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Blurb: The Alpha's Cursed Virgin Bride They told her she was born wrong. Not broken, not wicked-but dangerous. A girl who shouldn't be touched. A daughter kissed by the Moon Goddess under a cursed blood moon. A virgin to be kept, watched, traded. And one day-sacrificed. Lyra Thornveil didn't ask to be the daughter of an Alpha. She didn't ask to be hidden in high towers, whispered about in halls, or raised like an heirloom wrapped in silk. Her life has been one long silence. She knows what it means to be looked at but never seen. What it feels like to ache for a mother's hug and never get one. To sit through birthday dinners where no one touches their food because they're too afraid of her presence. She doesn't remember the last time someone held her hand. And now, at nineteen, her pack is falling apart. A strange sickness is killing their children-one by one, slow and cruel. The Elders need someone to blame. Someone expendable. Someone born under bad stars. So they choose her. They make a deal with the Alpha of Blackthorn, a man no one dares speak of unless they whisper. A man wrapped in shadows and sealed in silence. A man who once loved-and killed the woman he loved with nothing but a touch. Alpha Draven Blackthorn. The cursed Alpha. The untouchable. The myth. She's to be given to him as a bride under the blood moon. It's a marriage with no love, no future, and only one rule: Do. Not. Touch. Because if Draven touches his fated mate-if skin meets skin-she will die. Lyra doesn't fight it. She doesn't scream or beg. There's a strange calm to her. A quietness that isn't fear-it's exhaustion. It's resignation. It's the soft surrender of someone who was never really allowed to live, now being told she's meant to die. But the moment she steps over the border into Blackthorn territory, something shifts. The bond snaps. Not like a sweet spark-but like a burn. A wild, uncontrollable pull. She feels it like a wire under her skin, a heat curling in her bones. A raw, magnetic ache that screams one truth louder than any prophecy: He is hers. And she is his. But Draven won't look at her. Won't speak unless necessary. Keeps his hands locked in black gloves, arms stiff at his sides. His eyes are cold. Calculating. He doesn't trust her-and worse, he doesn't trust himself. Because Draven remembers the last time he fell in love. He remembers the blood. The screams. The way her body collapsed when he reached for her hand. And the Moon Goddess's punishment: to never feel love again without causing death. So he doesn't feel. Or... he tries not to. But Lyra is not quiet. Not like they expected. She's soft-spoken but not weak. She is terrified-but not willing to be forgotten again. She's curious, and brave in small, tragic ways. She asks him why he wears gloves. Why he never sleeps. Why he flinches when she gets too close. And when he doesn't answer, she doesn't give up. Because no one ever tried to understand her either. And now she sees it in him-that same haunted silence. That same hunger to be known. And slowly, painfully, something starts to change. Not with magic or prophecy or fate. But with small things. A look held too long. A dream where they meet-not in body, but in soul-and wake up breathless, shaken. A gloved hand offered during a storm, when Lyra thinks she might collapse. A whisper in the dark: "I'm not afraid of dying," she tells him. "I'm afraid of never being touched before I do." And still-he keeps his distance. Because Draven is terrified. Not of her. Of himself. He's seen death take love before. He won't let it happen again. But the truth is: he's already touching her. In her thoughts. In her dreams. In the way she no longer feels cold when he's in the room. In the way her body aches when he's near-but not near enough. And Lyra? She starts to change too. She stops believing she's cursed. She starts wondering if it was all a lie. Why can she feel his heartbeat in her dreams? Why can she hear his voice when she bleeds? Why does the pain feel more like a prison than fate? And then she uncovers it: The curse was never real. Not in the way they said. Not divine. Not holy. It was put on her. Bound in blood. By someone she trusted. To stop her from loving him. Because the union of Thornveil and Blackthorn? It was never meant to destroy the world. It was meant to save it. But the Elders lied. To keep their control. To silence her power. To break Draven's spirit. And now-now that she knows-there's only one thing left to do. Break the rule. Just once. To touch him. To test the curse. To see if it was real-or just another cage built by people too afraid of what love could become if left unchecked. What happens next? Blood. Heat. Fire. Truth. Draven's gloves come off. Lyra's red thread breaks. And everything-everything they were told to fear-comes crashing down. But in that destruction? There's freedom. And maybe a chance of love that doesn't end in death
Contents
Chapter 1 The Sickness Beneath The Moon
Chapter 1 - The Sickness Beneath the Moon
There was something wrong with the moon.
It hung low that night-bloated and red, a burning eye above the Thornveil woods-and Lyra Thornveil felt it watching her as she stood at the infirmary door, the smell of blood and lavender oil thick in her lungs.
Inside, the children screamed again.
Not all of them.
Just the ones who were still conscious.
Just the ones who hadn't stopped breathing yet.
She pressed her palm flat to the wood. It vibrated softly from the whimpering inside-seven pups, all under ten, curled in fevered heaps on cots that hadn't been used in years. Wolves didn't get sick. Not like this.
Not ever.
"Don't go in," said a voice behind her.
Lyra turned to see Elder Rowan, his grey robes stained and his eyes sunken. He hadn't slept. None of them had. The infirmary had been full for two days now.
"I can help," Lyra said quietly, even though she knew what he'd say.
"You can't," he answered. "You're not a healer. You're..."
He trailed off, like the word was too heavy to name.
You're the cursed one.
Everyone thought it. No one said it aloud anymore. Not since her mother died.
Lyra pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "It's spreading, isn't it?"
Rowan's jaw clenched. "The pups started seizing at midnight. Three elders collapsed. Two wolves shifted without warning and tore through the east gate. We had to sedate them with silver."
That stopped her breath.
Silver wasn't used unless wolves went rogue.
"Is it a plague?" she asked. "A spell? Witch-born?"
"We don't know. The healers say the blood won't clot. That the fevers don't break. The old ones are calling it..." He hesitated. "...Moon rot."
Moon rot. The word sounded like rot in her ears.
"What does that mean?"
Rowan shook his head. "It means the Moon Goddess has turned from us. And someone-" His eyes found hers, sharp and assessing, "-has brought darkness into our bloodline."
Lyra stiffened. "You think I did this?"
"You were born under a blood moon," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "A child of broken fate. You were never meant to shift. You were never meant to survive. You... changed the pattern."
Her stomach twisted. "I didn't ask to be born."
"No, but your blood is old. Older than even you understand. And when old blood stirs, curses wake."
Lyra bit her tongue until she tasted iron. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or shift and run until the sky disappeared behind her.
But she did none of those things.
Because the pups were still screaming. Because something was happening to their pack. And because behind all the talk of curses and fate and bloodlines, she could feel something else-
Something ancient.
Something wrong.
Her bones ached like they knew it. Her blood buzzed.
She had dreamt of fire the night before. Wolves made of shadow. Red moonlight dripping down her arms like ink.
And a voice she couldn't place whispering, "He will come for you."
Lyra clenched her fists. "What do the Elders want to do?"
Rowan hesitated. "They've called for a bond."
Her breath stilled. "A bond?"
"A trade," he said carefully. "A marriage bond. To the Alpha of Blackthorn."
That name landed like a death sentence.
Alpha Draven Blackthorn. The cursed Alpha. The Touchless King. The beast who ruled the dead forest pack that no one spoke of unless they were burying bodies.
Lyra blinked. "That's madness."
"He offered peace. Immunity for our sick. A cure. He has ancient blood. He has magic."
"And the price?" she asked.
Rowan met her gaze. "You. As his bride."
For a moment, all she heard was the screaming.
The cracking of bone in the cells beyond the infirmary. The howling of wolves losing themselves. Children convulsing. Mothers sobbing.
Lyra touched her chest. Her heartbeat didn't feel like her own anymore. It felt like it belonged to something bigger. Something pulling her toward a man she'd never met-and a fate that smelled like smoke and ruin.
She whispered, "And if I refuse?"
Rowan looked away. "Then they all die."
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