The Bond

Dylan’s Pov

I woke up panting, my chest heaving as sweat trickled down my body. My hands instinctively clutched the sheets, my heart racing.

The dream had returned—the same haunting scene that played in my mind every night since my initiation as Alpha.

Groaning, I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples. My head pounded, a cruel reminder of last night’s party. Craig had dragged me to the club, and I had drunk more than I should have.

A soft movement beside me made my brows furrow. A hand, warm and unwelcome, trailed lazily across my skin. My body stiffened. I remembered falling asleep alone, so who the fuck was in my bed?

I turned my head, my eyes narrowing as I took in the familiar figure beside me.

"Tiffany! How the fuck did you get here?"

She stirred, her lashes fluttering open as a slow, satisfied smile curved her lips.

"Hey, you're up,"she murmured sleepily.

"And I asked you a question," I snapped.

She stretched like a cat, completely unfazed. "You called me last night. You were wasted. We had amazing sex, like a normal couple," she added with a smirk.

Tiffany. My fiancée. My soon-to-be Luna.

She wasn’t my Goddess-chosen mate, but a woman handpicked by my father and the pack elders. At twenty-five, I was expected to have found my mate already, but I hadn’t, and the pack demanded an heir. Tiffany came from a powerful lineage—strong, fertile, and a perfect match on paper. But I didn’t love her. I tolerated her. She was good in bed, sure, but that was all she had to offer me.

"I don’t remember calling you," I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. A groan escaped me as I realized I was completely naked.

Tiffany giggled, sliding a hand down my back. "Let me remind you."

"I want you gone before I get out of the shower," I cut her off coldly before heading to the bathroom.

Steam curled around me as hot water cascaded down my skin. But no amount of heat could wash away the frustration crawling under my flesh. The dream still lingered, a ghost in the back of my mind.

When I stepped out, the room was finally empty. I dressed in casual clothes and made my way downstairs, only to be greeted by the sight of Tiffany in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my damn T-shirt.

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

She hummed, flipping pancakes. "Relax, Dylan. Sit down. Breakfast is almost ready."

I ran a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. "This is my house. You don’t get to tell me what to do, "I muttered, but still, I sat.

Later, I had my driver drop her off. Tomorrow was our engagement party, and she had been planning it obsessively alongside Nia, my brother’s wife. Not that I cared. If it were up to me, there wouldn’t be a fucking wedding at all.

The entire day, my wolf was restless, pacing and growling inside me. Agitated. Unsettled. I chalked it up to frustration and exhaustion, but deep down, I knew something was coming.

I had to pick my father up from the airport. He’d been out of town for four days, and today, he was finally returning. I drove myself to the terminal, welcoming the brief solitude.

But as I waited, something changed.

A scent—faint but intoxicating—hit my nostrils.

Citrus and chocolate.

My entire body locked up as my wolf stirred, fully awake and alert.

The scent was warm, familiar, **irresistible.** It smelled like home. Like everything I never knew I needed.

My feet moved on their own. I followed the scent through the crowd, my heart pounding in sync with the beast inside me.

Then another scent hit me.

*Neotides.*

My wolf growled, my jaw tightening. The bitten were unwelcome among us. They were nothing but trouble, abominations that tainted our kind.

But then—*the scent.*

My attention snapped back to the intoxicating pull dragging me forward. And then I saw them.

Rodrigo Aragon. The man I despised. The leader of the Neotides. The arrogant bastard who thought he could play at my level.

And beside him—*her.*

She was covered head to toe—black pants, gray hoodie, dark shades obscuring her eyes. But despite the lack of skin, she was mesmerizing. Every inch of me burned to touch her.

My wolf howled.

*Mate.*

No.

No, no, no.

This was a mistake.

Rodrigo was holding her hand.

I forced myself to move, to walk past them, my fists clenched, my breathing ragged.

This couldn’t be real.

There was no fucking way the Moon Goddess had cursed me with a Neotide for a mate.

—

Kara's pov

Rodrigo’s private jet landed smoothly, and the moment I stepped into the airport, a strange sensation washed over me.

My skin tingled, my heartbeat stuttering.

I smelled **something.** Someone.

It was warm and addicting, wrapping around me like a second skin.

Rodrigo’s hand tightened around mine as we navigated the crowded terminal. But I barely heard him. My entire being was drawn to a figure standing ahead, his aura powerful and overwhelming.

Dylan Gasper.

I remembered seeing him at the club, a brief encounter that barely registered in my mind. But now?

Now, I couldn’t **look away.**

He smelled… like me. Like one of **us.**

But his scent was stronger, deeper, a force of nature all on its own.

Rodrigo smirked as we stopped in front of him. "Dylan Gasper. Fancy seeing you here."

I saw Dylan’s jaw clench, his entire frame stiff. He wasn’t looking at Rodrigo.

He was looking at me.

Even with my sunglasses shielding my gaze, I could feel the heat of his stare burning through me.

Everything inside me screamed to move closer, to press my body against his, to breathe him in.

For the first time in my life, I **wanted.**

But something was wrong.

His scent changed—sharpened with anger. His expression darkened, and without a word, he stormed past us.

My chest clenched.

I didn’t understand why, but watching him leave felt like losing something I never knew I needed.

And that terrified me more than anything else.