Claimed by the Cursed Alpha

I was tricked into guarding a tomb, paid three hundred bucks a night.

They whispered that the place was haunted by a vengeful spirit, one that claimed a life every night to ease its wrath.

I sat by the tombstone, sighing deeply. "My mate, it’s been so long. Why can’t you let it go?"

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It was a family tomb.

The middle-aged man who brought me here trembled as he spoke, his voice weak. "This is it. Three hundred a night."

I carried my backpack, glancing around. "No bed? Where am I supposed to sleep?"

The man gave me a strange smile. "You won’t need one."

With that, he hurried away.

I sat in front of the tombstone, staring at the black engraved letters.

**Elisha Lane**

Just three words, no other description. The air around the tomb was thick with dark, oppressive energy.

I ran my fingers over the tombstone, hearing whispers from not far away.

"She’s got no family, no one to miss her if she dies. She’ll do for tonight, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow."

"Are you sure? What if someone comes looking for her…"

"Throw some money at them if they do. Since when are you short on cash?"

"I’m not."

"Exactly! Problem solved."

"But this spirit kills someone every night. How long can this go on?"

"If you don’t hire someone to guard the tomb, it’ll be your family next! Your ancestors made this mess. You think you can just shrug it off?"

A rogue Lycan and a wealthy Delta, deciding lives with a few cold words.

I stroked the tombstone, my heart aching.

"My mate, it’s been so long. Why can’t you let it go?"

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Elisha and I held our mark ceremony seventy years later.

When my time ran out, I joined him in the afterlife, my aged form reverting to the vibrant twenty-something I once was.

Elisha had built a solid reputation in the pack’s afterlife, and our ceremony was a grand affair.

Ford Rogers stayed to witness our union before he moved on to his next life.

He’d been afraid he’d miss it, so he’d gifted us a mating present early. Now, he could leave with no regrets.

Elisha stood tall, dressed in ceremonial attire, his presence commanding yet tender.

He took my hand, his voice steady. "My mate, I’ve waited so long for this day."

I nestled into his embrace.

"So have I."

Elisha Lane is my mate, destined for me since birth.

It’s not that I’ve lived for eight centuries.

But my grandfather, a renowned Healer in the Silver Moon Pack, predicted my fragile fate and arranged a mate bond for me—with Elisha, a werewolf infamous for his lingering resentment.

According to pack legends, centuries ago, the Lane family was prosperous, but suddenly, misfortune struck, and members began to die one after another. A rogue Alpha named Charles Mendez claimed that Elisha’s aura was cursed, bringing ruin to his kin.

Charles offered a solution: torment Elisha daily, drive him to despair, and seal his remains in a steel coffin. Only then would the pack prosper, their wealth and lineage secured.

Elisha endured this torment for twenty years.

At twenty-three, he died.

My heart ached for him. One night, I lay beside his grave, surrounded by a thick, swirling black mist—a manifestation of his hatred. Yet, strangely, I slept peacefully.

The next morning, two Delta warriors approached with black sacks.

“Quick, it’s a woman today. Easy work.”

They moved closer, and I opened my eyes, smiling. “Good morning.”

“AAAAHHH!!!”

“She’s alive!! Run!!!”

The men bolted down the hill.

I stood, turning to the humanoid shadow of mist behind me—a physical form of Elisha’s undying rage. I reached out, taking its hand.

In an instant, the mist’s arm crumbled and vanished.

“When Elisha died, his limbs were severed, his body mutilated,” my grandfather’s voice echoed in my mind.

Tears welled in my eyes. The Lane family was now the wealthiest in the pack, but Elisha had been trapped in anguish for centuries.

“Elisha,” I whispered. “I understand now. I’ll avenge you.”

==============================

Three hundred years after Elisha began his work as a pack enforcer in the afterlife, we had a child.

Yes, a child.

Even in the afterlife, werewolves could have offspring, though they weren’t bound by the pack’s records and would grow to serve in the same realm.

Our son, Jayceon, was the spitting image of Elisha—calm, composed, and unnervingly formal in his speech.

It made my teeth ache.

When Jayceon came of age, he bowed to us with perfect grace.

“Father, Mother. I wish to explore the human world. May I have your permission?” he said, his tone measured.

I nodded.

Elisha waved a hand. “Go.”

As soon as Jayceon left, I pinched Elisha’s side hard.

He winced, dodging, but I kicked him in frustration.

“I told you not to raise him like some ancient noble! Now he’s off to the human world, and with the way he talks, they’ll think he’s insane!”

Elisha smiled faintly. “I think it’s admirable. A male should uphold dignity and grace.”

What nonsense.

I watched Jayceon’s retreating figure, so like Elisha’s, and sighed.

Fine. If he ends up in a mental institution, I’ll just bail him out.