Counterfeit Mate: Carved From His First Love

Leia's POV

Evan Hillard walked in and placed a gift box on the bed. "Your gown is here."

He unfolded the white fabric, revealing fine silver threads stitched across the hem. He held it up against me and traced my waist with his fingers to check the fit.

"It needs to be taken in a little right here. We'll do the fitting tomorrow, and the witch will come by to tattoo the crescent moon on you."

I reached out to touch the lining, then stopped. "Why did you use scent-treated fabric?"

I worked in the pack's infirmary, where we used this material to transport injured wolves. It temporarily suppressed the wearer's natural scent and released another scent sealed into the fabric, preventing enemies from tracking the wounded by smell.

Evan smoothed the lining back into place. "It's for the marking ceremony. The fabric has been specially treated."

"Whose scent did you seal inside?" I asked.

"No one's. Just try it on first." He brushed my hair aside and reached for the buttons of my clothes.

I caught his hand. "I'm not wearing it. And I'm not getting the crescent moon tattoo either."

He looked at me for a moment, then pressed a hand to my forehead. "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I want to keep my own scent and appearance," I replied flatly.

His hand paused beside my cheek. "Leia, you dyed your fur and added the red mole. You've changed so much over the last three years just so you could look your best for our marking ceremony. Now that it's finally happening, why are you pulling back?"

He spoke so casually, as if I were merely tired and needed him to make the decision for me.

I lowered my head, the unfamiliar scent from the gown still clinging to my fingertips.

Evan used to love my scent. Once, when a fire broke out at the market, he pulled me out of the thick smoke. When I asked how he found me, he buried his face in my neck and said he could pick my scent out of any crowd.

Back then, my fur was silver-gray.

"Do I really have to wear it?" I asked again.

"Let's talk after the fitting tomorrow." He hung the gown in the closet, picked up his phone, and told the tailor to come by the next morning to adjust the waistline.

After hanging up, he noticed that I was barefoot. He bent down and pushed my slippers toward me.

"The floor is cold. Wear the slippers," he said. "You don't need to get up too early tomorrow. I'll come get you."

I slipped into my slippers and watched him leave and close the door behind him.

The closet stood open, the white hem of the dress hanging almost to my suitcase.

Three years ago, I was an orphaned rogue with nowhere to go. I'd stepped into a trap on the snowy plains and thought I was going to die there. Then Evan had appeared like a hero, pried open the silver jaws of the trap his enemies had set, and carried me back to his pack.

I joined his pack and stayed to care for those injured by silver weapons. Over the years, I'd become something of an expert in treating silver poisoning.

The Healers' Association had invited me to join them several times, but I'd always turned them down because I wanted to stay by Evan's side.

Now I no longer had a reason to stay.

My phone lit up with a reply from the Healers' Association, confirming my acceptance. A car would pick me up at dawn in seven days.

I sent them the address of a hotel near the pack's exit.

Then I took out my identification papers, packed my research journal into my suitcase, and messaged the infirmary, asking them to prepare the research samples I'd left there.

When everything was packed, I zipped the suitcase shut and slid it deep into the closet.

In seven days, I'd leave Evan for good.