"He fucking mated me and left!"
Lenora’s scream shattered the silence, her voice raw, broken—feral. Her knees buckled, crashing onto the damp forest floor, her fingers clawing at the dirt as if she could bury the agony coursing through her. The bond, that damned mate bond, pulled at her like a leash tied to an invisible ghost, a cruel tether that burned hotter with every heartbeat.
"My mate is gone!" she screamed again, her cry echoing like a thunderclap in the still air. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked and unrelenting, as her body trembled under the weight of a bond cruelly abandoned. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the trees standing as silent witnesses to her devastation.
The scent of damp earth lingers in the air, heavy with the promise of rain. The sacred grove is filled with the quiet murmurs of the White Stone Pack, all gathered around the white wolf statue, where my mother’s ashes rest beneath the land she once walked. She was never Luna—not officially—but she was the heart of this pack.
And yet, my father isn’t here.
As soon as I was old enough to conduct the memorial on my own, he stopped coming.
I keep my expression neutral, even as grief weighs me down. I focus on the ritual, the incantations, the steady rhythm of my breath as the witch in charge motions for me to begin.
A cut across my palm. A drop of blood into the fire. The scent of sage and smoke curling into the sky. A final bow, an incantation whispered into the wind.
I honor my mother’s memory.
But the pack watches me with something colder than grief.
When I rise, Frederick is waiting.
His golden eyes glint in the firelight, sharp, calculating—too much like a snake, not enough like a wolf. He makes my skin crawl, but I offer him the same polite, distant expression I always do.
"Such a shame," he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk. "Aunt left too soon."
My jaw clenches, but I nod. "Too soon."
He tilts his head, scanning the crowd. "Uncle isn’t here this year either, huh?"
I don’t answer immediately, just smooth a hand over the silver embroidery on my ceremonial cloak. A practiced habit, something to ground me.
"As soon as I was old enough to conduct the ceremony, he stopped attending," I say, my tone measured.
Frederick hums in amusement, his gaze flickering with something I don’t like.
A silver chalice is suddenly in my hands, warm from his touch.
"The ceremonial tea," Frederick says, too casual. "To calm your mind, steady your heart."
For a brief moment, something in my chest stirs—a warning.
Grief lingers, heavier than it has in years, and I don’t think.
The warmth spreads through me almost instantly, but it is not the warmth of comfort.
It is something else.
I just want to go home.
Crawl into bed, curl under the blankets, and watch one of those old human sitcoms that my mother used to love. She always said there was something peaceful about the way humans lived—no mate bonds, no hierarchies, no laws of the jungle.
But that peace was never meant for me.
I pass a group of female wolves, their gazes locking onto me with thinly veiled disdain. I don’t react. I never do.
It’s not my fault I was born .
Ultra-rare. Desired. Hated.
My mother was an omega wolf, and I inherited it. A one-in-four chance. And just my luck—it happened.
To humans, I would be considered albino, with my ashen-white hair and storm-gray eyes. But here, in the White Stone Pack, I am something else.
Something wolves want.
The object of endless, unwanted attention.
It makes it impossible to form friendships. Impossible to trust anyone. Because if a female befriends me, her mate inevitably notices me, and everything shatters.
So, I keep my distance.
All I want is my mate.
The one person who will truly be mine, who will shield me from the weight of desire and expectation.
A sudden, violent wave of heat crashes through me, starting from my core and spreading outward like wildfire.
My vision sharpens, the world suddenly too bright, too loud, too much.
My breath comes faster, my pulse a frantic, erratic thing.
A low, guttural snarl.
Claws extend. Wolves shift.
I spin, my gaze locking onto Frederick.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The second my foot leaves the ground, I am running.
The forest blurs around me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. My muscles burn, my lungs strain, but the sound of pounding paws, of snapping jaws, of wolves too far gone to think—
It drives me forward.
My body is working against me, the heat clouding my thoughts, slowing my limbs.
They’re gaining on me.
My bones snap mid-air, my body twisting, reshaping—wolf, faster, stronger, wilder.
I land light, swift, white fur blurring into the trees.
I dodge left, barely missing a pair of snapping teeth.
I leap over a fallen tree, claws digging into the bark before I push off again.
A wolf lunges from the side—I twist my body, mid-run, and throw him off-course.
But I can’t keep this up forever.
My heat is too strong. My body is weakening.
I make it to the base of a massive tree before I realize—
My back presses against the bark, my chest rising and falling in sharp, desperate gasps.
They’re closing in. Their eyes dark with instinct, hunger.
A presence so large, so powerful, that it seems to ripple through the air itself.
A growl—low, lethal, final.
Then he steps forward.
A wolf—the largest I’ve ever seen, fur black as midnight, eyes a piercing ice-blue.
His presence alone sends a violent shiver of dominance through the clearing.
Some submit instantly.
Others hesitate, still drunk on my scent.
The black wolf swipes.
Claws tear through flesh.
The idiot yelps, crumpling to the ground, blood dark against the dirt.
I barely process it because my wolf is howling.
Frederick is the last to submit. His gray wolf stands rigid, snarling. A challenge.
The black wolf doesn’t hesitate.
He fights with devastating precision, pure strength, pure power. One by one, they fall.
When the dust settles, only he remains.
The wolves tuck their tails, fleeing into the night.
His blue eyes meet mine.
I know he’s mine, he steps closer, sniffing my neck. I let him. I want him to.
I’ve waited for this moment. For him.