Chapter One

Aurora POV

They used to write songs about fated mates. Wolves spoke of them with reverence, as if the gods themselves had reached down and tied two souls together with invisible threads of destiny. Those stories are gone now, buried beneath ash and blood and centuries of war. What was once seen as sacred is now considered dangerous. Bonds born of instinct are no longer praised. They are hidden, condemned, and feared.

A true mate is not a blessing in my world. It's a threat. An uncontrollable force that tears through arranged alliances and delicate treaties. No pack survives by chasing fate. We survive by choosing control.

In my world, love is not a luxury. It is a liability.

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The giving meal, that's what I'm doing right now. This is the meal my parents have with me and Alpha Caelan Thorne as a sign they are giving me to him.

He's the sort of man who gets whatever he wants without asking. His jaw, posture and grip on his goblet are sharp, which describes him exactly. Sharp.

To the outside world, to the humans, it will look like we're having a nice family meal, me, my mother, stepfather and my soon-to-be boyfriend and mate. It's an illusion, this is the meal before the wedding, the mating ritual and such tomorrow. It's Caelan's final chance to change his mind.

“You look well,” Caelan says. “Ironhowl colors suit you.”

I look down at the dress. I'm not ungrateful. This is the nicest thing I have, I'm usually given second-hand items. The dress, though, is green, too dark, the worst color in the world. 

Looking back up at him, I give a small nod. “Thank you,” I reply, my smile empty.

He gestures to the food. “I asked for milder spices. Thought it might suit you better.”

I nod. “It’s well prepared.” Does he really think that I can't handle spice? It's tradition to bring their pack cook here to make the dinner the day before the bond is created.

"Tomorrow is the day," my mother says. I look up at her. "You turn eighteen. You and Caelan will bind with blood, and that will also bind both our packs," she explains.

What she means is that she'll finally get what she wants, and I'll do what's expected without complaint.

"It will be a good day," I say, even though it won't be.

I don't believe in fate, no one does anymore. This whole meal reflects the rest of my life. Boring, dull and... Someone save me from boredom torture.

"The wine is sharp," Caelan says.

I pretend to care, but really, I'm just trying to measure each breath to keep calm. "It is," I say.

In this pack, I'm seen as nothing, with no use. Yet, they are happy to use me to tie this pack to Caelan's. I don’t feel honored. Caelan says something else, and I miss it, but I nod quickly. He either doesn't notice I didn't hear or doesn't care to point it out. He probably doesn't care if I don't listen

Killian laughs at something, and my mother’s hand rests on his. She’s pleased. Her daughter will bond with Ironhowl, which in return makes my mother's place rise.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Caelan asks, looking directly at me.

"I am, Alpha," I say quietly. My mother smiles wider, knowing that she's the one to make sure I'm ready.

“Tomorrow will be a good day,” Caelan says. “We’ll make history, Aurora.”

I nod at him. "That we will," I say. We won't make history, every pack now mates and creates bonds to strengthen alliances. This isn't doing anything unique or different.

My mother lifts her glass and makes a toast, and I follow. Her eyes shine with pride.

Fate isn't a part of our life, sacrifice is, and it's proven tomorrow, when I become the price of peace.

The dinner continues to drag on, and I smile when I must. I nod when spoken to. My throat is dry, but I don’t ask for water. I don’t want attention, and I can’t afford it.

They speak now of borders and land rights. I stare at the centrepiece, some twisted branches with red flowers. It’s beautiful, but cruel. Everything beautiful in my life has come at a cost.

Tomorrow, if anything stirs… if a bond shows… then everything changes.

"What if I get a bond?" I ask, and the room drops into a silence like death, except for the clatter of my mother's fork.

"Bonds are myths, and lies spun by the Veilmother’s flawed Loom, and even if they were real, they wouldn’t choose you." My mother's words are harsh.

"She's right, you're no warrior, or heir," Caelan states.

My mother stands, cutting off the conversation.

“To peace,” she says. “To unity and to the future, to choosing our own paths.”

They echo her. Caelan lifts his glass. Killian does too, and I follow.

“To the future,” I whisper. Choosing our own paths is ironic, considering this isn't a path I chose.

After the meal, I rushed away, but now it's past midnight and is my birthday, I can't sleep. I walk silently around the house. 

I step around the corner and bump into someone. I don't have time to stop myself.

Staggering back, my mouth opens to apologise, and I pause when I see Killian.

His eyes meet mine for the briefest moment, and something changes. I can't talk, his entire body stills like a predator catching sight of it's prey. Only fear doesn't silence me, it's heat.

It hits me like a wave, full-bodied and dizzying. My breath catches before I can make a sound. The air is thick with his scent, sharp and warm, it threads through my chest and curls low in my belly. My skin prickles at the sensation, and my wolf surges forward so violently that I stagger back a step.

He moves faster and grabs my arm, not roughly but full of purpose. His hand slides down, fingers wrapping around my wrist as his other hand curls around my waist.

I don't move, I can't.

His head drops, and I feel the heat of his breath against my neck.

“Veil,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “What is this?”

He inhales again, deeper this time, dragging my scent into his lungs like he’s starving for it. He moves, his nose brushing along the curve of my throat, and a shiver ripples through my entire body. My knees go weak instantly, and the pressure of his hand on my waist tightens, holding me upright.

“Killian,” I manage to say, but it barely comes out. My voice is far too thin and soft right now. His name tastes wrong on my tongue, like something I shouldn't be allowed to speak, especially while he's touching me like this. My voice is too thin, too soft.

I try to move back, to pull away, but he growls, low and guttural. It doesn't even sound human. It vibrates through his chest into mine, and I flinch. He finally lifts his head, his eyes are dark, and there's something wild behind them, something deeper.

His wolf.

“No,” he says, almost to himself. “No. This can’t be.”

My pulse races, and I open my mouth, even though I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what's happening, all I know is I'm burning from the inside out, and I can't breathe around the scent.

He stares at me like he's seeing me for the first time, and maybe he is considering that he never paid attention to me before. His eyes lower to my lips, then lower to the column of my neck, where I know he will hear my heart pounding. I know he can feel how close my wolf is to the surface.

“I smelled it the second I touched you,” he says, his voice dark and rough. “This scent… I know it.”

He moves closer, and I back up until my back hits the wall. My breath comes fast and shallow as he leans in, he breathes in, like he's desperate for more.

“Killian, what are you doing?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer. His hand moves, palm pressing flat against the wall beside my head and trapping me. He's looking at me differently, making sure I'm caged in.

My body shakes, and he moves closer, and I hear his wolf.

Mate.

He jerks back from me like he’s been struck. His hand releases me instantly, staggering back. I watch his face shift in real time, shock, disbelief, then something like fear. He turns away, and rakes a hand through his hair.

“No,” he snaps. “No. This isn’t real.”

It is real, I can feel it. Even now, with the distance between us, the bond hums beneath my skin. My wolf is awake in a way she never has been before, she's pacing behind my ribs and stretching toward him.

My back is still pressed against the wall, and I try to ground myself. My hands won't stay still, and my thoughts won't sort themselves out to make sense.

He's my mother's husband. This is wrong in so many ways.

Turning back toward me slowly, he's still breathing hard. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are still wild. He looks like he's barely holding himself together.

“We don’t speak of this,” he says at last. “Not to anyone. Ever.”

Staring at him, I don't answer, my heart won't slow down. He takes another step back, putting more distance between us.

“It’s the bond,” I whisper. “Isn’t it?”

His silence is answer enough. Fated bonds are wrong, forbidden, now I have one, and to my mother's husband!

We stand facing each other, caught in this trap. The air still holds the heat and scent from the bond.

Nothing will ever be the same, and we both know it.