Chapter 3: 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."