Marrying in Her Place, I Became the Pack’s Sacrifice

Selena was my sister.

On the day of her bond, I actually felt curious enough to crawl out of the basement just to watch the spectacle.

But the moment I poked my head out, a pair of cold hands clamped down on me. I was dragged into a dim hall, my protest choked silent.

They forced a white gown over me, embroidered with Moon Goddess runes, binding me into a ritual I’d never chosen.

Black candles lined the walls, their flames flickering, but what burned in the air wasn’t warmth—it was the metallic sweetness of blood and rust.

At the center hung a massive black-and-white portrait.

There was nothing festive here. This was no celebration. It was a funeral.

Pain shot through the back of my knee as someone forced me down. I hit the floor hard, kneeling before the altar of the dead.

When I raised my head, my icy gaze collided with Ulrica’s.

His expression was shadowed.

“Selena.”

He spat the name with contempt. “Sherry is my true Fate Mate.”

“If you want to marry me, you will follow the rules. You are only a second mate. You will never stand above Sherry. If you wish to be my mate, you will kneel, and you will beg her forgiveness.”

Rage roared up in my chest like wildfire, snapping through every nerve.

Inside me, my wolf—Wendy—rose to her full height, voice a guttural snarl:

Selena would never have chosen a rotten mate like this.

Before I could speak, Sandra stormed forward. Her palm cracked against my cheek, the sound sharp as thunder. Pain shot into my cheekbone, searing hot.

She sneered.

“Sherry died because of you. Ulrica shows mercy letting you kneel. And you still dare to resist?”

Her eyes hardened, lips curling in cruel amusement.

“Not enough. Warriors—strike her. A hundred slaps. When they’re done, we’ll finish the bond!”

Wendy roared inside me, fury shaking my blood like fire.

Make them pay—with blood!

Sandra’s Warriors advanced, practiced and confident.

But the next heartbeat shattered their certainty. Screams ripped through the hall.

Before their eyes, I gave myself wholly to Wendy. Flesh tore, bones snapped, and I shifted into the blood-soaked beast they whispered about in fear.

My jaws clamped down—“crack!” Bones splintered like dry branches. Blood sprayed across the stone floor.

Silence crashed down over the hall.

I raised my head slowly, fangs dripping crimson, my gaze locking on Sandra with killing coldness.

Her face drained pale, eyes wide with shock, then horror. Still, she forced her voice into a mocking lilt:

“Selena… so you’ve grown some claws? You dare to fight back?”

She didn’t yet realize—this wasn’t Selena.

This was Venus.

Here’s the continuation translated into werewolf-novel English, keeping the raw emotion, pack lore, and dog-blood intensity:

I looked almost identical to Selena, but only I carried the ancient, blood-thirsty power in my veins.

When I was barely a year and a half old, my true Alpha bloodline awakened for the first time.

That night, my wolf soul raged so violently it nearly burned me alive.

When the nanny tried to force me into bed, raising her hand to strike—

the next moment she was the one left bruised, bloodied, and half-bald, sobbing in the corner and calling me monster.

From then on, anyone who dared lay a hand on me never walked away whole.

Rumors of the Pine Pack’s “blood-soaked monster” spread like wildfire.

My parents grew old with worry, powerless against what I carried.

But then Selena was born.

She was pure, tender, her wide wet eyes always shining like a fawn’s, smiling up at me with blind trust.

And in her arms, the fury in my bloodline slowly calmed.

To protect her, I chose to lock myself away in the basement, drowning my impulses in blood and training.

Until that day—

Selena ran down into the basement, threw herself into my arms, and whispered with joy:

“Venus, I’m going to bond. I’m so lucky. I’ve found someone who’ll make me happy.”

I was truly happy for her.

That’s why, today, I snuck out. To send her off.

I never imagined I’d be dragged into this funeral. This humiliation.

Now Ulrica’s brows furrowed, his face colder than winter frost.

He stared at me, his eyes filled with loathing.

“Selena. You are hopeless.”