The Alpha's Regret: His Lost White Wolf

Yet, he still shoved a necklace into my hand, demanding I wear it at the Mating Ceremony.

He thought I was so weak that I would gratefully accept being his backup.

When I refused, he used his crushing Alpha Command to force me to my knees.

I stared at the boy I had trusted my whole life, my childhood affection crumbling to dust.

Why did I ever think he cared about me when all he wanted was absolute power?

But as his suffocating pressure tried to break my bones, the ancient power sleeping in my blood finally answered the call. An ice-cold energy surged up my spine, shattering his command like glass.

I wasn't a broken Omega. I was the legendary White Wolf.

At the Mating Ceremony, I wouldn't choose him.

I would choose the low-born Warrior he had maliciously pushed off a cliff, and together, we would tear his treacherous family down to the dirt.

Chapter 1

Elara POV

The day Julian threw away my mother's memory was the day I should have known he would throw away everything else.

The heavy stone walls of the Royal Castle were draped in a thick, gray fog that deadened all sound. My coming-of-age ceremony was meant to be an honor; instead, the tight whalebone of my corset felt like an iron hoop, and with every breath, the veins in my neck throbbed against the velvet collar.

I stood in the grand courtyard, suffocating under the weight of my gown. Next to me stood my half-sister, Seraphina. She was a year younger, born to the current Luna of our Pack. Seraphina already moved with a stillness that made others hurry, an unnerving poise that was the true signature of an Alpha female.

I, on the other hand, was an Omega. Or at least, that is what everyone whispered behind their hands. I was eighteen, the age when every werewolf is supposed to endure the excruciating pain of their first Shift. But my wolf had never come. Because of this, I was looked down upon, treated as the weakest link in the royal bloodline.

Today, the Alpha King, our father and the man whose silence could quell a riot, had arranged a silver bow archery contest. The prize sat on a velvet cushion on the high balcony. It was the Moonstone Tiara. It had belonged to my late mother, the former Luna. I wanted it back with a ferocity that eclipsed all other desires; it was the last tangible piece of her memory.

Since royal daughters did not compete in the muddy yard, we were allowed to choose a champion to shoot for us. I had asked Julian.

Julian was the heir to the Ironclaw Pack, a noble Alpha whose family managed the kingdom's treasury. We had grown up together, our footfalls echoing in these same castle halls since we were children. He was wearing a perfectly tailored hunting coat, his dark hair swept back, every inch of him a study in calculated arrogance. He was the best archer in the kingdom. I watched him, a knot of hope tightening in my stomach, trusting him to win my mother's memory back for me.

Julian stepped up to the line, holding the heavy silver bow. He pulled the string back, the muscles in his back coiling like thick rope beneath his tailored coat. Then, he glanced over his shoulder, but not at me. His gaze traveled right past me, fixing on the high balcony where the Luna sat, a silent, deferential nod of his head.

He let the arrow fly. It missed the target entirely, sinking with a dull thud into the damp earth.

My breath caught in my throat. He shot a second time, and a third. All three arrows missed.

A confused murmur rippled through the crowd, but I saw the flicker of a smug, calculated smirk at the corner of Julian's mouth as he bowed to Seraphina. He had lost on purpose, allowing Seraphina's chosen champion to win the tiara.

A lump of cold pig iron seemed to drop into my stomach, and a film of sweat slid down the length of my spine, dampening the silk of my chemise.

I turned and fled, lifting my heavy skirts as I ran toward the abandoned bell tower. I hid in the shadows of the giant bronze bell, trying to quiet the frantic drumming in my ears.

Footsteps echoed on the stone stairs. Julian appeared in the doorway, his expression entirely devoid of guilt.

"Elara, do not be childish," he said, the condescension in his voice a physical thing.

"That tiara was my mother's," I whispered, my voice betraying me with a tremor.

"And Seraphina is the daughter of the current Luna," Julian replied smoothly, stepping closer. He looked down at me, his Alpha scent of heavy musk and leather attempting to smother my own. "Grow up, Elara," he scoffed. "Suitability matters more than sentiment. My father needs the Luna's seal on the winter defense budget—you understand the weight of that seal, don't you?"

His words were a bucket of freezing well-water over my head. I stared at the boy I had trusted my whole life, finally seeing the ugly, grasping ambition coiled behind his handsome face. He did not care about me or my mother's memory. He only cared about power.

I did not argue with him. I simply nodded, letting the fragile architecture of my childhood affection for him crumble to dust on the stone floor.

Later that afternoon, the Warrior Trials began in the dark woods behind the castle. I stood on the viewing balcony, watching the young men hunt wild boars. Julian was determined to take first place in this trial to prove his strength. I watched as he sprinted near the edge of a steep cliff, and in the shifting shadows, the brown of his irises seemed to bleed at the edges, a faint, unnerving ring of green bleeding through, like a drop of absinthe into clear water.

A commoner Warrior was running ahead of him, about to strike the largest boar. Without hesitation, Julian slammed his shoulder into the man's back. The Warrior tumbled hard over the rocky edge, disappearing into the ravine.

A collective gasp went through the crowd. On the high balcony, the Luna sighed dramatically. "Oh, Julian is too passionate, he must learn to control his strength," she said, though the pleased curve of her smile belied her words. The Alpha King threw his head back and laughed. "That is the ruthlessness of a true Alpha! He will lead the Ironclaw Pack well."

A sour taste rose in my throat. I looked away from Julian's victorious face and stared down into the ravine.

The fallen Warrior was climbing back up the jagged rocks. His linen shirt was torn, and his left arm hung at a sickening, unnatural angle. He reached the top, his face pale and caked in dirt and sweat. He did not cry out. Instead, he grabbed his own shoulder, gritted his teeth, and violently twisted his arm. A loud, wet pop echoed in the quiet yard as he forced his dislocated joint back into place.

My jaw went slack, my throat suddenly too tight to swallow.

The man picked up his bow with his injured arm, his hands trembling violently, and fired an arrow at a distant target. Dead center. He did not look for applause. He just stood there, his jaw a line of granite, radiating a silent, dangerous resilience that seemed to suck the very air around him.

I could not look away from him. In all my years watching nobles prance and boast, I had never seen anything like this—a strength that didn't demand to be seen, yet refused to be broken.

A herald on the ground floor cleared his throat, his voice booming across the courtyard. "First place, Julian of Ironclaw! Second place, Gareth of Stonehaven! Third place... a Warrior of the Royal Guard, Kaelen!"

Just as I heard the name, a sudden gust of wind blew up from the woods, carrying a scent directly to me. It was not a normal smell. It was the scent of crushed fir needles mixed with the clean, heavy smell of coming rain.

The moment it hit my nose, a strange, unfamiliar tremor began deep in my bones. It was not an awakening—not yet—but a promise. A faint, alien hum stirred in the darkest corner of my soul, a whisper of something ancient waiting to be born.

I gripped the stone rail, my breathing turning ragged as I stared down at the bleeding Warrior. I did not yet know what the hum meant. But my body knew, even if my mind did not.

And somewhere deep in my blood, the White Wolf opened its eyes for the first time. I just didn't know its name yet—or that it had already chosen its mate.