He was the feral Alpha King buried beneath the mountain. She was the cursed girl they offered to him as sacrifice to end the famine plaguing their lands.

...but what sleeps beneath the mountain is no myth.

Ruvan, the first Alpha. Imprisoned, driven to utter madness, and starved of power.

Solenne, the packless she-wolf known as the Harbinger of Misfortune.

With the power of cursed speech, she is able to kill and bend the world to her will with only one word. To avoid hurting others, she hasn't spoken a single syllable since she was a child. Feared and rejected by her own people, she is given to the mountain in a forbidden ritual-sacrifice... and her scent stirs the beast that slumbers beneath it.

His mate.

Ruvan will stop at nothing to claim what's his, even if that means storming the heavens and finding the cure to her curse just to hear her speak his name.

----
She saw stars behind her eyes and felt constellations carved into her skin with every lingering touch and each press of his mouth. He painted the night sky onto her body, not with a brush, but with his lips, hands, and his insatiable hunger—until her lungs were empty and her heart soared so high it must’ve kissed the moon.

“Solenne,” Ruvan murmured, voice low and reverent, like a prayer.

She shivered; the sound of her name on his lips felt like heaven.

Ruvan pressed his palm to her stomach, anchoring her as he leaned in, mouth brushing the hollow of her throat. His hand rose, slow and shaking, tracing the shape of her jaw like it was a sight made only for him. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and his eyes burned as he studied her.

“You feel like the stars,” he whispered, “Mesmerizing and bright... something that I want to capture and keep to myself."

And then he kissed her; it was a deep, aching vow he couldn’t speak aloud. A promise made only in breath, heat, and need.

When they parted, he gently pressed his forehead against hers. His voice dipped lower… uncertain, maybe even afraid:

“Say my name?”

--
R18, werewolves, fated love, weak to strong... I hope you enjoy my second entry for 2025 WSA. :) give it a shot~

On the rare occasion that the voices didn't haunt Ruvan's dreams, memories of the night he lost everything would plague him instead.


Ruvan stood at the top of the new altar he had built, the world below him burning.


Ash rained sideways, and the sky had cracked open like an eye… and across from him stood Selior—his seer, his sworn brother, his beloved companion… sword drawn.


"Ruvan," the man said, his deep voice calm as the deepest lake. "It isn't too late."


Ruvan scoffed. "It isn't too late for what, exactly?"


"To rescind the evil gods you've made pacts with," Selior answered, his icy blue eyes laden with sorrow. "To start rectifying the disaster you've wrought upon our people."


"Mortals instigate war with wolves constantly," the King replied with a shrug. "Eradicating them will resolve the conflict, and lycan-kind will be able to exist in peace. A new god is what the world needs," Ruvan hissed.


Chapter 19 - Kissing the Storm