Yield No More,Alpha Caleb Howl Alone
Language: en
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I, Clara, fled Caleb after he branded "yield" into my soul, choosing Juliet over me-stealing my dowry, mocking my pain. On his fake mating day, I escaped to the Western Packs, ripping free from his chains. In Elaria, Dominic found me-no judgment for my shorn scalp, just warmth. Caleb tracked me, begging forgiveness, but his words reeked of the same control. When an avalanche buried Dominic, I dug him out, ignoring Caleb's pleas. Dominic gave me a moonstone ring etched with our sigils; I wore it proudly. Now, as I board my flight, Caleb's scent fades behind me.
Available chapters
Chapter 1
My alpha, Caleb Waverly, has branded the word "yield" into my very soul.
"Yielding is the Luna's virtue," he'd hiss in my ear during pack meetings.
So when , Juliet Darkmore, locks eyes with me, her pupils dilated with hunger, I know what's coming.
"Alpha," she purrs, pressing her chest against his arm.
"The new moon ceremony decorations... I think I could design something better than Clara's."
Caleb's grip on my waist tightens.
"You heard your future packmate. Surrender the plans."
The air crackles as his nostrils flare, inhaling Juliet's sickly sweet scent.
"She reminds me of your eighteen-winter self," he growls.
The night before our moonbond ceremony, Juliet saunters up to me, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.
"Your mane is stunning," she whispers, her breath rancid with deceit.
"A shame it'll distract from the alpha's glory."
Caleb's growl shakes the room.
"Chains. Now."
He drags me to the silver-inlaid chair, cuffing my wrists so hard blood trickles down.
"Show some patience, Clara," one packmate jeers.
"It's just hair!"
Another sneers, "Must you maim her over a few strands?"
"Juliet is delicate-can't you yield to your litter sister?"
"Sister?" I snarl.
"She's a viper in sheep's wool!"
Juliet lets out a fake sob.
"I shouldn't have praised your mane. Now you'll be a bald luna on the mating day." Her single tear falls.
Caleb kicks my chair.
"You'd rather see her distraught? Juliet can't handle stress-you provoked this."
I crash to the floor, the splintered wood digging into my back. "You're blind!"
Juliet peeks at me, a smirk hidmanor behind her hands.
"But leaving Clara behind-"
Caleb wipes her tears.
"She was born to yield to you."
Their laughter echoes as they leave.
"Told you she'd cower! Pay up-she didn't even bare her fangs."
I clutch the moonflight tickets hidmanor in my ragged dress. "You'll regret this, Caleb Waverly.
As I fasten the last silver clasp on my travel trunks, Caleb's howl rips through the link.
I brace for concern over my wire-scored wrists, but his first words singe my eardrums:
"Juliet craves that enchanted moonstone dowry in your vault. Yield it as tonight's apology."
"The old lunar priestess is gone-what use are her trinkets to a dead spirit?"
That dowry-crafted over decades by my grandmother.
My voice shakes: "You can't-those jewels are cursed with runes meant for my mating!"
Caleb cuts the link.
Seconds later, Juliet's packpost glows with a selfie: my moonstone collar around her throat, captioned "Caleb gave me his family's heirloom after the auction!" two hours ago, she stole what should've been my lunar blessing.
Even when my pack fell to rogue wolves, I never pawned those jewels.
Caleb knows they're my last link to the pack who raised me.
My palm splits under clenched fists, but the bandages over my wrist scars feel numb-just like the night he found me, broken by a silver whip, and vowed: "No alpha will ever mark you again, Clara. I'll guard you till the end of moons."
I turned down my aunt's offer to flee to the Northern Packs, believing his vow.
Now he hands my sacred dowry to who preens in a Purple lunar silk gown-the color I loathe, the style Juliet demanded.
For half a mooncycle, every wedding detail catered to Juliet's whim.
No one asked my preference, only echoed Caleb's mantra:
"Juliet rarely shows interest-can't you yield this to her?"
Yield I shall.
"Yielding is the Luna's virtue," he'd hiss in my ear during pack meetings.
So when , Juliet Darkmore, locks eyes with me, her pupils dilated with hunger, I know what's coming.
"Alpha," she purrs, pressing her chest against his arm.
"The new moon ceremony decorations... I think I could design something better than Clara's."
Caleb's grip on my waist tightens.
"You heard your future packmate. Surrender the plans."
The air crackles as his nostrils flare, inhaling Juliet's sickly sweet scent.
"She reminds me of your eighteen-winter self," he growls.
The night before our moonbond ceremony, Juliet saunters up to me, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.
"Your mane is stunning," she whispers, her breath rancid with deceit.
"A shame it'll distract from the alpha's glory."
Caleb's growl shakes the room.
"Chains. Now."
He drags me to the silver-inlaid chair, cuffing my wrists so hard blood trickles down.
"Show some patience, Clara," one packmate jeers.
"It's just hair!"
Another sneers, "Must you maim her over a few strands?"
"Juliet is delicate-can't you yield to your litter sister?"
"Sister?" I snarl.
"She's a viper in sheep's wool!"
Juliet lets out a fake sob.
"I shouldn't have praised your mane. Now you'll be a bald luna on the mating day." Her single tear falls.
Caleb kicks my chair.
"You'd rather see her distraught? Juliet can't handle stress-you provoked this."
I crash to the floor, the splintered wood digging into my back. "You're blind!"
Juliet peeks at me, a smirk hidmanor behind her hands.
"But leaving Clara behind-"
Caleb wipes her tears.
"She was born to yield to you."
Their laughter echoes as they leave.
"Told you she'd cower! Pay up-she didn't even bare her fangs."
I clutch the moonflight tickets hidmanor in my ragged dress. "You'll regret this, Caleb Waverly.
As I fasten the last silver clasp on my travel trunks, Caleb's howl rips through the link.
I brace for concern over my wire-scored wrists, but his first words singe my eardrums:
"Juliet craves that enchanted moonstone dowry in your vault. Yield it as tonight's apology."
"The old lunar priestess is gone-what use are her trinkets to a dead spirit?"
That dowry-crafted over decades by my grandmother.
My voice shakes: "You can't-those jewels are cursed with runes meant for my mating!"
Caleb cuts the link.
Seconds later, Juliet's packpost glows with a selfie: my moonstone collar around her throat, captioned "Caleb gave me his family's heirloom after the auction!" two hours ago, she stole what should've been my lunar blessing.
Even when my pack fell to rogue wolves, I never pawned those jewels.
Caleb knows they're my last link to the pack who raised me.
My palm splits under clenched fists, but the bandages over my wrist scars feel numb-just like the night he found me, broken by a silver whip, and vowed: "No alpha will ever mark you again, Clara. I'll guard you till the end of moons."
I turned down my aunt's offer to flee to the Northern Packs, believing his vow.
Now he hands my sacred dowry to who preens in a Purple lunar silk gown-the color I loathe, the style Juliet demanded.
For half a mooncycle, every wedding detail catered to Juliet's whim.
No one asked my preference, only echoed Caleb's mantra:
"Juliet rarely shows interest-can't you yield this to her?"
Yield I shall.
Chapter 2
I jolt awake from a fitful shift.
Lunar firecrackers explode over my manor, their deafening booms rattling the ancient stone walls. Colorful sparks-meant to mimic a moonbow-rain down like a mocking curtain, bathing the scene in a sickly, otherworldly glow.
Juliet Darkmore's sickly-sweet croon pierces the silence.
"Good rising, Clara!"
Her voice drips with false cheer.
I turn to find Caleb Waverly standing behind her, his alpha grin splitting his muzzle as he nuzzles her ear.
A pack of his minions trails in, their cameras glinting.
This is Caleb's private manor-only we hold the moonstone key.
Yet here they are, invading my sanctuary, filming every moment of my distress.
If I'd slept in my usual form, they'd have caught me bare and vulnerable, at their mercy.
"Juliet brought you a lunar greeting, and you can't even bare your throat?"
Caleb's voice is a low growl, filled with barely concealed anger.
"She hired a professional pack photographer for your pre-ritual footage."
He flings a bundle of enchanted mane at me-a fake wig-with a force that sends it skidding across the floor.
"Wear this. Your baldness might spook Juliet."
I curl my lip in disgust, letting the wig fall to the floor.
His friends snicker, their scents sour with amusement.
Caleb's alpha aura flares, but I meet his gaze head-on. "I won't wear it."
Caleb's muzzle twists in fury.
"Clara Ashford, have you no respect for pack tradition?"
Juliet slips under his arm, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"She's just groggy from the lunar shift. I don't mind, Caleb."
She turns to me, faking a pout.
"Won't you model the mating gown for the pack? I picked it specially for you."
"If you want a display, visit the mortal zoo," I snap, my voice filled with venom.
The pack gasps in shock.
They expect me to cower, to submit to their demands, but Juliet's lip quivers, a performance worthy of an award.
"Don't you like my choice? I thought-"
Caleb nuzzles her, his eyes fixed on me with hatred.
"It's an honor she chose for you. Yield the gown."
I toss the lunar mantle at Juliet's feet.
"Take it. It reeks of your musk anyway."
My height towers over hers by two handspans-this gown was tailored for her. "You even stole my fitting, didn't you? The gown was never my size."
"You never told me-"
"Told you?" I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound.
"I did tell you," I snarl.
"While you were hunting across pack territories with Juliet, chasing lunar storms like lovesick pups." The memory of his cold words still stings: "This trivial matter bothers you? Find a seamstress to alter it."
But without his alpha stamp, the manor's tailors dared not touch the gown; everyone knew it was Juliet's favorite, enchanted with her scent.
"So you withheld this to torment Juliet?"
Caleb's snout curls in disgust.
"I never thought you'd be so venomous."
He twists my every growl, convinced I plot against his lover.
But explanations wither on my tongue.
What's the use, when his ears only hear Juliet's lies?
Juliet's whimper splits the manor.
"Clara should cherish the gown. I might never have a mating ritual."
Caleb's arms lock around her, his alpha voice booming at me.
"Since you despise the gown, Juliet will wear it this afternoon. You'll have endless moons as my luna-surrender a few hours."
My moonflight ticket burns in my pocket-nine hours till lift-off.
Caleb misreads my silence, adding, "Apologize to Juliet now, and you can still be the Luna..."
I look him dead in the eye, a cold smile spreading across my face.
Lunar firecrackers explode over my manor, their deafening booms rattling the ancient stone walls. Colorful sparks-meant to mimic a moonbow-rain down like a mocking curtain, bathing the scene in a sickly, otherworldly glow.
Juliet Darkmore's sickly-sweet croon pierces the silence.
"Good rising, Clara!"
Her voice drips with false cheer.
I turn to find Caleb Waverly standing behind her, his alpha grin splitting his muzzle as he nuzzles her ear.
A pack of his minions trails in, their cameras glinting.
This is Caleb's private manor-only we hold the moonstone key.
Yet here they are, invading my sanctuary, filming every moment of my distress.
If I'd slept in my usual form, they'd have caught me bare and vulnerable, at their mercy.
"Juliet brought you a lunar greeting, and you can't even bare your throat?"
Caleb's voice is a low growl, filled with barely concealed anger.
"She hired a professional pack photographer for your pre-ritual footage."
He flings a bundle of enchanted mane at me-a fake wig-with a force that sends it skidding across the floor.
"Wear this. Your baldness might spook Juliet."
I curl my lip in disgust, letting the wig fall to the floor.
His friends snicker, their scents sour with amusement.
Caleb's alpha aura flares, but I meet his gaze head-on. "I won't wear it."
Caleb's muzzle twists in fury.
"Clara Ashford, have you no respect for pack tradition?"
Juliet slips under his arm, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"She's just groggy from the lunar shift. I don't mind, Caleb."
She turns to me, faking a pout.
"Won't you model the mating gown for the pack? I picked it specially for you."
"If you want a display, visit the mortal zoo," I snap, my voice filled with venom.
The pack gasps in shock.
They expect me to cower, to submit to their demands, but Juliet's lip quivers, a performance worthy of an award.
"Don't you like my choice? I thought-"
Caleb nuzzles her, his eyes fixed on me with hatred.
"It's an honor she chose for you. Yield the gown."
I toss the lunar mantle at Juliet's feet.
"Take it. It reeks of your musk anyway."
My height towers over hers by two handspans-this gown was tailored for her. "You even stole my fitting, didn't you? The gown was never my size."
"You never told me-"
"Told you?" I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound.
"I did tell you," I snarl.
"While you were hunting across pack territories with Juliet, chasing lunar storms like lovesick pups." The memory of his cold words still stings: "This trivial matter bothers you? Find a seamstress to alter it."
But without his alpha stamp, the manor's tailors dared not touch the gown; everyone knew it was Juliet's favorite, enchanted with her scent.
"So you withheld this to torment Juliet?"
Caleb's snout curls in disgust.
"I never thought you'd be so venomous."
He twists my every growl, convinced I plot against his lover.
But explanations wither on my tongue.
What's the use, when his ears only hear Juliet's lies?
Juliet's whimper splits the manor.
"Clara should cherish the gown. I might never have a mating ritual."
Caleb's arms lock around her, his alpha voice booming at me.
"Since you despise the gown, Juliet will wear it this afternoon. You'll have endless moons as my luna-surrender a few hours."
My moonflight ticket burns in my pocket-nine hours till lift-off.
Caleb misreads my silence, adding, "Apologize to Juliet now, and you can still be the Luna..."
I look him dead in the eye, a cold smile spreading across my face.