Chapter 3

Riven

"Is the goddess playing with me?"

That’s the first thing I say as the sweet scent of my mate whips across my face, sliding through my nose and curling deep in my gut. It doesn’t just linger, it settles, thick and calm, and my wolf snaps his head up inside me, growling, pacing, restless with the realization that my mate is here.

But hell, this is ridiculous. My mate? A rogue? Not just a rogue, but one of the captured slaves standing in my fucking pack ground? My lips pull into a bitter smile as the thought tastes wrong in my mouth. The goddess must be laughing at me.

I keep walking down the line, boots crunching against dirt, the guards at my side shifting like they can feel the tension rolling off me. The scent only grows stronger, tugging me forward until I stop in front of a young girl. Pale skin, dark coily hair tangled and frizzy, dirt rubbed into her cheeks like she’s been dragged through the ground. Her head stays bowed, her body trembling like she already knows what I am to her.

My wolf growls again, sharp and demanding, and the sound pulls her head up fast.

Her eyes flash gold for the briefest second, answering the call of my wolf, but then it dies down, replaced by silver—bright, stubborn silver staring straight back at me. Even covered in filth, her face is striking, fragile but proud. The ragged piece of fabric she wears clings to her skin, nothing left to imagination, and yet she doesn’t shrink away.

“Mate.”

The word leaves me low and firm, not a question, not even a choice. It rips through the air, and the line of slaves shudders at the weight of it. The guards stiffen. Whispers rise, a ripple across the crowd, all of them knowing exactly what I just claimed.

But then her small voice cuts through, steady even as it shakes.

 “I, Serelis, reject you, Alpha of Moonshard Pack, as my mate and Alpha.”

My eyes widen. For a moment, I just stare at her. Is she serious? A rogue rejecting me? Isn’t this amusing? Then laughter bursts out of me, loud and uncontrollable, drawing even more attention.

“Damn! I’ve never seen anyone so bold as you,” I manage between choking laughs, my chest shaking with the absurdity of it.

Gasps echo from the line. Some of the slaves lift their heads, wide-eyed, as if they can’t believe what they’ve just witnessed. My wolf snarls in my chest, angry, but I find the whole thing entertaining. Bold little rogue.

I tilt my head, watching her face. She doesn’t look away, though I can see her knees threatening to buckle. She has fire, but fire burns out fast in my world.

“You think you get to refuse me?” My laughter dies, voice turning sharp, cold, the tone that stills a room. “You don’t get that choice. Only I have the right to say no.”

Her lips tremble, but she pushes words out anyway.

“I’m a rogue. I’m a slave. Why would you accept a bond to someone like me? I can’t be mated to someone as ruthless as you.”

The field falls into silence around us, broken only by the weak sobbing of a woman standing beside her. The sound grates against my ears, sharp and constant, like nails dragging. I ignore Serelis for a moment, turning my attention toward the nuisance.

Without hesitation, I reach for the strap at my waist and pull the gun free. The shift of metal draws gasps, but before anyone has the chance to beg, I lift the weapon and pull the trigger.

The crack splits the air. The crying stops.

The woman drops to the ground, body folding in on itself like a rag doll, her blood sinking into the dirt.

Serelis gasps. Her hands jerk up as if she wants to cover her mouth, her silver eyes stretching wide, horror painted across her pale face. The field goes deadly quiet in the aftermath, slaves shaking where they stand, guards stiff with the echo of the shot.

I turn the gun smoothly back toward her, the barrel steady, my eyes locked on hers.

I straighten, lifting my chin as I speak the words that bind. “I, Riven Thorne, Alpha of Moonshard Pack, accept you, Serelis, as my mate.”

“Accept the bond now,” I tell her. My voice is flat, unforgiving, each word falling like stone.

 Her chest rises and falls too fast, like her lungs can’t keep up. Her gaze darts from me to the lifeless body on the ground, then back again. Fear bleeds into her stubbornness, twisting across her face. Her knees shake, her lips quiver, but still she resists with silence.

I lower the gun slightly, just enough to press the point further. “This isn’t a request. Accept me, or you’ll join her.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. Her eyes glisten, silver glass trembling with unshed tears. She looks like she wants to fight, but death is right here, pressed against her temple. Survival screams louder.

Finally, her voice comes, small and broken, but the words are clear. “Al...alright. I accept.”

The surrender carries fear, disgust, and pain all tangled in one. Not a single thing in it feels like willingness, but it is enough.

A slow smile pulls at my lips as satisfaction settles over me. “Good choice.”

The ritual echoes through the silence, heavy and final. The bond hums to life instantly, sliding under my skin. It’s raw, faint, but there, tying me to this stubborn little rogue whether I want it or not. Possession, not affection. That’s all I need.

I flick my gaze to the guards. “Take her to the maids’ quarter. Keep her close, keep her watched, clean her wounds. She doesn’t leave your sight.”

They move forward quickly, seizing her arms, dragging her from the line. She struggles, her eyes still locked on me as if she wants to burn me alive with just that glare, but I only smirk. Let her fight. I’ll watch how long it lasts.

Once she’s hauled away, I holster my gun and return to the line. There’s work to finish. Weakness has no place in my pack.

I stalk down the row, eyes sharp, reading the bodies before me. The ones trembling too hard to stand? Useless. They won’t survive hard labor. I signal with a tilt of my head, and they’re dragged off. The ones with hollow eyes that already look dead? Not worth the food they’d eat. They’re discarded just the same.

The air grows tighter as I move, my shadow enough to make some flinch, and that’s all it takes. A flinch is failure. A shake is a death sentence. The ones who hold their ground, who grit their teeth and keep their gaze low, those are the ones I let pass.

By the time I reach the end, the line is cut down, the useless stripped out, the rest marked for labor. The ground is heavy with fear and silence, the stench of blood and gunpowder still thick.

 I pause, lifting my face to the moon above. The goddess must be laughing, throwing me a rogue mate, a slave Luna.

Charming.

I turn back toward the barracks, my boots thudding against dirt, mind already circling the work still to come. My pack doesn’t run on mercy. It runs on strength, and I’ll make sure none of them forget it.