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Claimed By My Alpha Stepbrothers

Sunday_Timothy_5948
14
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 14 chs / week.
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Synopsis
"Forget Every damn thing about us being related we're not!! And if denouncing you as my sister's means having myself in you right here and now then you Aria is just a stranger to me" Aria's life had never been her own. Born to the Royal Bloodline of Silvermoon Pack, she was marked from birth as a mistake. A girl. An Omega. A runt. The curse of her gender was nothing compared to the shame of her rank Her mother cursed her for being born female. Her father cast her aside, claiming her scent was wrong, her wolf too soft, too fragile to carry the legacy of their house. She was raised in silence and shadows, groomed more like a servant than a daughter. But everything changed the day she turned eighteen. On the night of her engagement, her bloodline curse awakened. There she realized she had been cursed with a heat scent. Worse… it awakened her own desires. Feral. Forbidden. Craving the very touch of those she had grown beside as siblings. Her own adoptive brothers!! It was ... A heat no suppressant could cure. A craving that twisted her instincts and tore at her sanity. She was cursed—twice. 1. To drive those around her mad with lust. 2. To feel overwhelming desire for the only wolves she could never have. Her Foster Brothers Why? Because in the werewolf world… desiring your pack-brothers is punishable by death.
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Chapter 1 - Fvccckk

"Fuck" Aria groaned slightly as she jolted awake

It had happened again.

The same dream.

The same faces.

The same heat.

The same impossible desire.

Her adopted brothers — alphas from noble lineages — entangled with her in a way that defied reason, in ways no pack law could condone. The memories of their hands, their teeth, their growls — it was too vivid. Too real. She woke every time with a gasp, heart thundering like a beast ready to shift.

For years, those dreams had been rare, only surfacing with the occasional full moon. But since her 18th birthday, since her first heat had struck unexpectedly during the betrothal ceremony — they hadn't stopped. They'd only intensified.

Why was she having these dreams? Why them?

She ran trembling fingers through her silver hair and stared at the mirror across the room. Her reflection met her with unfamiliarity — silver eyes dimmed by exhaustion, her skin pale but flushed with heat that didn't feel like fever anymore. There was something else — a glow, a hum beneath her flesh, as though her wolf stirred restlessly under the surface.

She didn't feel sick anymore.

She felt… changed.

A knock broke her spiraling thoughts, and a maid entered with a tray of water and cloth, pausing when she noticed Aria awake. The woman gave a quick, almost startled bow.

"You're... awake." The maid turned slightly, already stepping back. "I'll inform His Majesty and Her Majesty."

"Wait." Aria's voice rasped. "How long was I asleep?"

"Three... four days," the maid replied, her tone clipped and lacking warmth — the usual disrespect for the forgotten princess. She didn't wait for dismissal before slipping out, leaving Aria in the thick silence once more.

She should've been used to it. The disdain. The whispers. But it still stung.

Her mother's cruel words echoed sharply in her skull: "A daughter is nothing but a mistake." Queen Seraph's voice had held no affection when she'd said it. Aria's birth was a disappointment. A girl born when a strong alpha heir was expected.

So they had adopted three orphaned boys of noble blood — powerful, promising, all born under rare moons. Alphas, meant to carry the legacy. While Aria, the lone female, was left behind like a mistake the gods refused to take back.

No one in the palace cared. Not the sneering maids, not the wary courtiers. She was a name on parchment. A caged she-wolf with no pack.

Her hand drifted to the amulet around her neck. It had arrived with no name, no seal — only a note telling her to wear it always. A charm, maybe. She had obeyed.

But nothing had gotten better.

Her eyes burned as she yanked it from her neck and let it fall with a clatter to the floor.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

She rose, tying a silk robe tightly around her body, the fabric clinging to her fever-warmed skin as she hesitated before opening the door.

Lord Adrien stood there.

He was no ordinary courtier — his scent hit her instantly. Power. Something sharp and feral behind his eyes, something that made her wolf retreat in caution. He was a known ally of the king — smooth, calculating, and more dangerous than his elegant form suggested.

"Princess Aria," he said, stepping into her chambers without invitation. His eyes swept over her — and lingered.

"Lord Adrien," she murmured, voice hoarse. "Why are you here?"

"I heard you were unwell. I felt compelled to see you," he said, though the way he said it sent unease trickling down her spine.

"We've hardly spoken. Why would my condition matter to you?"

He stepped closer. Every movement deliberate. Every glance predatory. "You've been asleep for days. Something's changed in you." His gaze sharpened. "I can smell it."

Her brows furrowed. "Smell... it?"

His expression was unreadable. "Heat," he whispered. "You're coming into it."

The air in the room thickened instantly. Aria took a step back. "You shouldn't speak like that. You shouldn't know that."

Adrien smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I know more than you think."

He reached out — a single claw grazing her silver hair and tucking a strand behind her ear. The touch was almost nothing.

But it sent her instincts roaring.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, voice sharp now. "You don't have the right."

His smile faltered. His eyes darkened. But before he could respond, a loud knock crashed against the door, sharp and commanding.