2. Fake mate bond

Elle

I woke clawing at my throat.

There was no blood on my hands. I dragged in a breath, then another, but I could still feel the teeth and the road beneath my back.

“Dad?”

I was in my bedroom. The blue dress Mom had helped me choose was bunched around my thighs. I shoved it up, searching for wounds, then caught sight of my reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

My face was whole.

Someone laughed downstairs, and I was off the bed before I could think.

Dad stood at the foot of the stairs talking to our Beta. He turned when I called for him, and I hit him so hard he took a step back.

“Elle? What happened?”

I couldn’t answer. I had both arms around him, my face pressed into his jacket, listening to him breathe.

“I’m sorry,” I kept saying. “I’m so sorry.”

He’d told me he was trying, and I’d screamed at him because I hadn’t understood why he couldn’t save us.

Dad caught my face between his hands. “Look at me. Where are you hurt?”

I grabbed his wrists, afraid he’d let go.

“Elle?”

Mom’s voice broke whatever was left of me. I reached for her, pulling her close enough to feel her heart against my chest. She was holding me. Her fingers were moving in my hair.

“You’re shaking,” she said. “Mason, get her a chair.”

“Don’t.” I caught Dad’s jacket when he tried to move. “Please. Just stay here.”

He stayed.

People were looking at us. I could see them over Mom’s shoulder, dressed for a party I’d already been to. Valerie was by the dining room doors, a glass held halfway to her mouth. Our Beta’s wife stood beside her.

I pulled my phone out of my dress pocket.

June 12.

I checked it again, opening the calendar because I didn’t trust what I was seeing.

My wedding was on September 12. Three months away.

“Was it a nightmare?” Mom asked. “You were asleep when I came up.”

I looked at her hands. She was still holding one of mine, rubbing the knuckles with her thumb, just as she’d done in the car.

“It felt real.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She kissed my cheek. “Come and sit down. You’re safe.”

“What did I miss?”

Soren’s voice came from behind Dad.

I couldn’t move. He walked toward us in a suit I’d helped him take off after this party the first time. I remembered how badly I’d wanted him that night, how I’d laughed when he’d told me to be careful of the buttons.

Now he was smiling at Mom as though he hadn’t left her to burn, and I wanted to be sick.

He reached for me.

I knocked his hand away hard enough to hear the slap.

The conversation behind him stopped.

Soren stared at me, then at his hand. “Elle?”

I wanted to hit him again. To keep hitting him until someone had to pull me off. He was here, where I could finally touch him, and Dad’s hand was still warm against my back.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

I could hear him asking if I’d been dead when the rogues left me.

Mom drew back to look between us. “Has something happened?”

“I don’t know.” Soren sounded worried. “She was fine when I saw her earlier.”

I wanted to tell Dad everything. He’d go for Soren before I finished saying poison. But the people around us were watching me as though I was the one who’d lost her mind, and I didn’t know who Soren had paid or who else had helped him.

My father was alive. I wasn’t getting him killed again because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut for five minutes.

“I need a minute,” I said.

Soren glanced at the guests, then back at me. He softened his voice.

“Hey. It’s just us.”

He’d said that the first time he’d kissed me. I’d been nervous then, too, and he’d held my face until I stopped worrying about what came next.

I hated that I remembered wanting him. Hated that my parents had died with no idea what sort of bastard I’d brought into their home.

He reached into his jacket, and my stomach clenched.

I knew this part.

Valerie grabbed her mother’s arm. “Oh my God.”

I stepped back, but Soren followed and caught my hand. Then he went down on one knee in front of everyone.

Mom covered her mouth. Dad’s hand slipped from my back.

“Eleanor Whitmore.”

The ring was the same. Of course it was. I’d worn it while I planned the wedding, while he sat across from Dad at dinner and asked questions about running our pack.

I’d thought he was trying to earn my father’s respect.

“Your family gave me a home,” he said, looking up at me. “You gave me a future. I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.”

He was holding my hand so gently. The same hand I’d pushed through his face when I was dead and he was pleased with himself.

“Will you marry me?”

I looked at Dad. He’d always made room for Soren because I’d asked him to. He’d poured him drinks and trusted him with our people, and on the day I’d died, he’d still been willing to turn the car around for me.

You can still change your mind.

“No.”

Soren blinked. He hadn’t even started to lower the box.

“Elle.” Valerie laughed, looking around for someone to share the joke. “Stop messing with him. Take it.”

I pulled my hand free.

“I’m not marrying you.”

Soren’s smile finally went. I watched his fingers close around the ring, and for the first time since I’d come downstairs, I could breathe without fighting for it.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked quietly, with an edge that made me want to tell him to shove the ring up his ass.

“She heard you.” Dad moved closer to me. “Give her some space.”

Soren stayed on one knee another moment before he stood. When he spoke again, he sounded hurt.

“Tell me what I’ve done. Please. Let me fix it.”

I could still feel Mom’s blood on my fingers. There was no fixing what he’d done.

He reached for my hand again, and something inside me moved.

My wolf.

I went still, reaching for her so fast I almost missed what she was trying to tell me. She was searching for him, pushing against my senses in growing confusion.

“Elle, I’m your mate.” Soren held out his hand. “Talk to me.”

I stared at him.

Where was the warmth? The pull that had once made me certain I belonged beside him, even when Dad had asked if I was sure?

My wolf searched again.

There’s nothing, she said.

Soren was close enough to touch. I could smell his cologne, see the pulse at his throat.

But I couldn’t feel a bond.