Gagal Jadi Maduku, Dia Jadi Iparku

POV: Olivia

They said he would return by moonrise.

The hall swelled with noise and heat. Warriors crowded the long tables, ale spilling, voices rising. The Betas’ family sat nearest the dais, laughing too loudly, pretending not to wait like the rest.

I kept my head down and carried trays.

“Latent, faster,” the kitchen matron snapped.

“Yes,” I murmured.

Plates. Cups. Bread baskets. In and out. Don’t spill. Don’t be seen.

Still, whispers chased me.

“He trained with the northern war camps.”

“Came back stronger. Meaner.”

“Maybe he’ll finally choose a Luna.”

My arms ached, but I didn’t let them shake. Latents didn’t get to tremble. We served.

The air reeked of roasted meat, sweat, and smoke. Pack scent. Home, but never mine. I’d grown up in these walls and always felt like furniture.

Two girls my age leaned close, their voices pitched just loud enough.

“If he’s smart, he’ll pick from a strong line. No broken Luna. The pack needs a queen who won’t fail.”

Their eyes slid over me—then away.

I kept walking.

At the end of the hall, the doors stood open, curtains tied back with rope. Moonlight poured pale across the stone floor.

“Olivia,” Mae hissed, shoving a tray into my hands. “Top table. Don’t trip.”

“I won’t,” I said, though my arms already trembled.

“Then stop looking like you’re apologising for existing.”

“I’m not afraid,” I lied.

She smirked and vanished back into the kitchen.

The tray grew heavier with every step toward the dais—elders, Beta, Gamma, and the empty chair waiting like a throne.

One. Two. Three—

The doors opened.

At first, I didn’t see him. Warriors filled the frame, shoulders blocking the hall. Laughter faltered. Chairs scraped.

Then he stepped through.

Tall. Broad shoulders under a black coat cut to command. Dark hair, shorn close. A face carved from stone, a mouth unused to smiling. Eyes like a storm that never softened.

And everything stopped when those eyes found me—just a latent girl with a tray.

The bond struck like fire.

Not thought. No choice. Lightning in my blood, a thread pulled tight inside me. One word echoing through the silence.

Mate.

The tray slipped, cups rattling. I caught it, elbows locked.

No wolf’s voice answered—because I had none. Only silence, aching where she should be. If I’d had one, she would have howled that word.

Mate.

His chest rose sharply, like a man breaking water. A sound rumbled low in his throat, brushing my skin though he hadn’t spoken.

Luna.

The hall leaned forward, breathless. The Beta’s daughter—Rhea, polished and perfect—smiled widely.

He didn’t look at her.

He looked at me.

“The air thickened. His scent cut through smoke—pine, sandalwood, and myrrh. It wrapped around me, binding tight.”

He stepped forward.

A hand clamped on my arm. “Back,” the matron hissed.

I stumbled, broth sloshing hot over my wrist. I didn’t feel it.

“Move, Olivia. Now.”

My feet obeyed.

I shoved through the service door and pressed against the wall, breath hammering.

Mate.

The stories said the Moon Goddess ties two souls with a thread no one can cut. When it pulls, you follow.

Even without a wolf, I knew.

Mae’s eyes went wide when she saw me. “Moon above. Did it—?”

I shook my head too fast. Saying it aloud would make it real.

“Latent!” the matron barked. “Wine, side room.”

“I’ll do it,” I said, though the voice didn’t feel like mine.

The side room was little more than a narrow closet with a cracked door overlooking the hall. I filled a goblet with shaking hands. Through the slit, I saw him take his chair. Elders rose. Rhea tilted her chin.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was searching.

And then his eyes found mine through the gap.

My breath vanished.

He stood.

The room hushed. Each step he took was thunder rolling closer.

“Alpha?” the Beta called.

He didn’t answer. His eyes never left me.

The door creaked.

I froze. Wine spilt red across my hand.

“Olivia?” Mae’s whisper.

The door opened.

He filled the corridor, shoulders and presence too much for the narrow space. His scent crushed the air from my lungs.

Storm-dark eyes swept over me, memorising, branding.

“Olivia,” he said. My name was rough in his mouth.

I lifted my chin. “Alpha.”

The bond pulled taut, singing inside me. Silence where a wolf should be. Silence that hurt.

His gaze dropped to the wine dripping from my skin. His jaw clenched. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” Not compared to the fire inside me.

Behind him, voices rose—the elders calling, Rhea’s laugh brittle as sugar.

“Come with me,” he said, lower.

“I can’t.”

“Olivia.”

He held out his hand. My fingers twitched, but I pressed them to my chest. “Not here.”

Something flickered in his eyes—fear and relief tangled. He gave a sharp nod.

“Not here,” he echoed.

Duty dragged him back, but his eyes never left me. Not when the Beta tugged at his sleeve. Not when the elders spoke. Not when Rhea leaned forward, waiting.

The door stayed open a crack. A thread. A promise.

Mae appeared at my side, pale. “Tell me I didn’t see that.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “Because it’s real.”

Her mouth fell open. “The Alpha?”

I nodded.

“Moon save you,” she breathed.

The hall roared again. The elders spoke of tomorrow.

But all I felt was that thread—tight, burning.

And in that moment, with wine drying on my skin and my name on an Alpha’s lips, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty:

My life would never be the same.