Choose Your Alpha, Princess
Description
In a realm where Alphas collect mates like crowns, Luna Syrena clings to a forbidden promise: Devon would belong to her alone. Three barren years later, the council demands he choose others-or lose everything. Forced to groom her own rivals, Syrena turns away from duty for one dangerous night with a stranger whose touch feels like fate. That single spark ignites a blaze of secrets-about blood, power, and the men who would claim her. Torn between the Alpha who swore himself to her and the one who awakens something wilder, Syrena must decide which desire she dares to follow... and which throne might burn for it.
Chapter 1
Oct 2, 2025
POV Syrena
The plastic test strip mocked me with its single pink line. I gripped the edge of the marble bathroom counter as the Fertility Festival's drums pounded through the pack house walls, each beat a reminder of my failure.
Three years. Three years of trying, and my womb remained as empty as the second window on that damned test.
"Not pregnant." I whispered the words to my reflection, watching my lips form the syllables I'd spoken too many times. The woman staring back at me looked tired—dark circles beneath green eyes that had once sparkled with hope.
My enhanced wolf hearing picked up voices from two floors below, the she-wolves gathered in the kitchen preparing festival foods. Their words carried with crystal clarity, as if they stood beside me.
"Three years and still nothing from Luna's womb," Marissa's voice dripped with suspicion. "But Dr. Hayes keeps saying she's fertile. How is that possible?"
"You know what my grandmother always said about situations like this?" Rebecca's tone turned conspiratorial. "When a she-wolf can breed but won't breed, there's usually witch blood involved."
My blood turned to ice.
"You think Luna Syrena is part witch?" A third voice—young Sarah—sounded scandalized and delighted.
"Think about it," Rebecca continued. "She convinces our Alpha—our strong, virile Alpha who should have multiple mates—to promise monogamy. What wolf in their right mind does that unless they're working some kind of magic?"
"She probably doesn't even love him," Marissa added viciously. "Just wanted the Luna status. And now she's purposely keeping herself barren to spite him, to control him. My cousin says witches can prevent conception with their magic, even when their bodies are fertile."
"That selfish bitch," Sarah hissed. "Manipulating Alpha Devon with her witch tricks, denying him heirs while playing the victim. The pack is suffering because of her selfishness."
"The real question is how long Alpha Devon will tolerate this charade," Rebecca said. "Monogamy was her idea, her manipulation. He should cast her out and take proper mates who can give him pups."
My hands trembled as I wrapped the test in tissue paper and buried it deep in the waste basket.
How different their whispers had been three years ago, when Devon and I first mated. 'Revolutionary romance,' they'd called it. 'A fairy tale love story.' The Alpha who chose one woman, who promised eternal monogamy in a world where wolves took multiple mates.
I pressed my palms against my flat stomach, remembering Devon's words from our first year of marriage: "Our love is extraordinary, Syrena. It will create equally extraordinary children." His hands had covered mine then, his hazel eyes bright with certainty.
The second year brought concern masked as patience. "These things take time," he'd said, though I'd caught him staring at other pack children with an expression I couldn't name.
Now, in year three, he barely touched me at all.
The bathroom door rattled under someone's impatient knock. "Luna Syrena? Elder Roslyn requests your presence in the main hall."
I smoothed my dress—the deep red one Devon used to love—and stepped into the chaos of the Fertility Festival.
The main hall blazed with torchlight and writhed with dancing bodies. Pregnant she-wolves swayed with their hands on their swollen bellies, while mothers bounced giggling pups on their hips. The very air seemed to pulse with fecundity, except for the dead space around me.
"Oh, Syrena dear, perfect timing!" Elder Roslyn's voice cut through the festivities like a blade. The ancient she-wolf's clouded eyes fixed on me with unnerving accuracy. "We need someone to organize the cleanup crew since you're not busy with... maternal duties."
The pack mothers around her exchanged knowing looks, their children playing at their feet—small, living reminders of what I couldn't provide. The silence that followed her words was deafening, even amid the celebration.
Young Sarah, barely twenty-one with a six-month-old pup on her hip, stepped forward with false concern painted across her pretty face.
"My grandmother always said when Luna's womb is silent, the moon hides its face—the rituals will not take. Perhaps we should discuss alternative arrangements for next month's blessing ceremony?"
"Alternative arrangements?" I kept my voice steady, though rage burned in my chest. "I am still your Luna, Sarah."
"Of course," she replied, her smile sharp as broken glass. "I only meant that the pack's spiritual needs—"
"The pack's spiritual needs are my responsibility." The words came out harder than intended. "As they have been for six years."
Elder Roslyn's weathered hand patted my arm with condescending gentleness. "No one questions your dedication, dear. We simply worry about the... energy you bring to sacred rituals. Fertility magic requires a certain vitality."
They dispersed with satisfied smirks, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the celebration. Couples swayed past me, pregnant women laughed, children raced between dancers' legs. I stood like a barren island in a sea of life.
"Syrena." Devon's voice came from behind me, and I turned to find my husband watching with his jaw clenched. He'd witnessed their treatment of me—I could see the anger in the rigid set of his shoulders. But he said nothing to defend me. Not anymore.
His hand settled on my lower back, the touch so brief it barely registered before he pulled away. Once, he would have kept his hand there possessively, proudly. Now, the gesture felt obligatory.
"How was the appointment?" he asked quietly, though his tone carried no hope. When had he stopped hoping? When had I?
"The same results," I replied, watching his shoulders slump. "Dr. Hayes says my hormone levels are normal. My cycle is regular. Everything appears healthy."
"But still nothing." Not a question. A statement, flat and final.
I forced brightness into my voice, reaching for his hand. "We just need to keep trying. Remember what you said? Our love is stronger than biology. We chose each other when the whole world expected you to take multiple mates."
Devon's expression flickered—pain, regret, something else—before his features smoothed into that careful mask he'd been wearing for months. He pulled his hand away.
"Of course," he said, his gaze already moving past me to the celebration. "I have pack business to handle."
"Devon, wait—"
But he was already walking away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd. Young she-wolves gravitated toward him immediately, their faces bright with invitation. He didn't encourage them, but he didn't discourage them either.
"Luna Syrena!" A small voice piped up, and I looked down to find little Gracie, one of the pack orphans, tugging at my dress. "Will you dance with us?"
Her innocent request nearly broke me. "Of course, sweetheart."
As I let her pull me toward the dancing children, I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. I was Luna of this pack. I was Devon's chosen mate, his only mate, bound by vows that transcended tradition.
"You are my moon, my stars, my everything," he'd promised on our wedding night. "In a world of many, you are my only."
I had to believe those words still meant something. I had to believe our love could survive this trial. Because if I stopped believing, if I let doubt creep in...
My gaze found Devon across the room. Mira, the pack beauty, leaned close to whisper something in his ear. He didn't pull away.
For the first time in three years, a different kind of pain seized my chest—not the ache of an empty womb, but the stabbing fear of an emptying heart.
The Fertility Festival raged on around me, a celebration of everything I couldn't give him. And as I danced with the children, pretending joy I didn't feel, one thought echoed through my mind: How much longer before his promises crumbled like dried leaves?
How much longer before I lost him completely?
Choose Your Alpha, Princess
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