Chosen by the Beast Alpha

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The car door slammed shut with a dull thud, the kind of sound that made it feel like I’d just been locked in a cage. The vehicle rolled off the battered driveway in front of the Foster house, crunching over patches of leftover snow before merging onto the main road.

I didn’t look back. There was nothing worth looking at. My father, Celia, and Lily stood on the porch in neat clothes, not as family sending someone off, but like overseers making sure the trash got taken away.

The driver, a wolf warrior with a face carved out of stone, glanced at me once in the rearview mirror. His eyes were empty, like he was sizing up prey.

"About three hours," he said flatly. Then nothing.

The heater blasted warm air, but it couldn’t thaw the cold seeping into my bones. Was I going to die?

Dominic Voss. His name sat on my tongue like a shard of ice. There were too many stories about him—so many that the line between exaggeration and bloody truth had long blurred. But every rumor ended the same way: any woman who got too close to him never met a good ending.

Driven mad. Dead. Gone.

The Bloodmoon Pack paid a fortune to the families that sent them potential mates—payment and hush money all in one. That’s how I ended up sold off.

Ridiculous. When Luke betrayed me, I thought I’d already hit rock bottom. Turns out there’s an entire hell underneath the floor.

The Appalachian Mountains rose against the winter-dim sky in deep blue silhouettes, quiet and ancient, like they’d been watching from the beginning of time.

They faded behind us, and the view grew unfamiliar. We were leaving the pack I grew up in and heading straight into another—one I knew nothing about.

My mother’s last words floated up in my mind. "Never give up on staying alive."

"I won’t," I whispered silently.

The car suddenly slowed and stopped in front of two enormous iron gates.

They were pitch black, carved with a bleeding crescent moon—the symbol of the Bloodmoon Pack. As the doors opened and the car rolled inside, even the air felt different.

I straightened instinctively and pressed closer to the window. And then I understood—understood why my father had sold me off so easily, why he’d acted like this whole deal was some kind of honor.

It was massive. Overwhelming.

The estate stretched out with meticulously kept grounds, ancient and imposing, fused with cold modern glass structures. Huge fire basins burned even in daylight, flames flickering over the invisible weight of authority hanging in the air. Compared to this place, the Blueridge Pack’s scattered wooden cabins and a few dozen acres of woodland looked like a rundown slum.

The car stopped. I pushed the door open. A blast of icy air rushed in, sharp with the smell of snow and stone. My legs, cramped from the long ride and tight with nerves, nearly gave out. I stumbled, knees buckling for a second.

Panicking, I grabbed the metal door frame, my fingers digging into the seam until I managed to steady myself. My heart pounded so loud it felt like it filled my chest—whether from the sheer enormity of the place or from what waited for me next, I couldn’t tell.

No one said a word. Even the driver didn’t bother to get out of the car, like his entire job was just to dump me at the doorstep and vanish.

A servant in a dark uniform appeared out of nowhere. His face blank, he gave me a tiny nod before turning around to lead the way.

I swallowed hard, my throat so dry it almost burned. Dragging along my tiny suitcase—my whole life stuffed into something that suddenly felt embarrassingly flimsy—I followed him.

We crossed a courtyard so huge it made me dizzy, then stepped into the main building’s hall. The cold-toned marble floor reflected a shaky outline of me, like a ghost that didn’t quite belong here. Inside was warm, luxurious, every decoration expensive enough to make me flinch, yet somehow the whole place felt colder than the December wind outside.

Then I saw them. At the far end of the hall, in two high-backed chairs that looked like thrones, sat Dominic Voss’s parents.

Theodore Voss, the old Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack. Even sitting down, he radiated strength and authority. His face was all sharp angles, his eyes the kind that could slice through any lie.

Beside him sat his mate, Celeste Voss. Graceful, stunning, untouched by time. The moment I stepped inside, her gaze fell on me—not like she was checking merchandise, but like she genuinely worried I might break.

"Lena Foster." Theodore spoke. His voice wasn’t loud, but it froze the whole room. "Welcome to the Bloodmoon Pack."

Celeste lifted a hand slightly. Her voice wrapped around the tension like soft velvet. "Come here, child. It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid."

Something in me loosened at her tone. Forcing my legs—heavy as if filled with lead—to move, I walked toward them.

I straightened my back, lifted my chin, pretending I wasn’t a terrified rabbit waiting for the axe to fall. My nails dug into my palms, just enough pain to keep me steady.

"We know the basics of your situation," Theodore said, skipping any attempt at small talk. "And I trust you already understand the agreement we made with your father. We only have one core requirement of you."

He paused, making sure every word hit dead center.

"You must bear Dominic’s child within a year."

My breath caught. I’d known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made my stomach twist painfully.

"As long as you meet this requirement," Theodore went on, calm as if discussing a business deal, "you will be granted full personal freedom. A trust fund will be set up for you—its returns enough to keep you far from your past, living comfortably, even well. No man, and no pack, will ever control you again."

Freedom. Money. Words that used to feel impossibly far away were suddenly dangled in front of me like some casual reward.

Theodore leaned forward, his icy stare locking onto me, voice dropping just slightly, making it even harder to refuse.

"Assuming," he said, "you can survive Dominic."

Survive.

There it was. Not rumor. Not whispers. A blunt, cold truth laid out by the Bloodmoon Alpha himself.

I nodded, the motion stiff and awkward. Honestly, what else could I even do? Protest? Break down crying? That would only make me look even more pathetic, just another Omega they thought they could push around however they wanted.

Luke had betrayed me in the filthiest way possible. My own family had tossed me aside without a second thought. I was like someone drowning, and the Bloodmoon Pack was throwing me a rope covered in thorns. Grabbing it would tear my hands open.

But I had nowhere else to go. I had to take it. Because I refused—absolutely refused—to believe my life was supposed to just end in this kind of misery.

Celeste studied my face quietly, taking in every little shift in my expression. Then she pulled out a sleek black bank card, its edges traced with faint silver lines. "Get yourself what you need. Clothes, toiletries... anything that might make staying here a bit less awful."

Her gaze drifted over my worn-out jacket and the tiny suitcase I clutched. There was no disdain in her eyes—just understanding, like she instantly grasped how tight my situation was.

And she wasn’t wrong. I knew I looked shabby. I’d saved every cent I made over the past two years, planning a future with Luke, pinching pennies so hard I practically hurt myself. Looking back, all that careful saving feels like some cosmic joke.

Celeste suddenly leaned closer. Her eyes were sharp, almost all-seeing, but her voice was soft as she murmured, "I believe you might be the one who can quiet the beast inside him."

I stared at her, stunned. That kind of genuine kindness—I hadn’t felt it from anyone except Anna.

Her words eased a bit of the fear squeezing my chest. I gave a polite nod and waited for whatever came next.

"Now," Theodore said, rising to his feet. The air seemed to press down on me the second he stood. "It’s time for you to meet Dominic."

The same servant appeared again and gestured for me to follow. I turned and walked after him, out of the hall and toward the tall tower at the heart of the estate. My heartbeat picked up, my palms going damp. Every step brought me closer to the man people whispered about like he was some nightmare made real.

This was Dominic Voss’s tower. Countless women had jumped from it. And I—well, I might end up being one of them.

The servant stopped at a towering wooden door. He glanced at me once, expression blank, then walked away and left me standing there alone.

I stared at the door. Behind it was Dominic Voss. The monster in all the stories.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I wouldn’t die.

Maybe.

I drew in a breath and pushed the door open.

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