Lyra Wilder raises a single eyebrow, a habit she’s perfected over years of dealing with pompous alphas who think a pretty face means a weak mind. It’s always the same with these men, the posturing, the thinly veiled threats disguised as negotiation. She’s here to secure an alliance for her pack, and she’s fully prepared to play their game, but she refuses to let them think for one second that she’s anything less than their equal. When Dererick Vance, the most powerful alpha on the continent, makes his proposition, she nearly chokes on her wine.
He wants a fake mating, a marriage of convenience to bolster his claim before the council. He speaks of terms and contracts, of a year of pretending and a quiet, mutual parting once the political goal is achieved. She should refuse, walk away, and find a less complicated path. But she sees the flicker of something else in his eyes, a desperation that mirrors her own.
And when he proposes a meeting in the grand library to discuss the details, she follows, her mind already racing with counter-offers and escape clauses. The game has just begun, and she intends to win. Lyra Wilder raises a single eyebrow. She’s grown used to the double-edged words of pack politics, and she knows this man is testing her, probing for weakness.
He thinks a pretty face means a pliable mind, but she’s navigated worse than his veiled threats. She takes a slow sip of the wine, letting the silence stretch, a silent challenge in itself. It’s always the same with these alphas. They see her beauty and assume she’s a pawn to be moved, a prize to be won.
They don’t realize she’s been playing this game since she could walk, and she’s never lost a piece she didn’t intend to sacrifice. She’s here to secure a future for her pack, and she’ll outmaneuver him at his own game if she has to. And when their paths cross, both will learn that sometimes the most desperate circumstances call for the most unconventional solutions. She meets his gaze, her expression unreadable.
Perhaps it’s time he learned that the most dangerous opponents are the ones who don’t need to roar to be heard. Surely you’re not naive enough to think I came here without knowing exactly what you are, she says, her voice a low challenge. The air in the room shifts as she sets her glass down with a deliberate click. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, never leave his face.
Let him think he has the upper hand. Let him believe she’s just another pretty face in a long line of political pawns. She’s already planning her countermove. In werewolf nobility, alphas rule.
It’s a simple creed, one that has governed her entire life. She’s watched them scheme and claw their way to power while the women around them smile, nod, and wait for their chance to strike. Lyra has never been content to wait. She’s here to remind this particular alpha that a crown doesn’t make you a king.
It’s the wolf beneath that earns the title. Or do you not remember? The question hangs between them, weighted with history and unspoken grievances. She tilts her head, a predator’s gesture, watching his reaction.
The slight tightening of his jaw tells her she’s hit a nerve. Good. She wants him off balance. It’s the only way to negotiate from a position of strength.
It’s not just any red wine, the man explains, swirling the liquid in his glass. It’s from a vineyard that no longer exists, harvested by hands that have long since turned to dust. The taste is a memory of a time when our kind didn’t need these political games. She watches him, noting the flicker of nostalgia that crosses his features.
Vulnerability, she files it away. A tool for later. Don’t tell me what to do. She snaps the words before she can stop herself, and instantly regrets the flash of temper.
Composure is her armor, and she’s just let it slip. She watches his smirk widen in response, a predator scenting blood. This is exactly what he wants, to rattle her cage and watch her pace. She takes a breath, recentering her thoughts.
She’s just torpedoed her last chance at an alliance and made a spectacle of herself in front of the most powerful alpha on the continent all in the same minute. The thought burns with bitter self-recrimination. She’d walked into this negotiation with a plan, and now she’s let him get under her skin. She can already imagine the council’s whispers, the pitying looks from her rivals.
There’s no recovering from this. They claim I’m not serious enough. The admission slips out before she can catch it, quiet and raw. She rarely gives voice to the criticisms that follow her like shadows.
She’s spent years cultivating her reputation as the beautiful, reckless heiress, but the mask is starting to crack. She watches his expression shift, curiosity replacing amusement. She’s said too much, and she knows it. If we do this, we might divorce as a couple after a year, but your pack will remain under my protection for good.
The offer hangs in the air between them, carefully constructed and utterly pragmatic. She pretends to consider it, tracing patterns in the condensation on her glass. He wants something from her, and she’s determined to find out what before she agrees to anything. A year of her life for her pack’s security.
It’s a steep price, but not an impossible one. For this to work, we would need to publicly mark each other, she observes, her voice carefully neutral. Form an actual mating bond. The words feel strange on her tongue, intimate and profane in this sterile negotiation.
She’s never allowed anyone that close, never let herself be that vulnerable. But the stakes are too high to turn back now. If she walks away, she loses everything. Once we’re mated, we can each do our own thing after a brief fake honeymoon period where we don’t even need to be in the same room.
And then we barely have to see each other for the whole year. The plan sounds almost too simple, too clean. She knows from experience that plans this neat rarely stay that way. But she nods slowly, pretending to consider the terms while her mind races through potential pitfalls.
The terms are irrelevant. He cuts her off with a dismissive wave, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out exactly what she thinks of his manners. There are more pressing matters at hand. She watches him rise from his seat, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal.
Whatever is driving him to this arrangement, it’s desperate enough to make him careless. I’m not getting any younger, he says, running a hand through his hair. And there’s a vote coming up, one I can’t afford to lose. She studies him, looking for the lie beneath the confession.
She’s played enough political games to know when someone is holding back. But there’s something in his eyes, a vulnerability that doesn’t seem manufactured. Maybe this arrangement is more than just strategy to him. Maybe I want to be elected based on merit.
The words are spoken with such quiet intensity that she almost misses the desperation beneath them. She understands the desire to be seen as more than just a title, more than the weight of a family name. It’s a feeling she knows intimately. She looks at him with new eyes, seeing the man beneath the alpha for the first time.
Mates tell each other everything, Ryder says, and he’s not wrong. It’s the foundation of the bond, the trust that makes two wolves stronger together than they ever could be alone. She thinks about the secrets she’s carrying, the ones she’s never shared with anyone. If she agrees to this arrangement, those secrets won’t stay buried for long.
No, I’m not excusing you. His voice carries a weight that pulls her up short. She was waiting for the usual blow-off, another brush-off from someone who always seemed to look right through her. But his eyes are sharp, fixed on hers, and it’s not a dismissal.
It’s a confrontation. Something hot and uncomfortable kindles in her chest, something that feels dangerously close to hope. Because Derek Westwood isn’t exactly known for his fidelity or commitment. The name hits her like a physical blow, and she has to fight to keep her expression neutral.
She’d thought that chapter of her life was closed, buried under years of careful indifference. But apparently the past has a way of resurfacing when you least expect it. She meets his gaze squarely, unafraid of the unspoken question. May we begin now, Alpha?
The officiant’s voice cuts through the charged silence, and Lyra nearly lets out a breath of relief at the distraction. The moment is here, the culmination of weeks of careful planning and sleepless nights. She’s about to bind herself to a man she barely knows, for reasons that have nothing to do with love. And yet, she can’t bring herself to regret it.
You may now mark each other with the claiming bite. The words echo in the cavernous hall, and she watches Dererick lean toward her. Her heart is pounding so hard she’s certain he can hear it. This is the point of no return.
She tilts her head, exposing her neck, a gesture that feels terrifyingly intimate. She feels the heat of his breath against her skin, smells the wild, masculine scent of him. She arches into him before she can stop herself. The bite is sharp, a flash of pain that quickly melts into something far more primal.
It’s not just a physical connection; it’s a binding of souls, a claiming that goes deeper than blood. She feels him in her mind, in her very bones. She gasps at the intensity of it, her claws digging into his shoulders. For a moment, there’s no boundary between them anymore, just shared sensation, urgent and endless.
May your union be blessed. The words barely register as they pull apart, breathing hard. Lyra’s hand instinctively goes to the fresh bite mark on her neck, still tingling with residual energy. She can feel the bond between them, a silver thread linking her to him.
She’s bound now, in ways she can’t fully comprehend. She lifts her gaze to meet his, both of them silent and wondering at the magnitude of what they’ve just done. Lyra and Dererick stare at each other, the weight of their vows settling between them like a physical presence. According to their agreement, she and Dererick will remain sequestered at his estate for 2 weeks, pretending their bond is legitimate while it settles.
Then they can return to their separate lives, meeting only when necessary. The plan is simple. The execution, she suspects, will be anything but. She follows him through the halls of his estate, her footsteps echoing on the marble floors, and wonders if she’s made a deal with the devil.
And then she proceeds to do the only sensible thing to do and hits him on the arm. It’s childish, she knows, but the sting of impact is satisfying. He looks at her, startled, and she almost laughs. They’re mated now, supposedly soulmates, and she’s resorting to physical violence to express her frustration.
If anyone could see them now, they’d think the whole thing was a sham. She’s starting to wonder if it is. After all, this is my house. His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge underneath.
She watches him, trying to read the shifting emotions on his face. They’re bound for a year, forced into this intimacy by political necessity. She wonders how long it will take before they drive each other insane. “What else could it be?
” she asks, keeping her voice light. Of course not, he replies, sounding genuinely offended by the suggestion. She watches him carefully, noting the way his brow furrows. There’s something he’s not telling her, some secret he’s carrying that has nothing to do with their arrangement.
She’s learned to read people, and he’s an open book she can’t quite decipher. The mystery of him unsettles her more than the alliance itself. Then nothing, as if a door has slammed shut between them. She feels the sudden withdrawal through their bond, a cold emptiness where his warmth had been only moments before.
It’s disorienting, this connection she didn’t ask for and can’t control. She watches him retreat into himself, and she realizes she’s caught a glimpse of something he keeps carefully hidden. After a pause, he reopens it, staring into the hallway with growing frustration. She grabs the handle, yanks the door open, and finds only the same empty hallway from before, stretching toward the grand staircase at the far end.
It looks exactly as he remembers it. There’s no one there. She’s certain of it. She turns back to him, watching his expression shift from frustration to something she can’t quite name.
They’ve barely mated and already secrets are stacking between them. The cut from before the wedding ceremony still hasn’t healed. She traces the edge of it with her finger, frowning. A wound from a wolf should have closed within hours, not days.
Something is wrong, deeply wrong, and she can’t shake the feeling that Dererick knows more than he’s letting on. She stumbles into the dark, the truth her wolf already knows echoing in her ears. The mate bond—it should be a lifeline, an unbreakable tether of love and trust. But this cord between them feels brittle, frayed, wrong.
What I value most? The question hangs in the air, and she watches a flicker of surprise cross his face. He hadn’t expected her to ask, hadn’t prepared a smooth answer. She waits, patient as a hunter, as he struggles to find words.
There’s something vulnerable about him in this moment, something that makes her wonder if she’s misjudged him. But the doubt quickly passes. She has learned not to trust appearances. Which would most likely be the very powers you’re hoping to preserve, Adrienne reminds him.
The words feel like a slap, a cold splash of reality. She hadn’t thought about the implications of their bond extending beyond the physical. If her magic is tied to him now, then any threat to him becomes a threat to her. She’s bound herself to a man she barely trusts, and the consequences are beginning to multiply.
Both dead, Derek snaps. She watches him shut down, his expression going hard and unreadable. She’s never seen him like this, so raw and defensive. The grief he’s carrying is old, buried deep.
She feels it through their bond, a flicker of pain he can’t completely conceal. She wants to ask more, to understand, but she knows the walls he’s built won’t fall easily. How do you know it’s still active? She needs to understand the magic that now binds them.
He’s been hiding from her, his anger a shield he wields like a weapon. But his anger isn’t just about the claim. It’s a barrier, a desperate defense against a truth he’s not ready to face. The pressure builds in her chest, a growing sense of unease.
Maybe not to someone who’s never known anything else. The words slip out before she can stop them, and she immediately regrets the glimpse of vulnerability. She’s spent years building her walls, and now she’s let him see the cracks. She watches his expression shift, a flicker of understanding crossing his features.
She hates that he can see her so clearly. Then he remembers how her teeth had found his neck in return. He doesn’t understand their reactions. She’s as much a mystery to him as he is to her, and it’s infuriating.
They’re mated now, bound together, but they might as well be strangers. She watches him struggle to find the right words, to bridge the distance that still separates them. The bond between them hums with unspoken questions. If yours requires true love, then a marriage of convenience won’t satisfy it.
His voice is low, almost resigned. She watches the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench at his sides. He knows as well as she does that their arrangement is built on sand. And she’s beginning to wonder if she’s made a terrible mistake.
The title catches her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to remember details about her, to care about getting to know her. It throws her off balance, makes her question the careful distance she’s maintained. She watches him, searching for the catch, the hidden agenda.
But he looks genuine, almost eager. I thought we should get to know each other, Dererick replies, spreading his arms invitingly. Fair enough. 20 minutes after he leaves, Lyra changes into comfortable pajama pants and a t-shirt, deliberately choosing the most casual outfit possible.
She’s already regretting the choice, but she refuses to dress up for him. She’s in a strange place, married to a stranger, and she needs to establish boundaries. This is her territory now, and she won’t let him forget it. This morning you didn’t remember how you got into my room and then you got all weird and disappeared.
She watches his face, waiting for a reaction. He has secrets, she can feel them humming beneath his skin. But he’s not the only one with hidden depths. She’s spent years learning how to smile with a dagger behind her back.
He pauses, then adds with complete seriousness. No, you’re not. Tell me you feel nothing when you look into those eyes. She feels the pull of the bond, a gravitational force she can’t resist.
She’s spent her whole life being invisible, a pawn in games she never chose to play. But when he looks at her, truly looks at her, she feels seen for the first time. It terrifies her. She doesn’t want to feel anything.
She can’t afford to feel anything. No, I want to fall in love with someone I’m bound to, only for him to feel nothing back, then spend eternity reminded of it every single day, she snaps. Her words are bitter, the sharp edge of a hurt she buried long ago. She’s watching him twisted, forced together by politics and desperation.
And the most terrifying part is, she doesn’t want a bond with him. She never has. She feels his pain through their connection, and it hurts in ways she can’t describe. If you’d like me to, then I will.
He’s offering her something, a deeper connection, a chance at something real. She watches him, looking for the lie. She’s been burned before, and she’s not eager to jump back into the fire. But there’s something in his voice, a sincerity that makes her wonder if maybe she’s wrong about him.
She’s never wanted a real relationship before. She’s always been married to the idea of her pack, sacrificing everything for duty. If you actually want this to work, then be honest with me for once. The words hang in the air, a challenge he can’t ignore.
She sees the conflict in his eyes, the war between old loyalties and new possibilities. And then you tell me what’s really going on. People date to get to know each other. He never asked for any of it.
She watches him, waiting for the truth. You know what we should do? She says, not sounding sorry at all. Hiding what exactly?
The question is an opening, a chance for him to confess. She sees the war playing out behind his eyes and knows the truth is finally going to surface. They’re mated, bound by a spell that’s slowly fraying. If they can’t be honest with each other, they have nothing at all.
Someone has to think since you’re clearly not. If you’d stop looking for ulterior motives in everything I do. He sounds exasperated, and she almost laughs. They’re a mess, a pair of broken wolves trying to navigate this forced intimacy.
Well, usually. He’s not making any sense right now. Maybe I’ll have to start exercising to stay in shape. She watches him, wondering what he’s really saying.
She feels herself drawn closer, despite her better instincts. Okay, that’s enough. Check, please. The tension breaks, and she feels relief wash over her.
They can laugh, even if it’s just for a moment. She watches him relax, and she realizes that beneath the alpha bravado is a man just as lost as she is. Dererick allows her to help him into the seat, then immediately starts fiddling with every button on the console. I’ve never needed them before.
The ease between them feels like a fragile truce. Once they’re back inside his home, he keeps swaying into her space. She notices the way he slurs his words, the glassy look in his eyes. The wine has hit him harder than he expected.
“I suppose I should tell you now,” he begins, but she cuts him off. She has no interest in listening to another revelation. No, no. “Should I not find a mate before I’m 30?
” After all, he’s been trying to use her to break his curse. Do you really not like me at all? The question is so vulnerable, so unexpected, that she freezes. I understand.
” Because the truth is, she does like him, and she has no idea what to do about it. She feels a smile tugging at her lips, betraying the carefully constructed indifference she’s been trying to maintain. And take these. Yes, because I had such a high opinion of you before.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says, the words soft but firm. The bond pulses warm and drowsy between them, and Derek thinks maybe this mate thing isn’t so terrible after all. He should do something nice for her in return. You won’t do that while mated to me.
He should have immediately started looking for a better candidate, a fresh start. You can return to your pack as planned. But Derek, when you find someone you genuinely care for, we break the bond immediately, okay? Your health takes priority.
It’s a natural biological reaction. Natural biological reaction? She says, smoothing her expression into one of professional courtesy. These negotiations are important.
He sent his beta instead, her ex-fiance of all people. Through it all, Victor watches her with barely disguised amusement, as if privy to a joke she doesn’t understand. That’s enough. After all, if you and Dererick agreed to this arrangement, who am I to judge?
She snaps, then immediately regrets her tone. She will not demand explanations. Are you still there? She hangs up the phone before he can say anything else.
Derek searches desperately for any spark, any connection. At our level, relationships are alliances, mergers. Isn’t that enough? If she only knew how perfect and how completely, utterly pointless.
Even if he wanted to mate with Isabelle, which he increasingly realizes he doesn’t, there isn’t time for a new bond to form before midnight. I can’t, he says simply. Both. I’m not going anywhere, Isabelle declares, stepping into his path as he moves toward the door.
For a life where no one, not one single person, actually cares about him for anything other than his power. Music and laughter rise from below. And no one went after him. He passed this way not long ago, the trace of him still fresh on the forest floor.
The bond between them pulls her forward like a compass pointing north, growing stronger with each mile. You should go, he continues, returning his gaze to the fire. You’re free to go back to your pack, find a proper mate. Lyra says simply.
No, it’s not. I never did. That’s not a no, Lyra observes, holding on to the fact. If you can do that, I’ll walk away right now and never look back.
The bond between them pulses, warming and strengthening with each passing second. “I don’t understand. It’s not that it wasn’t doable after you turned 30, just that you’d be human by the time you were 30, so it was better to do it before. Dererick laughs, the sound unburdened and genuine in a way she’s never heard from him before.
Inside, two wolves who found each other against all odds rest in each other’s arms. Their futures no longer bound by curses or contracts, but by the most ancient and powerful magic of all, love, freely given and freely returned.
