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Bride of the Vengeful Alpha

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Rheode, a town steeped in secrets, where werewolves rule and dreams foretell destinies. Bride of the vengeful alpha follows Claire, a she-wolf navigating a world of tradition and betrayal. As she tries to make sense of her own identity and the weight of her heritage, Claire discovers that her dreams may hold the key to a forgotten past and an uncertain future. When a stranger with an alluring scent and mysterious ruby red eyes appears, Claire's world is turned on its head. Truths revealed set off a chain of events that will change all that she knows. Join Claire on a journey of self-discovery, danger and the pursuit of love in a world where a friendly face can hide the darkest sins.

Chapter 1

When I was a girl, I dreamed. I dreamed of stars, the sky, balloons, and darkness wrapped in him. I didn't realize the dreams I had were far from ordinary; they echoed with promised retribution. You see, it wasn't bad to dream, but to dream of him was an omen of dark days to come. Days that will rip off the mask of my quiet unsuspecting town. My name is Claire, and I am the bride of a vengeful alpha.

My hometown, Rhoede, pronounced REE-ODE, was a simple but ruthless one. It was home to the greatest werewolves to walk the earth, almost entirely cut off from the rest of the world by the ocean on three sides. It was self-sustaining, thriving, and utilitarian. I was born here, to the largest and strongest pack known to man and others; the Blackthorne wolves. Volatile, powerful, ruthless with signature eyes of grey and gold that shone in the most heightened emotions. I was small compared to the rest of my clan, barely 5'5", and weighed next to nothing. As a she-wolf, I was already disappointing, and I had just begun. There are several packs within Rhoede other than mine we have, O'Connoers, McMasters, the Rune, Beaumont, Belgrave, Greyson, the Rivers, Nightlad, and the Savonts. The leaders of each pack form a council of wolves spearheaded by Alpha Declan Rivers; they deliberate and make decisions to protect our home and interests.

The dreams I speak of are not fantasy, and not ordinary in the least. To dream as a young she-wolf is a necessity; it is the only way to find our true mates. Once one is of age, eighteen, the dreams begin to unfold, giving little details here and there until the full picture of him is complete and you unlock his name, scent, and aura. Some dream of wolves not within the pack and must find him along with the help of the pack druids, masters of magic who assist also in mating rituals, bond severance, and funerals. They also throw a mean birthday party. It is not uncommon to have dreams earlier than 18. The youngest record was about 15; Natalie Greyson. She dreamt of some New York wolf and spent the next 2 summers yapping on and on about him and how she couldn't wait to leave. She did, and we gave thanks. I never understood her desire to upend all she's ever known in the blink of an eye without looking back. I've always felt grounded here, like all I need and am meant to have is here. Now don't get me wrong, I love the occasional vacation but there is no place like home.

There's just something picturesque about here, with its rolling acres of uncultivated land, most wolfs owned ranches and farms, and just great property with enough nature and space to allow our wolves room to run free and a semblance of peace. There are schools; kindergarten, middle schools, community college, and quite recently a University that accepts wolves and humans, that idea was met with a whole of pushback but the council made it work. There are restaurants, boutiques, and shopping centers. Everything is well thought out for convenience and ease. But as modern and well-structured as my home is, it wasn't always like that. Weirdly no one seems to be able to give a clear account of the history of our town. All there is are records from two hundred years prior. Anything beyond that simply doesn't exist or is lost in translation. Many texts allude that we've been here for over four hundred years if not more. So what happened to nearly 300 years of history is anyone's guess. There are whispered stories of war, of great werewolves who could perform rituals the way druids do, who could enter minds and enslave their victims like vampires. Who drew strength and life force from the moon to truly live forever. Myths and crazy stories are what it is because our kind of werewolf barely makes it to a hundred years, can't do magic for anything, and cannot enter minds. Save the full moon transformation and heightened smell hearing and healing, we are human-ish. There has been a gross dilution of our 'other' blood thanks to Weres who mated with humans. Do that too many times in too many generations and you'll have what we are right now. To mate with humans is a personal choice it was mostly Were's who lost their mates to wars back in the day. They find humans and settle down with them for want of companionship. The proper way to secure a mate remains the 'mated dream'.

The mated dream is supposed to be sweet, like a cool breeze on your skin on a summer day, leave you feeling all warm and tingly and wake you up with a sharp sense of focus so no matter how little the detail revealed is, you would be able to write it down and recognize it when the full picture comes. It's also one of the reasons it happens at 18, young female pups have a hard time connecting what's real from their active imagination. It's a way to ensure certainty.

This is why when I jerked violently from bed at the young age of 16, drenched in sweat with a roar in my ears followed by a sinister laugh, I knew something was wrong.

Chapter 2

Claire

When I was 9 years old, I met my best friend, Ally Savont. I was bullied and laughed at for being different by members of my pack and others. It's not easy being a 5'3" petite wolf when the average she-wolf height was about 5'9" to 6 foot, leggy, and built. They made fun of my curly copper-red hair with streaks of white. Someone said I looked like Frankenstein's wife. Kids were mean, very mean to the shy little wolf with golden eyes, pale skin, a dusting of freckles across my button nose bridge, and a full, pouty pink lip. I was adorable; I didn't understand why. I made reports to several teachers, but no one wants to believe they are bullies, much less that a Moore wolf would let herself be bullied. Coming from the toughest clan had its demerits, and this was one of them. I tried my best to avoid confrontation and only spoke if spoken to, which was barely if ever. It hurt my mom so much to see me retreat into myself. I got more quiet as the scho

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