Who said Paris was the Goddess of love

When I was nine, I brought my grandmother's ashes and a Mate contract to the powerful Blood Moon Pack, hoping for a sanctuary.

Instead, the future Alpha, Kael, crushed the contract into the snow, disgusted by my existence as a defective, scentless Omega.

"I will never accept a broken Omega as my Mate," he sneered.

For nine years, I was treated worse than a stray dog. I was locked in a freezing, dark attic, starved of resources, and humiliated daily. When a silver weapon sliced my arm and my unawakened body couldn't heal, the Luna Mother ordered her guards to throw me out into a deadly blizzard to bleed out. They only kept me alive because abandoning an orphan would ruin their political reputation. They wanted to break my spirit so I would leave on my own.

I didn't understand why my mere existence offended them so deeply, or why Kael's inner wolf would fiercely protect me from harm while the man himself allowed his pack to torture me. I swallowed my pride, hid my tears, and endured every cruel insult in silence.

On my eighteenth birthday, Kael finally succumbed to the Fated Mate bond.

"You are my Fated Mate, Elara. The Moon Goddess herself forged you for me," he pleaded, his eyes burning with desperate possession.

But I simply looked the most powerful Alpha in the eye, spoke the ancient words of Rejection, and walked away to live for myself.

Chapter 1

Elara POV

The wrought-iron gates of the Blood Moon Pack loomed before me, their spires like the fangs of some great, skeletal beast.

I was nine years old, a smudge of southern dirt on the face of the northern snow, and the wind was a physical adversary, scraping at my cheeks with frozen claws.

The ache in my arms was a deep, thrumming thing, born from the dead weight of the polished wooden box I clutched to my chest.

Within it rested the last mortal remnants of my grandmother.

A heavily scarred guard glared down at me, his thick fingers pinching a yellowed piece of paper.

It was a Mate contract, sealed with the waxen mark of the previous Alpha.

It was the last thing my grandmother had pressed into my hands before her breath had misted the air for a final time.

Suddenly, the massive oak doors of the grand mansion banged open.

A boy of perhaps ten years emerged, a storm of childish fury against the biting cold. Dark hair framed eyes the color of a bruised twilight, and the moment his boots struck the snow, the very air seemed to thin and grow heavy.

My lungs fought for purchase, each breath a painful gasp.

A tremor took root in my knees, a desperate urge to bow before the oppressive weight of his presence.

This was the Alpha aura—a suffocating pressure designed to force the submission of lesser wolves.

I was an Omega, the absolute lowest rank in any pack.

And my body was broken.

I did not have the rapid healing of a normal wolf.

Every scratch, every fall, was a potential crisis of endless bleeding.

The boy stopped before the guards and fixed his glare upon me.

This was Kael, the future Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack.

“This is the southern cur?” Kael demanded.

His voice was laced with a chilling, aristocratic disgust.

"Yes, future Alpha," the guard said, handing him the old letter. "She brought this."