The Alpha's Contract Luna

Chapter 1: Mated to a Stranger

Chapter 1: Mated to a Stranger

(Elara's POV)

The silver glow of the moon bathed the glade in an ethereal light. I stood at the center of the Midnight Sun's sacred glade, surrounded by towering elders with solemn faces, their eyes fixed on us. The weight of their stares made it hard to breathe.

I glanced sideways at Rhysand. He was every bit as imposing as the stories whispered about him—the Alpha King, tall and sharp-featured, with a cold, commanding presence that seemed to draw all the air out of the space around him. His piercing blue eyes flicked toward me, impatience clear in his gaze.

"Let’s get this over with," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the solemn silence.

I fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve, unsure if I should say something. The ceremony, hastily arranged, felt like a cruel joke. I wasn’t supposed to be here, yet here I was, about to bind myself to a man I barely knew for the sake of a promise I couldn’t afford to break.

As the eldest among the Midnight Sun wolves began to chant, invoking the ancient rites of the blood vow, my stomach churned. The elders' voices rose in unison, their words a haunting melody that echoed through the glade. My palms were clammy, and I clenched them into fists to stop the trembling.

Rhysand stepped forward, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable. His presence was suffocating, his aura of authority impossible to ignore. He extended his hand, palm up, waiting for me to do the same.

I hesitated, my mind racing. “Don’t actually exchange blood,” I whispered, as softly as I could, hoping only he would hear.

His head snapped toward me, his jaw tightening. His voice was a low growl as he replied, "I know. You don’t have to remind me. Trust me, the last thing I want is this farce of a marriage."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting of his words. "Good," I muttered back, forcing a tight smile. "That’s… reassuring."

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more a grimace of annoyance.

The elder stepped closer, holding out the ceremonial blade. It gleamed in the moonlight, sharp and unforgiving. Rhysand took the blade first, his movements precise as he drew a shallow cut across his palm. The crimson streak seemed to glow against his pale skin.

I mirrored his actions, wincing slightly as the blade nicked my palm. The sting was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the discomfort of standing beside someone who clearly despised me.

"Repeat after me," the elder instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

Rhysand’s voice was deep and steady as he began to recite the vow. I followed suit, my voice trembling slightly but gaining strength as I went on. The words felt foreign on my tongue, ancient and binding.

As we extended our hands toward each other, the elder’s chant grew louder. This was the moment—the symbolic exchange of blood that would seal us as partners in the eyes of the pack.

I looked up at Rhysand, my pulse quickening. His gaze was hard, unyielding, but there was something else there—a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place. He reached for my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with a grip that was firm, almost bruising.

“Stop hesitating,” he muttered under his breath.

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words died on my tongue as his hand guided mine, pressing our palms together. The instant our skin made contact, a jolt shot through me—electric, unexpected, and intense.

I gasped, my eyes snapping up to meet his. For the briefest moment, his expression faltered, his brows knitting together in confusion. He felt it too.

But just as quickly, the mask of indifference returned, and he pulled his hand away as if the contact had burned him.

The elder declared the ritual complete, his voice ringing through the glade. The gathered wolves let out a low howl, their approval echoing in the night.

I wanted to disappear.

Rhysand stepped back, his expression unreadable once again. He offered me a curt nod before turning his attention back to the elders.

Before I could process what had just happened, a frail but commanding voice broke through the tension.

Eleanor, Rhysand’s grandmother, stepped forward, her silver hair glinting in the moonlight. Despite her frail frame, she carried herself with an air of authority that demanded respect. Her eyes, warm and kind, softened as they landed on me.

"Congratulations, my dear," she said, her tone warm but firm. "Though the ceremony was rushed, you are now officially the Luna of the Midnight Sun Pack."

The words hit me like a blow. Luna. The title felt heavy, suffocating.

"We’ll begin planning a more formal and grand ceremony to celebrate your union in a few months," Eleanor continued, her smile genuine.

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain that this wasn’t what it seemed, but the words refused to come.

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.

I forced a smile, nodding politely. "Thank you, Elder Eleanor," I managed to say, my voice steadier than I felt.

Her eyes softened further, as if she could see the turmoil swirling inside me. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "You’ll do well, child. I have faith in you."

Her words were meant to be comforting, but they only made the knot in my chest tighten.

The ceremonial hall was quiet now, the elders and guests having dispersed after the rushed proceedings. The faint scent of blood lingered in the air, a reminder of the binding ritual that had just taken place. I stood there, feeling the weight of Rhysand’s cold gaze boring into me. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, could have frozen fire in its tracks.

"Well," I said, breaking the silence and brushing imaginary dust off my sleeve. My tone was light, casual even, though my heart was hammering in my chest. "Now that the show is over, when do we call it quits on this little charade?"

Rhysand's jaw tightened, his stoic expression shifting into one of disdain. "Charade?" he echoed, his voice low, venomous. "Isn’t that your specialty?"

I ignored his jab and smiled sweetly, though my patience was wearing thin. "Let’s not forget, you promised me $10 million for this, Alpha King. I’m holding up my end of the deal. I’d hate for you to think I’m ungrateful."

His eyes flashed dangerously, his calm demeanor cracking for just a moment. "Believe me," he hissed, stepping closer, “I want this over more than you do, Elara. If it weren’t for my grandmother’s ridiculous prophecy, I would never have agreed to this farce."

Ah, there it was. The prophecy. The same one Eleanor had used to corner us both. I tilted my head, feigning curiosity, though his words stung more than I cared to admit. "And yet here we are. Married, at least on paper."

His hand twitched at his side, as if he were restraining himself from doing something he’d regret. “Do not mistake this for anything more than an act," he growled. "If it weren’t for Eleanor’s insistence that our union would prevent catastrophe for the pack, I wouldn’t have married you. I don’t believe in her visions, and I certainly don’t believe in you."

I knew his words were meant to cut, but I’d expected no less from him. I’d made my peace with this arrangement the moment I’d agreed to it. He didn’t need to like me, and I certainly didn’t need his approval.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me. “If you don’t believe in her prophecy, why go through with it?”

His lips twisted into a grimace. “Because the therapist said she has one year left to live. One year." His voice softened slightly, but the bitterness remained. "I won’t be the one to take away her happiness in what little time she has left."

I paused, caught off guard by the hint of vulnerability in his tone. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was there.

The memory of how I’d ended up in this mess resurfaced unbidden. Three months ago, I’d been wandering the forest, lost in thought, when I stumbled upon her—Eleanor, the revered elder of the Midnight Sun Pack. She’d been under attack by a rogue omega, her frail body no match for its aggression.

I hadn’t thought twice. My instincts had kicked in, and before I knew it, I’d driven the creature away. Eleanor had been injured but alive, and I’d stayed by her side, patching her wounds and keeping her company until help arrived.

I hadn’t known who she was at the time. To me, she was just an elderly werewolf in need. But when the others arrived and addressed her with reverence, the truth became clear.

And then she’d seen my eyes—my silver pupils that seemed to glow under the moonlight. Her gaze had lit up with recognition, and she’d declared that I was the one from her prophecy. She’d insisted that I and her grandson, Rhysand, were destined to unite for the sake of the pack’s future.

I’d laughed it off at first, thinking she was delusional. But Rhysand’s appearance had changed everything. He’d been furious, demanding to know why his grandmother was so insistent on such nonsense. Yet, when Eleanor had begged him to consider it, citing her failing health, he’d turned to me with a proposition.

“Marry me,” he’d said, his voice cold and businesslike. “Pretend to be my partner for as long as she’s alive. In return, I’ll give you $10 million.”

I hadn’t wanted to agree. The idea of pretending to be someone’s mate, especially someone like him, was appalling. But then I’d thought of Ethan, my real mate—his broken leg, his shattered dreams, and the expensive treatments that were draining every penny I had.

The guilt of his injury weighed heavily on me. He’d been hurt because of me, and I couldn’t let that go. The promise of $10 million was too tempting to ignore. It would be enough to heal Ethan’s leg and secure a future for him.

So, I’d said yes.

“Are you even listening to me?” Rhysand’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. His sharp tone and narrowed eyes made it clear he wasn’t pleased with my distraction.

I blinked, meeting his gaze. “Sorry, were you saying something important?”

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, towering over me. “I was saying,” he began, his voice dangerously low, “that I don’t trust you. Not one bit.”

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his attempt to intimidate me. “How original.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “Don’t play coy, Elara. I know your type. Low status, desperate for a way to climb the ladder. Saving my grandmother was no coincidence, was it? You saw an opportunity and took it.”

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and bitter. I felt my chest tighten, but I refused to let him see how much his words stung.

“You think I planned all of this?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. “That I somehow orchestrated a rogue attack just so I could swoop in and save your grandmother? That’s quite the theory, Rhysand. You should write a novel.”

His eyes narrowed further, his suspicion unwavering. “You’re cunning, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second that I’ll ever let my guard down around you.”

I met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “Good,” I said simply. “Keep your guard up. It makes no difference to me.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension between us was palpable, electric. And then, something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn’t quite place.

He studied me, his gaze searching, as if trying to uncover some hidden truth. Whatever he saw seemed to unsettle him, and he quickly looked away.

“Stay out of my way,” he muttered, turning on his heel and striding toward the door.