Mated In Disguise

It was happening again - only this time, she didn't know what to expect. The scent of lilacs drifted through the open window, soft and familiar—her mother’s favorite flower—but the sweetness did nothing to soothe the dread curling in Rhea’s gut. She sat alone in the great hall of the Bloodmoon estate, perched on the edge of an ornate velvet chair, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her fingers trembled despite her effort to still them.The hall was quiet, save for the occasional pop of firewood crackling in the hearth. Tall windows framed the setting sun, casting long golden shadows across the stone floor. Everything looked the same as it always had—the portraits of her ancestors, the banners bearing their crimson wolf crest—but nothing felt the same. Not after the summons she’d received that morning.She heard the heavy footsteps before the doors opened. Her father entered with the slow, deliberate stride of someone who knew the weight his presence carried. Alpha Garrick Stormclaw—h

The rain hadn’t stopped for days. It drummed endlessly on the stone roof of the old library tower where Rhea had hidden herself, muffling the world into a soft, oppressive hush. The air was damp and heavy, curling around her like a shroud. The cracked window beside her wept with condensation, the glass trembling with every gust of wind that rattled against it.Rhea sat curled on the ancient window seat, her knees drawn to her chest, her mother’s faded shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The scent of lavender still lingered faintly in the fabric, even after all these weeks. She clutched it as if it could somehow bring her back.She hadn’t cried at the funeral.She hadn’t screamed or begged when her father announced the betrothal to Alpha Branor, a man old enough to be her grandfather and twice as cruel.But now, alone in the decaying stillness, her hands shook.“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. It echoed softly through the hollow chamber. “

By the time Rhea reached the outskirts of the human city, the soles of her boots were worn nearly through, her cloak still damp from days ago, and her limbs so tired they trembled with each step. But none of that mattered—not in the face of what lay ahead.She stood behind a crumbling stone wall, peering down into the valley where the city sat. Smoke curled from chimneys. The faint clatter of horse hooves echoed up the road. Vibrant stalls lined cobbled streets in a mishmash of colors, noise, and life.Humans.So many of them.She’d heard stories of their markets, of their obsession with coin and trade. Of their fragile bodies, blind to scent and bond. But standing here now, watching from the woods as people laughed, argued, bartered, and moved through their lives freely, Rhea felt something twist in her chest.Envy.They didn’t live by blood oaths or sacred bonds. They chose who to love. They built homes, traveled, and questioned everything. No Elders dictating destiny. No forced pai

The sun hung low in the sky, casting molten gold across the treetops as Rian stepped out of the forest’s edge. Her heart drummed an anxious rhythm in her chest. Just ahead, nestled at the crossroads between wilderness and structure, stood a small outpost made of stone and iron.The Academy’s border checkpoint.Two tall posts framed a wrought-iron gate, one side of it propped open. On either side, sharp-eyed guards flanked a squat building where the official recruiter sat beneath a canvas awning, sipping something warm from a tin mug.Behind him, the path curved out of sight—toward the gates of the Alpha Training Academy.Rian swallowed hard.Her boots crunched against the gravel as she approached, her satchel slung over her shoulder, her forged acceptance letter tucked deep within its folds. Her shoulders were square, gait wide, jaw tight. Just like she’d practiced.She had to be him now.Rian. Not Rhea. Not scared. Not weak.A tall man stepped forward to intercept her, dressed in the

The forest had grown meaner with the descent of dusk. Shadows spilled from the trees like ink, and every rustling branch sounded like a footfall. Rhea pressed deeper into the underbrush, her breath shallow, her heart a metronome of fear in her chest.She hadn’t slept in nearly two days, just short stretches of uneasy dozing beneath roots and canopies, always with one ear turned to the wind. Her clothes were torn in places, her boots caked with mud and blood from scraped knees, and the forged letter to the Academy was damp against her chest.Her wolf—the she-wolf inside her—paced restlessly under her skin. The longer Rhea denied her the freedom to shift, to be, the more difficult it became to silence her. The wolf didn’t understand secrecy or fear. She only wanted to run, to howl, to fight.But they couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not yet.Not when we’re being hunted.She ducked low beneath a thicket and paused, tilting her head toward the wind.Voices.Male. Several.Too close.She did