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His Defiant Luna: The Secret White Wolf

Su Liao

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Werewolf

40 Chapters

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Today was my twentieth birthday, the day my fiancé, Kerr Cantrell, arrived at my family's estate. In my past life, he used the Werewolf Council's blind-matching law to force me into his home as an unmarked breeder-a powerless slave. He claimed it was the only way to protect my family's newly arrived merchant pack in the capital. But it was all a sickening lie. While draining our billions, he was secretly engaged to a powerful military commander's sister. Worse, his family colluded with the Council to revoke our residency sponsorship and planted ten crates of contraband military silver dust in our moving trucks. My entire bloodline was ruthlessly executed on the highway for high treason. I was locked away in his dark dungeon, tortured until my flesh burned to ash. Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the Alpha I trusted could slaughter my innocent family just to fund his lavish wedding with another woman. Why did our devotion and wealth only buy us a brutal death sentence? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the very morning of my twentieth birthday. "Your entire Pack will be stripped of residency and thrown into the wilderness to be hunted down!" he threatened, demanding my fortune just like before. This time, I didn't cower or cry. Instead, I locked the doors, surrounded him with thirty silver-armed guards, and served him a steaming cup of paralyzing Wolfsbane tea.

His Defiant Luna: The Secret White Wolf Chapter 1

Dahlia Maxwell POV:

I bolted upright on my velvet bed, gasping for air as the stench of my own charred flesh and illicit silver dust lingered in my nostrils. My chest heaved violently, my lungs burning as if they were still filled with the toxic smoke of the Cantrell Pack's underground dungeon.

Shaking uncontrollably, I looked down at my hands. The faint, silver-white wolf birthmark on the webbing between my thumb and forefinger-the mark of the rightful heir to the Maxwell fortune-was completely intact. There was no jagged, mutilated scar where the flesh had been ruthlessly gouged out.

Morning sunlight from the Capital District filtered through the sheer curtains. I whipped my head toward the antique brass calendar on my nightstand. It read October fourteenth, my twentieth birthday, and the exact second day after my entire family Pack relocated to the capital.

A cold wave washed over my scalp, making every hair stand on end. I had come back. I was twenty years old again, waking up on the very morning the Cantrell family would arrive at our gates to drain our blood and swallow our billions.

I swung my bare feet onto the freezing hardwood floor and walked briskly to the full-length mirror. Staring at my pale, striking reflection, I pressed a trembling hand against my sternum to force down the suffocating terror churning in my stomach.

In my past life, it was on this exact morning that my fiancé, Kerr Cantrell, used the Werewolf Council's mandatory genetic blind-matching law as leverage to force me into his estate as an unmarked breeder. In werewolf society, a mate who has not received the permanent Marking-The Bite on the neck-cannot even establish a Mind-Link and holds the exact same legal status as a powerless slave.

Worse, his family colluded with the Council to revoke our residency sponsorship, issued a Pack expulsion order, and planted ten crates of contraband silver dust in our trucks to have my entire bloodline executed for treason.

But the Moon Goddess send me back.

The heavy walnut door clicked open, and my mother, Evelyn Maxwell, walked in carrying a steaming porcelain cup of calming herbal tea. As the fierce Beta Female who managed our family's commercial empire, she rarely showed softness, except to me. Spotting my bare feet on the floorboards, she immediately frowned, set the cup down, and hurried over to wrap a thick cashmere shawl around my shoulders.

"My little darling, why aren't you wearing slippers?" she scolded gently.

Feeling the familiar warmth of her palms through the wool, my nose stung. I lunged forward and threw my arms around her waist, burying my face against her collarbone.

Mother stiffened in surprise for a second before her hand came up to pat my back in slow, protective circles.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. Mom is right here," she murmured, her voice steady and fierce.

I inhaled her warm scent of vanilla and ink, silently swearing to the Moon Goddess that I would tear anyone who touched my family limb from limb in this life.

In my past life, when she collapsed in front of me, I failed to protect her.

Mother stroked my hair and let out a heavy sigh. "The Cantrell motorcade just pulled up to the main fountain. That arrogant bastard Kerr is downstairs demanding to see you."

At the mention of his name, the hidden White Wolf dormant within my bloodline let out a low, agitated growl, which I quickly locked behind my mental shields. I stepped back from my mother's embrace, the corner of my mouth curving into a razor-thin sneer, that man-the man who drove me to my death-has come!

"Let him wait," I said, my voice flat. "The Maxwell drawing room isn't a public kennel he can barge into whenever he pleases."

Surprise flickered across my mother's eyes at my sudden hostility, but she nodded firmly. "Good. I'll go downstairs and block him."

Once she left, I walked into my walk-in closet and bypassed the soft pastel dresses I used to wear to please him. Instead, I pulled out a sharp, high-fashion black tailored suit dress. I swept my long hair into a high twist, exposing my neck, and secured it with a solid silver hairpin.

In our world, silver is the only substance fatal to werewolves; wearing it openly was the most arrogant provocation I could offer an uninvited guest.

A fine, netting burn crept from the pin's tip into my scalp, like an ember buried in my hair roots. The White Wolf bloodline had granted me a silver resistance far beyond my kind-an ordinary wolf holding bare silver for a minute would have its palm split open; I only had to endure this dull, ember-like ache.

I deliberately left it in. The pain was the only thing that can keep me clear-headed. I wanted the man downstairs to read the message at first glance: I was far stronger than he believed-and I was no longer that groveling girl who lived to please him.

Stepping out of my bedroom, I walked down the carpeted hallway toward the grand staircase. The Maxwell Pack guards stationed along the corridor bowed with their fists pressed to their chests as I passed.

As I reached the top landing of the stairs, a heavy, suffocating scent of rain and cedar drifted up from the first floor. It was Kerr's Alpha pheromone. That scent had driven me to madness during my years of captivity, and right now, it made my stomach violently cramp with nausea.

I halted at the top of the mahogany balustrade, looking down at the tall man standing with his back to me in the center of the drawing room. Sensing my gaze, Kerr Cantrell slowly turned around, his ice-gray wolf eyes locking onto mine. When he registered my black suit and the glint of the silver pin in my hair, a flash of irritation crossed his face before he forced his lips into his signature, disgustingly gentle smile.

"Dahlia, you kept me waiting far too long," he said, tilting his chin up.

I rested my hands on the mahogany railing, my thumb slowly rubbing the carved wood as my voice dropped to a freezing chill.

"Why, Young Master Cantrell, is your collapsing Pack in such a rush that you can't even spare ten minutes of patience?"