Mated to My Fiance's Uncle

My fingertip brushed the corner of his eye, and that small dot of black smudged into a dirty streak. I stared at my darkened fingertip and went rigid.

Damian's mole sat at the corner of his left eye, in a spot I could have drawn with my eyes closed.

But this one was painted on.

"You're not Damian." My voice shook so hard it didn't sound like mine.

The man in front of me neither pulled away nor tried to explain. He simply watched me with his eyes lowered.

Candlelight flickered across his face. It was identical to Damian's, down to the exact set of his tightened jaw. Only the eyes were different.

Damian's eyes always held light. This man's eyes were a deep well frozen over with ice.

My wolf, Naya, let out a thin whimper inside my head, then shrank all the way into my deepest corner.

She knew Damian's scent, pine and fresh snow. This man smelled of rust and night dew, so unfamiliar that she backed away on instinct.

Out in the courtyard, the air still carried the smoke of bonfires lit for Damian's mating ceremony.

The whole pack was raising their cups to a lie, and I was the only one standing at its center.

"Adrian." I spat out his name one syllable at a time, like spitting out a thorn lodged in my throat.

Adrian was the youngest of the four Blackmane brothers, and the one Alpha Theron never mentioned at the dinner table.

Damian's other three uncles were renowned Gammas. Adrian alone lived like a shadow along the manor walls.

I had barely exchanged ten words with that shadow. Now, beneath the blood moon, the Moon Goddess had witnessed and blessed our bond.

"Where is Damian?" I clutched the skirt of my ceremonial gown, knuckles white.

"He's gone," Adrian said, his voice so low it seemed ground out from deep in his chest. "He left before the blood moon rose, with the person he wanted beside him."

In that instant, I heard something snap inside me with a soft, brittle finality.

The man I had loved for twelve years couldn't even be bothered to attend his own mating ceremony.

He had sent his own uncle, made up to look exactly like him, right down to the painted mole, to marry me in his place.

So I had never been his bride at all. I was a package that just needed someone to sign for it.

I wanted to cry, but my eyes burned dry. Not a single tear would fall.

I glanced at the window on instinct, wanting to run. But the silver-inlaid window lattice was designed to keep werewolves from escaping. One touch of silver meant burns that would not heal for days.

In this manor, even running away was something that drew blood.

The faintest footstep sounded outside the window, then faded just as quickly. Only then did I remember that every corridor of Blackmane Manor had invisible eyes watching from its walls.

If anyone cried, laughed, or so much as tossed in their sleep, word reached the Elders before dawn.

"Don't cry," Adrian said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the ears inside the walls might hear. "And don't let anyone see that you hate him."

I looked up. He stepped closer, and the candlelight threw his shadow long and black across the wall's silver wards.

"Alpha Theron can coddle you all he wants, but in front of the whole pack, you became Damian's Luna. As far as Blackmane is concerned, they've kept their promise. From tonight on, if you can't fulfill the role of a proper Luna, you won't survive the month."

He paused, and something I couldn't read flashed through those eyes, that frozen well. "Vera, for now, just stay alive."

I stared at him. In twelve years, he was the first person to tell me to stay alive and truly mean it.

That night, I didn't shed another tear. I swallowed them as if forcing down a rusted nail.