The Alpha’s Curse
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the warm golden light filtering through sheer velvet curtains. The ceiling above her was impossibly high, adorned with intricate carvings of wolves in mid-howl and silver leaf embellishments that shimmered like moonlight. She sat upright, and that’s when she saw him.
The most devastatingly handsome man she had ever laid eyes on in any reality.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black with a dark aura that seemed to drain the warmth from the room, he glared at her like she was a thorn in his side. His voice, deep and cutting, sliced through the silence.
“What drama is it this time, Violet?” he growled.
Her breath caught. Violet? Her gaze darted around the opulent room—tapestries woven with snarling beasts, walls made of stone and polished wood, fire crackling in an enormous hearth. It looked regal, haunting, and chillingly familiar.
A stunning woman with waist-length silver hair stepped into her view, clinging gently to the dark man’s arm. “Draco, it’s not her fault. Don’t blame my sister,” she said softly, her tone coaxing, sweet—too sweet.
“Millicent, don’t defend your sister. I know her games,” Draco snapped, brushing her off coldly.
She was Lorelei—now Violet—froze. Draco. Millicent. The names echoed like thunder in her mind. She’d read them before. On the pages of that book. The one that ended in betrayal, blood, and the heroine’s brutal death.
Oh my god.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She scrambled off the bed and stumbled backward until her hand hit a carved mahogany post. Her eyes swept across the room again. Velvet-draped windows. A fur rug sprawled across black marble floors. A towering mirror framed in twisted iron vines.
This wasn’t just a bad dream. This was the Alpha’s Curse.
And she was Violet—the doomed female lead.
Lorelei gasped, her legs nearly giving out as the truth set in like ice down her spine.
She was inside the novel.
And she was supposed to die.
Unless she rewrote fate itself.
Draco’s eyes narrowed as he watched her—Violet—stand on trembling legs. But it wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes. No, it was something else entirely. Panic, yes… but it shifted quickly to fury. Her wide, violet-grey eyes flared, the rare hue glowing with a fire that made his breath hitch.
She looked... different.
More alive. More aware.
Her hair spilled around her like midnight silk, her porcelain skin glowing against the dark velvet of her robe. But it wasn’t her beauty that struck him silent—it was the torrent of thoughts he could suddenly hear.
“This is the stupid Alpha Draco who will kill and torture me and believe his lover’s every word, but in the end, his whole pack will die because he will be betrayed by his woman.”
His breath caught in his throat.
His wolf snapped to attention, ears perked, body tense.
What did she just say?
Draco’s eyes darkened. A low growl built in his chest, dangerous and primal. He took a step forward.
She didn’t cower.
No, she turned her cutting stare to Millicent, who flinched as if struck. Violet’s tone turned colder than a winter frost.
“In the end, this fake mate will be the winner—taking down the Nightshade Pack, making way for her beloved and true mate, Alpha Noli. The enemy of Nightshade. All because of the gullibility and foolishness of the Nightshade Alpha... and his family.”
Draco’s growl erupted, echoing across the stone walls. The silver goblets on the nearby table trembled from the force of it.
He stalked toward her, eyes blazing, jaw clenched. “How do you know that name?” he demanded, voice low and thunderous. “No one speaks of Alpha Noli within these walls.”
But Violet didn’t answer. She stood her ground, shoulders back, eyes unblinking.
His mind reeled.
How did she know about Noli? About the fall of Nightshade? That was only a vision… a fragment of a prophecy whispered by the Seer no one had dared speak aloud.
Yet here she was, throwing his future into his face like a challenge. Like a warning.
Draco’s mind churned, reading her again, deeper this time—memories not her own… words she had never spoken but thought, as if she had watched everything unfold from somewhere far beyond the physical world.
A book.
A curse.
A woman who was no longer just Violet.
What the hell was going on?
And why did it suddenly feel like she was the only one who could change the fate he thought was set in stone?
“Are you mad? No one talk right now,” she snapped, holding up her hand like a queen silencing her court.
Her voice was sharper than before—calm on the surface, but crackling with storm underneath. The firelight caught the edges of her violet-grey eyes, which now shimmered like lightning about to strike. Draco and Millicent both fell still, stunned into silence by the sudden shift in her tone.
Violet—no, Lorelei—turned slowly, deliberately, her eyes sweeping over them like a blade. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe evenly as her mind raced.
Was he reading my thoughts?
Her pulse quickened.
Impossible. He wasn’t supposed to. In the book, Draco never read Violet’s mind—not once. Millicent made sure of it. She used dark magic to block their bond, convincing the entire Nightshade Pack that Violet was the imposter mate and she—Millicent—was the true Luna.
How convenient, she thought bitterly, her lip curling slightly. Twist the story, blind the Alpha, and murder the heroine slowly, piece by piece.
Draco stared at her, visibly shaken, as if he were seeing her for the very first time—not as the troublesome mate he’d always dismissed, but as something other. Something dangerous. Something new.
She met his gaze without flinching. “Anyway, since you clearly don’t care about me,” she said, her voice icy, “you two should go. Go play lovers somewhere else. I want to be alone.”
She turned her back to them and walked toward the tall window framed by blood-red curtains. Her movements were graceful, controlled, but every step was fueled by anger and defiance.
And plan my escape, she added silently, a wicked smirk flickering on her lips.
Draco stiffened.
She felt it.
He heard that.
Her smile widened just enough for him to see it.
So the bastard could hear her thoughts now. How interesting. Maybe Millicent’s magic was weakening. Or maybe something in her—Lorelei, not Violet—was disrupting the script of the story.
Draco’s expression darkened. His fists clenched, jaw ticking with restrained fury. He took a step forward, instinct and dominance surging through him.
“Don’t,” she warned without turning. “I know how this ends for me. But maybe I’m not the same Violet you think I am.”
Her words dropped like stones into the silence.
Millicent moved nervously beside Draco, her eyes darting between them. “Draco, she’s not well—she’s clearly confused—”
But he wasn’t listening to Millicent anymore. He was still staring at the back of the woman who’d just cracked open the tightly sealed coffin of his fate and dared to question everything inside it.
For the first time, Draco Nightshade wasn’t sure who he feared more—his enemies…
…or the woman standing at his window, plotting her escape with a knowing smirk and eyes that saw too much.
