Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride

Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride.

NOVEL STATUS: ON GOING

PUBLISHED CHAPTERS: 200+ CHAPTERS

Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride – Sneak Peek

Emilia’s POV

For a very long time, I had believed that pain was something a person could grow used to, the same way one grew used to the winter wind slipping through cracked windows, or to old scars aching before the rain.

In the Frostridge Pack, I was not simply disliked. I was considered an error that had somehow survived birth.

My father was Alpha Henry, but being his daughter had never protected me. My mother had been a witch, and in a pack that worshiped pure wolf blood above almost everything else, my mixed blood was a crime no one needed to prove before punishing me for it.

When I was younger, I used to wonder whether they would have treated me differently if my wolf had awakened early—if I had shifted beneath the moon the way every Alpha-blooded child was expected to, if my claws had been sharp enough and my howl loud enough to make them forget the witch half of me.

But year after year, nothing came.

Hybrid.

𝘋i𝗌𝘤оvе𝗿 𝗁id𝗱e𝘯 𝗀𝖾m𝘴 𝗼𝗻 gаln𝘰𝘃еlѕ.𝖼o𝗺

Bastard.

Curse.

The words followed me through the halls of the pack house and across the training field. My stepsister Linda was even better at it than the rest of them; she never needed to raise a hand when she could turn an entire room against me with one sweet, pitying glance.

By the time I turned twenty-two, I had already learned how to lower my eyes when the elders looked at me with disgust, how to ignore the servants who whispered that I was cursed, and how to pretend that my stepmother Dorothy’s gentle smile did not hurt more than open cruelty—because it always came right before she reminded me, in the softest possible voice, that I should be grateful the pack still allowed me to stay.

The only reason I had not completely collapsed under all of it was Brandon Cole.

He had been my hope for so long that I no longer knew how to separate him from the idea of survival itself.

Brandon was the strongest young warrior in our pack: handsome, admired, and respected in a way I had never been.

“When she comes, Emmy,” he used to whisper, brushing his lips over my scars as if they were something precious instead of proof of every punishment I had endured, “everyone who ever looked down on you will regret it.”

So I waited. I waited through my eighteenth birthday, when most wolves shifted for the first time and I felt nothing but silence beneath my skin. I waited through nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one, while the pack’s disappointment hardened into mockery and my father’s eyes grew colder each time he looked at me. I waited until my twenty-second birthday, the final night a werewolf could still awaken before being declared permanently defective.

Tonight was my last chance.

Under the full moon, surrounded by wolves who had gathered less to witness my awakening than to enjoy my final failure, I stood barefoot in the ritual circle and forced myself not to tremble. The silver bowl before me reflected the moonlight, the elder’s chant rose and fell like distant thunder, and somewhere beyond the crowd, Brandon watched me with an expression I desperately wanted to believe was love.

Then the ritual ended.

Nothing happened.

A few wolves laughed.

My stepmother sighed as if my failure had personally inconvenienced her, Linda lowered her eyes to hide the smile tugging at her lips, and my father turned away before the elder had even announced what everyone already knew.

I thought that would be the worst pain of the night.

I was wrong.

As I stepped out of the ritual circle, something sharp split through my skull, and a flood of voices crashed into me all at once.

[What a waste of moonlight.]

[I knew she wouldn’t shift.]

[Brandon must be tired of pretending by now.]

I froze.

No one’s mouth had moved.

The wolves around me were still laughing, whispering, staring, but beneath their spoken words ran another layer of sound—clearer, uglier, impossible to ignore.

Their thoughts.

Panic tightened around my throat as I stumbled back, pressing a hand to my temple while the pack’s hidden cruelty poured into me without mercy. Every smile had a second voice. Every pitying glance carried a knife. They had hated me far more deeply than I had ever allowed myself to imagine.

I needed Brandon.

I needed the one person who had always made the noise of the pack feel far away.

But as I pushed through the crowd, desperate to find him, a maid passed close enough for her thoughts to slice through the chaos.

[Brandon followed Linda into her room again. Goddess, I swear, if I have to wait for them to finish and then scrub another set of ruined sheets, I’m going to lose it.]

My body stopped moving.

For one heartbeat, the entire world went silent. Then my blood turned cold.

– Continue in A Chosen as the Cursed Alpha’s Seventh Bride chapter 1 –