Five Years a Virgin

Alaric Goremane was in the shower as the muffled sound of running water drifted from the steamy bathroom.

The air was heavy with the scent of the aromatherapy oil I'd chosen, supposedly one that stirred the most primal desires in wolves.

I'd slipped into the lace slip I'd saved for tonight, and its sheer fabric hugged my curves perfectly.

When Alaric stepped out, I steadied my pounding heart and slid my arms around his solid waist from behind. Then, I pressed my cheek against his muscled back.

"Honey, I'm ready…"

His body froze. With a sudden, sharp shove, he threw me off as though I were filth, and my fingers burned him.

Meeting my stunned gaze, he gritted his teeth and hissed, "Who said you could touch me?"

…

I jolted awake and felt my heart racing against my chest as cold sweat covered my forehead. So, it turned out that this was just another cruel, pathetic dream.

As I panted heavily, my eyes landed on the flight ticket on my nightstand booked weeks ago. It was bound for the pack borderlands.

I reminded myself that it was fine. I would see him again tomorrow, and maybe this time, he would accept me.

With a heart full of hope, I made that journey and traveled thousands of miles for him. But I never thought I'd be welcomed with such a scene.

It was raining heavily when I stood frozen in the middle of the street like a lifeless statue.

Not far away, Alaric was kneeling before another woman, slipping off her rain-soaked heels. His usually unreadable and cold expression had softened into an almost unfamiliar face, and I barely recognized him anymore.

Six years ago, I'd seen him for the first time at the interpack conclave.

As the youngest Alpha of the Duskorb pack, he drew every eye the instant he appeared in a perfectly tailored black suit. Coupled with his tall and composed frame, his glacial facial features were sculptured to perfection.

The moment my eyes fell on him, my wolf screamed, "Mate! Mate! He's my mate!"

From then on, I was helplessly drawn to him. As an omega, I trained, studied, and fought just to be worthy of standing at his side.

A year later, when Alaric finally acknowledged me as his fated mate, I thought I'd won the world. And that was when he told me about his past.

He told me about the night he caught his parents in a tangled, drunken mess with their lovers. He recounted how that trauma evolved into unbearable pain, followed by severe mysophobia and disgust for touch.

For five years, every intimacy attempt we made had ended in failure. And I would feel ashamed whenever he resisted.

Once, he even threw up after I kissed him. He told me it was reflex and that it wasn't my fault, but the wound it left in me never healed.

A year ago, Alaric had left for the borderlands to lead the fight against an ambushed attack from a hostile neighbouring pack. We'd lived apart ever since.

My flirty messages mostly went unanswered, and it was only when I brought up pack business that he would reply in a few, pathetic words.

"Thank you. Having you here puts my mind at rest."

It felt as if we were just partners responsible for maintaining the stability and operations of the pack, not mates blessed by the Moon Goddess.

So, on our fifth mating anniversary, I rushed to the borderlands in excitement, ready to surprise him. But I ended up seeing my self-acclaimed-clean-freak fated mate kneeling and removing another she-wolf's heels.

In that instant, the years I'd held on and waited all seemed to lose their meaning.

I had no idea how long it took, but he finally noticed me. The smile on his face faltered a little as he opened a black umbrella and walked over.

"What are you doing here? Who's handling things in the pack downtown district?" he asked with a frown.

"I've got everything arranged," I said, forcing a smile as I handed him the gift I'd been holding onto this whole time. "I came to say… happy fifth mating anniversary, Alaric."

He looked startled, clearly having forgotten it was our fifth anniversary, let alone expecting me to travel all this way to bring him a gift.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, and just as he reached for the gift, Serene Vargar's coquettish voice rang out. "Alaric, the elders are here. The council's starting."

With that, all his attention on me was shifted away. He quickly turned around and said without looking back, "Come with me."

I stood frozen until he was almost out of sight before following.

When Alaric caught up to Serene, she stepped seamlessly into place behind him. They walked shoulder to shoulder as I trailed behind like a redundant escort.

As they walked, they discussed pack operations and deep strategies, and I barely understood a word of it. All I knew was that she was Serene Vargar, his childhood sweetheart.

She was supposed to be in another pack, but she'd appeared at our pack borderlands a year ago and had been by his side since. Together, they resolved all pack affairs that came their way.

Her hair was loose and silky, and her lips shimmered with gloss. And with his coat draped over her shoulders, she was radiant and utterly dazzling.

Every time I tried to speak to Alaric alone, whether unintentional or on purpose, she'd always interrupt with something about border affairs.

Outside the council hall, she finally looked at me. However, when she spoke to Alaric, she suddenly switched to an ancient Lycan dialect, a rare and archaic tongue.

"Is she your fated mate? She looks weak, and as an omega, she's not worthy of you at all."

I wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose, but he replied in the same ancient Lycan dialect, "Worthiness doesn't matter. The Moon Goddess has her reasons for her arrangements."

They thought I didn't understand and had no idea that I'd mastered the ancient Lycan dialect, just to help Alaric run the pack better.

After Serene entered the council hall, he finally turned to me. Pressing his lips together as if making up his mind, he suddenly gave me a quick, dry kiss.

"I have a meeting in a bit. Wait here, and don't wander off, alright?"

Well, he wouldn't have kissed me at all. Not if he could avoid it. There was no point in the kiss if he had to look so forced and troubled.

He made me feel like a burden and some deadweight to endure, not a living she-wolf who should feel attractive and alive.

I swallowed the dryness in my throat and forced out a word with difficulty. "Okay."

After he left, I looked down at the gift box he hadn't managed to accept, now soaked by rainwater. Rain had dampened the moonlight silk cloak I'd woven over months of careful work and dulled its sheen, just like our love.

My five years of love and waiting were wasted.

I wiped my face, though I couldn't tell if it was the rain or tears, and dropped the gift box into the nearest trash can.