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," she replied quietly.

"What about Draven?" he snapped. "What progress has he made in Duskmoor? What has he been up to, exactly?"

Wanda hesitated, clenching and unclenching her fists. Draven had warned her and the others long ago—sternly—that none of the information about the humans or the brewing tension in Duskmoor was to be shared with anyone, not even the council.

She Needed Someone