Hidden deep within the Vatican’s forbidden archives, lies a shredded leather-bound journal from 1342.
It tells not of saints, but of a pale girl cursed by her pack, and the ruthless king who ripped a kingdom apart to claim her.
This is the forgotten truth of the albino omega.
According to the secretly preserved parish records of Sir Thomas Wayland, an archivist in the 14th century English countryside, the lycanthrope packs of old Europe were not mere myths, but brutal, deeply political monarchies hidden in the dense, untamed forests of the north.
Among these fiercely territorial factions, the Pinecrest pack was known for its cruelty, especially under the rule of Lord Garrick.
But Garrick’s darkest sin was not his war-mongering.
It was his treatment of a girl named Genevieve.
Genevieve was an anomaly, a creature viewed by medieval pack law as an omen of famine and death.
She was an albino omega.
Her hair was the color of fresh frost, her skin akin to polished alabaster, and her eyes held a haunting pale pink hue.
In a society that valued strength, dark coats, and aggressive dominance, Genevieve was treated worse than the dirt beneath their claws.
For 19 years, she was a slave, beaten, starved, and kept in the cold cellars of Garrick’s estate.
The historical accounts note that the winter of 1341 was exceptionally harsh.
Facing a shortage of game and growing unrest, Lord Garrick decided to rid himself of the cursed omega.
He ordered his men to drug her with wolfsbane and drag her to the center of the Howling Peaks, a desolate frozen valley known to be crawling with feral rogues.
She was left as a sacrifice, a piece of meat to satiate the monsters so they would spare the Pine Crest borders.
When Genevieve finally regained consciousness, the biting frost had already seeped into her bones.
Her mind was foggy, the lingering poison of the wolfsbane making her limbs feel like lead.
She opened her pale eyes, blinking against the blinding white of the snow.
The wind howled a mournful tune through the barren branches of the pines.
Then she heard it.
The crunch of snow, the heavy, rhythmic panting of massive beasts.
Genevieve froze, her breath catching in her throat.
She slowly pushed herself up onto her bruised forearms.
Out of the swirling blizzard, colossal shadows began to emerge.
They were not the ragged, emaciated rogues she had been left to appease.
These wolves were nightmares of muscle and sinew, standing as tall as war horses, their coats thick, gleaming, and immaculately groomed.
She was completely surrounded.
Dozens of golden and amber eyes locked onto her fragile, trembling form.
Genevieve pressed her back against a frozen oak tree, pulling her thin, torn burlap dress over her knees.
She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable tearing of flesh, the agonizing bite that would finally end her miserable existence.
But the attack never came.
Instead, the low, rumbling growls abruptly ceased.
The massive beasts lowered their heads, stepping back in perfect, disciplined unison.
A path opened in the circle of wolves, and a terrifying silence fell over the glade.
From the mist stepped a wolf larger than the rest, his coat the color of a starless midnight.
His eyes were a piercing luminescent silver.
The sheer aura of power radiating from him forced the other wolves to press their bellies to the snow.
This was no ordinary alpha.
This was a king.
Genevieve whimpered, pressing herself harder against the bark.
She did not know that she was looking into the eyes of King Darian Roth, the sovereign of the unified northern territories.
She also did not know that for three agonizing years Darian had been hunting for his fated mate, driven to the brink of madness by a scent that the wind only occasionally teased him with a scent of crushed winter mint and sweet vanilla.
It was that very scent that had brought his royal hunting party tearing through the dangerous blizzard, abandoning their diplomatic route to follow the frantic command of their king.
The black wolf approached her slowly, his massive paws making no sound.
He leaned in, his hot breath washing over her freezing face.
Genevieve squeezed her eyes tighter, tears spilling over her pale lashes and freezing on her cheeks.
Please.
She whispered, her voice a broken, raspy plea.
Make it quick.
A symphony of cracking bones and shifting muscle echoed through the silent forest.
When Genevieve dared to peek through her eyelashes, the monstrous wolf was gone.
In his place knelt a man.
He was breathtakingly lethal with sharp, aristocratic features, broad shoulders, and dark hair dusted with snow.
He quickly unclasped a heavy fur-lined velvet cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it gently around her shivering frame.
“You’re freezing, little bird.
” Darian murmured his voice, a deep resonant baritone that sent a strange confusing warmth straight to her core.
Genevieve was paralyzed with terror.
Why was an alpha of this magnitude touching her with such care? Why were his men bowing? In her mind, damaged by years of abuse, there was only one logical conclusion.
She was not a sacrifice to the rogues.
She was a prisoner captured by a rival kingdom.
She had heard whispers in the cellars of alpha kings who used omegas as bait for larger wars.
Before she could process the situation, Darian scooped her into his powerful arms as effortlessly as if she weighed nothing but air.
He barked a single authoritative command in the old tongue.
The surrounding wolves barked in unison, turning to form a protective perimeter.
Sleep now.
Darian whispered, holding her against his broad chest.
His silver eyes completely softening as he looked down at her pale, frightened face.
No one will ever harm you again.
Genevieve wanted to fight, to ask where he was taking her.
But the lingering wolfsbane and the sudden overwhelming warmth of his body dragged her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She remained completely oblivious to the fact that the most ruthless king in the known world had just claimed her as his queen.
Genevieve awoke to a sensation she had never experienced in her 19 years of life, absolute comfort.
She opened her eyes and gasped, scrambling backward against a mountain of down pillows.
She was no longer in the freezing forest.
She was sitting in the center of a colossal four-poster bed swathed in silk sheets.
The room was massive, constructed of dark polished stone, and warmed by a roaring fire in a grand hearth.
Tapestries depicting great wolf battles hung from the walls, woven with threads of silver and gold.
“She wakes.
” a gentle voice noted.
An older woman, dressed in the fine wool garments of a high-ranking healer, approached the bed with a silver tray.
“Do not be frightened, child.
I am Doctor Aris.
You are within the walls of Ethilgarde, the stronghold of King Darian Roth.
” Genevieve’s breath hitched.
Ethilgarde, the impenetrable fortress, the seat of the Alpha King.
She pulled the silk sheets up to her chin, her pink eyes darting around the room looking for an exit.
“Why why am I here?” she stammered.
“I am just an omega.
I am cursed.
Please, I have no value for a king.
” Doctor Aris offered a warm, pitying smile, clearly instructed by the king not to overwhelm the traumatized girl with the overwhelming truth of her mate bond.
“You are a guest of the crown, Genevieve.
The king has ordered you bathed, fed, and fitted for garments suited to your station.
Now, drink this.
It will purge the rest of the wolfsbane from your veins.
” For the next 3 days, Genevieve was treated with a reverence that terrified her.
Servants scrubbed the dirt from her pale skin in baths filled with rosewater.
She was dressed in exquisite gowns of midnight blue and silver.
Yet, her heart hammered with constant anxiety.
She had never seen King Darian since the forest.
He was deeply entangled in managing the impending arrival of the vassal lords for the winter solstice summit.
In her isolation, Genevieve’s mind spun wild paranoid theories.
In the brutal hierarchy, she knew Omegas were slaves.
Albino Omegas were killed.
Therefore, this luxury was a trap.
She was being fattened up.
She was a pawn in a terrifying political game she couldn’t understand.
Her fears were soon given a voice.
On the fourth evening, the heavy oak doors to her chambers swung open.
It was not the gentle Dr.
Aris who entered, but a strikingly beautiful woman with raven hair and sharp assessing emerald eyes.
This was Lady Cassia of House Vane.
According to the historical ledgers of the royal court, Cassia was a high-ranking Alpha female whose family had spent a decade maneuvering to place her on the throne beside Darian.
Cassia dismissed the guards at the door with a wave of her hand and slowly circled the room, her eyes raking over Genevieve’s snow-white hair and pale trembling frame with undisguised disgust.
So, Cassia purred, her voice dripping with venom.
This is the ghost the king dragged from the snow.
I must admit I expected something with a bit more substance.
Genevieve lowered her gaze, exposing her neck in an instinctual display of Omega submission.
My lady, she whispered.
Save your groveling, mutt, Cassia spat, stepping closer.
Do you truly not know why you are here? Do you think King Darian, the conqueror of the northern wastes, has suddenly developed a bleeding heart for an albino stray? Genevieve swallowed hard, her voice trembling.
I I do not know why I am here.
Cassia’s lips curled into a wicked, triumphant smile.
She leaned down, whispering directly into Genevieve’s ear.
The winter solstice is upon us.
Tomorrow night is the blood moon.
Ancient pack law dictates that to secure a reign of unprecedented power, an alpha king must offer a rare sacrifice to the moon goddess.
A creature touched by the spirits.
An albino.
The blood drained from Genevieve’s already pale face.
Her heart shattered against her ribs.
It made sickening, perfect sense.
The gentle touch in the forest, the luxurious baths, the rich food.
She wasn’t a guest.
She was livestock being prepared for the altar.
If you stay, Cassia whispered smoothly, acting the part of a reluctant savior.
He will tear your heart out in front of the entire assembly tomorrow night.
But because I find this old tradition barbaric, I will leave the eastern servant’s door unlocked tonight when the guards change at midnight.
If you run, you might just survive.
Before Genevieve could respond, Cassia swept out of the room, leaving the terrified omega alone in the suffocating luxury of her cage.
Meanwhile, in the grand hall of Ethel Gard, King Darian sat upon his obsidian throne, his expression a mask of cold authority.
The vassal lords had arrived to pledge their fealty and pay their tithes.
The massive doors swung open and Lord Garrick of the Pinecrest pack strode in.
Garrick bowed deeply, a smug, arrogant grin on his face.
“My king,” Garrick boomed, “the Pinecrest pack brings you gold pelts and our unwavering loyalty.
” Darian looked at the man who had tormented his fated mate for 19 years.
The king’s wolf raged beneath the surface, his silver eyes flashing with a dangerous predatory light.
He had spent the last 3 days restraining himself, allowing Genevieve to heal, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal her as his queen.
He had no idea the poison Cassia was currently pouring into Genevieve’s ear.
“Lord Garrick,” Darian said, his voice dangerously soft, echoing off the stone walls, “I accept your tribute.
But I hear you recently lost something of great value in the Howling Peaks.
A girl.
” Garrick laughed, completely missing the lethal tension radiating from the throne.
“Ah, the albino omega.
A useless, cursed thing, my king.
I did you a favor by leaving her for the rogues.
She was a blight on our lands.
” Darian’s hands gripped the armrests of his throne so tightly the solid stone cracked.
“You threw her to the rogues?” Darian repeated, a terrifying smile gracing his lips.
“How unfortunate for you.
” As Darian prepared to exact a brutal historical vengeance upon Lord Garrick, high above in the eastern wing, midnight struck.
Driven by the sheer instinct to survive, Genevieve threw off her silk blankets.
She stripped off the heavy, cumbersome royal gown and donned a simple linen tunic she had stolen from a servant’s basket.
Trembling, she slipped out of her chambers, navigating the labyrinthine stone corridors toward the eastern wing.
Cassia had told the truth.
The heavy iron door at the end of the servants hall was slightly ajar.
The guards, conspicuously absent.
Genevieve pushed through the door, the freezing winter air hitting her face.
Freedom lay just beyond the castle walls in the treacherous snow-covered mountains.
She took off running into the dark courtyard, completely unaware that Cassia hadn’t orchestrated an escape.
She had orchestrated a hunt.
And as the heavy gates slammed shut behind her with a sickening thud, Genevieve realized she had just run straight into the territory of the royal executioners.
The biting wind whipped through Genevieve’s thin linen tunic the moment she crossed the threshold of the castle walls.
The heavy iron gate had latched behind her with a dreadful echoing finality.
Before her stretched the jagged pines, a sprawling treacherous expanse of the royal hunting grounds.
She had no boots, no provisions, and no knowledge of the terrain.
She only possessed the desperate hammering will to survive.
According to the private letters of Lord Arthur Penhaligon, a visiting human dignitary whose correspondences were later sealed by the Vatican, the hunting grounds of Ethlgar were heavily warded.
No rogue could enter, but equally, no prisoner could leave.
Genevieve plunged into the knee-deep snow, her bare feet instantly going numb.
She scrambled up steep icy embankments, her pale hair catching on brambles, tearing like spiderwebs in the moonlight.
Behind her, the massive silhouette of the castle loomed against the night sky, a fortress of nightmares.
She had only made it a mile into the dense thicket when she heard it.
It was not the organized heavy marching of the king’s perimeter guards.
It was the frantic, hungry snapping of branches, the unmistakable sound of hunting hounds, and shifting wolves.
Genevieve collapsed behind a fallen, hollowed oak tree, clutching her hands over her mouth to muffle her ragged breathing.
Through the frost-covered branches, three massive figures emerged into the moonlight.
They were not wearing the silver crest of the king.
They bore the emerald insignia of House Vane, Cassia’s personal guard.
Leading them was Captain Fenwick, a notoriously ruthless alpha, loyal only to Cassia’s family.
“Spread out,” Fenwick sneered, his voice cutting through the freezing air.
“Lady Cassia wants the albino mutt dealt with before the king realizes she has left her chambers.
Rip her throat out, but leave enough of the body to make it look like she fell prey to a wild bear.
” “Move it, huh?” Genevieve’s blood ran cold.
Cassia had never intended for her to escape.
The unlocked door was not an act of mercy.
It was a carefully orchestrated execution.
Genevieve was an inconvenience, an obstacle to Cassia’s ascension to the royal seat, and she was to be erased in the shadows.
Panic seized Genevieve’s chest, and as she shifted backward, her numb foot snapped a dry twig.
The sound was like a thunderclap in the silent forest.
Three pairs of glowing green eyes snapped toward her hiding place.
Fenwick’s lips peeled back in a grotesque lupine smile.
“Well, well.
It seems the little ghost lacks survival instincts.
Meanwhile, within the grand stone walls of Ethalgard, the atmosphere in the great hall had grown dangerously volatile.
King Darian Roth sat upon his obsidian dais, his silver eyes fixed upon the arrogant, sneering face of Lord Garrick of the Pinecrest pack.
“You left her to the rogues.
” Darian repeated, the timbre of his voice so low and vibrating with such lethal power that the goblets on the banquet tables began to rattle.
Garrick shifted uncomfortably, the first inkling of dread creeping into his mind.
“My king, she was a defect.
The pack laws clearly state “Pack law, Lord Garrick.
” Darian interrupted, standing to his full terrifying height, “dictates that an alpha who harms a reigning queen is subject to the blood eagle.
” The great hall fell into a stunned, breathless silence.
Archduke Frederick of Saxony, another historical witness present that night, recorded that the air in the room became so suffocatingly thick with the king’s dominating aura that several lesser lords fell to their knees in physical pain.
“Uh queen.
” Garrick stammered, the color completely draining from his face.
“My king, I do not understand.
” “The albino omega.
” Darian snarled, stepping down from the dais, his shadow stretching monstrously across the flagstones.
“The girl you starved, the girl you beat, the girl you left to be torn apart in the howling peaks is my fated mate.
She is the true queen of the northern wastes.
” A collective gasp echoed through the cavernous hall.
Garrick stumbled backward, his knees giving out as he collapsed onto the stone floor, his fate sealed by his own arrogant tongue.
Before Darian could order the guards to drag Garrick to the dungeons, the heavy oak doors of the hall burst open.
Doctor Aris stood there, her face ashen, her breathing ragged.
“My king!” she cried out, ignoring all protocols.
“The queen’s chambers, they are empty.
The guards were dismissed, and the eastern gate is unlocked.
” Darian did not speak.
He did not issue an order.
The human form of the king simply shattered.
Right there in the great hall, a symphony of cracking bones and tearing fabric horrified and awed the assembled lords.
In less than a heartbeat, the massive midnight black wolf stood in Darian’s place.
The beast let out a roar so deafening, so filled with absolute world-ending rage, that the stained glass windows of the hall fractured.
The king tore out of the hall, his massive claws gouging deep trenches into the ancient stone floors.
He caught the scent immediately.
The metallic tang of fear.
The sweet scent of winter mint and vanilla.
And beneath it, the putrid lingering odor of Cassia’s betrayal.
At the edge of the weeping gorge, a sheer drop that plummeted hundreds of feet into a frozen river, Genevieve was completely out of breath.
She had run until her feet bled, leaving a gruesome trail in the pristine snow.
She had nowhere left to go.
Her back was pressed against the icy precipice, the fierce winter wind threatening to push her over the edge.
Captain Fenwick and his two assassins stepped out of the tree line, shifting into their half-wolf forms.
Their claws extended, their jaws dripping with saliva.
“You led us on a merry chase, ghost.
” Fenwick growled, stepping closer, his heavy footfalls crunching in the snow.
“But it ends here.
Lady Cassia sends her regards.
” Genevieve closed her pink eyes.
She was too exhausted to cry.
She accepted her fate.
At the very least, she thought, this death would be quicker than bleeding out on an altar for a barbaric moon goddess ritual.
She braced herself for the impact.
Suddenly, the night sky was blotted out.
A shadow, immense and unfathomably fast, crashed into the clearing like a fallen meteor.
The ground literally shook beneath Genevieve’s feet.
She opened her eyes just in time to see a monstrous, midnight-black wolf hit Captain Fenwick with the force of a battering ram.
The alpha assassin didn’t even have time to scream.
The king’s jaws clamped around Fenwick’s neck, and with one brutal, terrifyingly effortless snap, the threat was neutralized.
The other two assassins froze in absolute horror.
They recognized the silver eyes.
They recognized their king.
Before they could submit or beg for mercy, Darian tore through them, a whirlwind of lethal fury and protective instinct, securing the perimeter in a matter of seconds.
Silence returned to the gorge, broken only by the heavy, ragged breathing of the massive black wolf.
Darian turned toward Genevieve.
His muzzle was stained, his chest heaving.
But as his silver eyes locked onto her trembling, freezing form, the feral rage instantly vanished.
He shifted back his human form, completely disregarding the biting cold, and rushed to her side.
He dropped to his knees in the blood-stained snow, pulling his heavy cloak around her, gathering her frantically into his arms.
Genevieve.
He breathed, his deep voice cracking with raw emotion.
My sweet bird.
I have you.
You are safe.
Genevieve flinched, pushing her hands weakly against his solid chest.
No.
She sobbed, terror overwhelming her.
No, please.
I know why you saved me.
I know about the blood moon.
I know about the sacrifice.
Please, just let me jump.
Darian froze, his heart dropping into his stomach.
He pulled back just enough to look into her panicked, tear-filled eyes.
Sacrifice? He whispered, utter confusion mingling with a rising, horrifying realization.
Who told you this? Who told you I meant to sacrifice you? Lady Cassia.
Genevieve cried, shivering violently.
She said the king needed an albino to bleed on the altar.
She said she was helping me escape.
A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep within Darian’s chest, vibrating against Genevieve’s palms.
The puzzle pieces violently slammed into place.
Genevieve, look at me.
Darian commanded, gently, his silver eyes locking onto hers with unwavering intensity.
In the history of my bloodline, no king has ever sacrificed a wolf.
Cassia lied to you.
She wanted you dead because she knew what you are to me.
He reached up gently, brushing a snow-covered lock of white hair from her freezing cheek.
You are not my sacrifice, Genevieve.
You are my fated mate.
You are my soul.
Without you, my wolf starves.
Without you, there is no king.
Genevieve stopped struggling.
The sheer sincerity, the desperate devotion radiating from the most feared man in the world shattered the walls of her conditioned trauma.
For the first time in her life, she was not looking at a master or a tormentor.
She was looking at someone who worshipped the very ground she walked upon.
Darian gathered her tightly against his chest, warming her freezing blood with his own unnatural heat.
I am taking you home.
He whispered into her white hair, “And I swear to you, those who made you fear me will face the wrath of the heavens.
” An hour later, the blood moon hung heavy and crimson in the sky, casting an eerie reddish glow through the massive stained glass windows of the great hall.
The lords and alphas of the northern territories were still gathered, trapped in a tense, terrified silence.
Cassia stood near the front, feigning innocence, wiping fake tears from her emerald eyes.
She played the part of the concerned noblewoman perfectly, waiting for the guards to bring back the mangled corpse of the omega so she could step in to comfort the grieving king.
The heavy oak doors slammed open with a concussive boom.
King Darian strode into the hall.
He was covered in blood and snow, looking every inch the brutal warlord of the northern tales.
But it was who he carried in his arms that made the entire court drop to their knees.
Wrapped in his royal cloak, completely unharmed, was Genevieve.
Cassia’s face drained of color.
She stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat as Darian’s silver eyes locked onto her, burning with the fires of hell.
Gods! Darian’s voice echoed cold and absolute.
Seize Lady Cassia of House Vane.
Seize Lord Garrick of Pinecrest.
Chaos erupted briefly before the royal guard slammed the two traitors to the stone floor.
Darian walked slowly up the steps of the dais and gently set Genevieve down on the royal seat.
He turned to face the assembly.
For the crimes of attempted regicide, treason, and the torture of your true queen, House Vane and House Pinecrest are stripped of all titles, lands, and protections.
They are hereby banished to the Howling Peaks.
Let them see if they can survive the rogues they so freely feed others to.
Cassia screamed, begging for mercy, but the guards dragged her and Garrick screaming into the cold night, their fates sealed.
Darian turned back to Genevieve.
He knelt before the entire assembly of the most powerful warlords in the world, taking her small, pale hand in his massive, scarred ones.
As the crimson light of the blood moon hit Genevieve’s albino features, a profound, hushed reverence fell over the hall.
According to Bishop Aldous of Canterbury, who chronicled the event for the church, the omega’s white hair seemed to catch the moonlight, glowing with an ethereal, divine luminescence.
In that moment, she was no longer a slave.
She was no longer a ghost.
To my queen, Darian vowed, pressing his lips to her knuckles as the lords of the north bowed their heads in unison.
“My life, my crown, my soul, until the sun dies and the moon falls.
” Genevieve looked out at the bowing lords, then down at the fearsome king kneeling at her feet.
The abused, forgotten albino omega had become the most powerful woman in the medieval world, ruling an empire not with fear, but alongside a wolf who had crossed the frozen hells just to keep her warm.
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