002

Chapter 2 

JenniferPOV  

I didn’t stay in Rivermist Territory any longer than necessary. There was no reason left. I had only attended college there to stay close to Stefan, and now that I’d graduated and he’d found his supposed True Mate, the city meant nothing to me.  

I booked the earliest flight back to Shadowcrest, the ancestral lands of the Nightshade Pack. My home. My birthright.  

When I stepped off the plane, Lyra Hale was waiting. My closest friend since childhood, though we had barely spoken these past three years because of my… obsession.  

“So, you’re back for good this time?” she asked, searching my face for any trace of the broken-hearted omega I had pretended to be.  

I met her eyes steadily, chin lifted in a way I hadn’t allowed myself in years. “For good,” I confirmed.  

In the past, I had only returned to Shadowcrest for short visits between semesters, always rushing back to circle Stefan like a pathetic satellite. Time with Lyra had been limited, our conversations shallow.  

But the wager was lost. Nothing pulled me back to that life of pretense anymore.  

Lyra squeezed my arm as we walked toward her car. “I heard about what happened with Stefan,” she said, voice gentle but free of pity. “Let’s not talk about that depressing shit. Tonight is about welcoming you home.”  

I smiled—genuinely—and nodded. The tight knot in my chest loosened a little.  

Lyra took me to Obsidian, Shadowcrest’s most exclusive werewolf club. She ordered a bottle of rare blood-moon whiskey, the kind that burned pleasantly on the way down and hummed through our veins. “To your homecoming and newfound freedom,” she toasted.  

One drink in, and I felt my wolf stretching inside me, glad to finally shed the meek persona I had forced on her for so long.  

“Thank the Moon Goddess you’re done with Stefan,” Lyra said, refilling our glasses. “The way you changed yourself for him… I barely recognized you. My wild, fearless Jennifer—suddenly this quiet, bookish wallflower who wouldn’t touch alcohol or fast cars. It was fucking bizarre.”  

My lips curved into a smile that held the first real spark of my old confidence. The Nightshade Pack had always valued courage and strength above everything. Before the act, I had been known for chasing adrenaline—racing through mountain roads, jumping from cliffs, even fighting rogue wolves along our borders after my first transformation at sixteen.  

I had been the pack’s fiercest female warrior, an extreme-sports addict who sneered at men and Alphas alike. I had mocked my mother’s belief in destined mates and fate.  

Until Stefan. Until I sacrificed everything that made me *me* to become what he wanted.  

“I must have lost my fucking mind,” I drawled, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.  

I still couldn’t fully understand what had driven me. Maybe it was rebellion against my mother, or maybe I needed to prove that mate bonds weren’t the ultimate power she claimed them to be. I had been determined to make a wolf I chose fall for me—even if it meant becoming bland, ordinary… even dull.  

The bartender nearly spilled a drink as he stared at me, clearly reacting to the Alpha pheromones I was no longer hiding. My wolf preened under the attention.  

“So,” Lyra said, studying me over her glass, “now that you and Stefan are finished, are you really going back to take your place as the Nightshade heir?”  

I took a slow sip. “A bet’s a bet.”  

My mother, Alpha Selene Voss, stood as the only female Alpha in our region. After my father’s death, she had weathered brutal pack politics and corporate attacks against Voss Industries with unmatched resilience. I had always admired her strength, even while chafing under the weight of her expectations.  

My younger sister Elara had always been too fragile for leadership.  

And I… I had craved freedom too much. My mother had understood that, which was why she had given me the choice—the wager.  

Now I had lost. And while it stung my pride, I was not a coward who ran from consequences.  

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t Nightshade tradition require you to have a mate before you can officially take over? Has Aunt Selene already lined someone up for you?”  

“No,” I answered with certainty.  

I understood my mother better than most. She was dominant by nature, but she was not cruel about my choice of mate. Her opposition to Stefan had always been more about the generations-old rivalry between our packs than about him personally.  

“Jennifer,” Lyra leaned forward, voice dropping, “even though you lost the bet, Aunt Selene won’t force you into anything. And honestly, there are plenty of wolves who’d kill to be with you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “If all else fails, I could always introduce you to my cousin Gregory.”  

Gregory Donovan. The name alone sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. As the supreme Alpha of all American werewolf packs and leader of the Blackthorn Pack, he was the dream mate of countless she-wolves. His power, wealth, and devastating looks were legendary—as was his cold, ruthless nature.  

In my younger years, I had been momentarily dazzled by him. A brief, embarrassing crush I had quickly buried. Up close to that perfect face, no one’s heartbeat stayed steady. But I was too proud, too determined to stand on my own. I didn’t need some powerful Alpha to run my pack for me—I wanted to choose my own path, my own mate. I had actively avoided any gatherings where Gregory might appear, and in the years since, we had only exchanged distant glances at formal pack functions.  

I rolled my eyes at Lyra’s suggestion, treating it like a joke between us.  

The cold liquor slid down my throat, leaving an unexpected bitterness on my tongue.  

As the night wore on, we both grew pleasantly buzzed—not drunk, since werewolves burned alcohol too quickly for that, but comfortably warm and loose-limbed.  

Lyra suddenly checked her phone, her expression turning strange. “Gregory says he’s coming to pick us up.”  

I could hear the confusion in her voice. Though she was technically connected to Gregory’s pack structure, they weren’t particularly close. It was odd that he would suddenly message her, ask if I was with her, and offer to drive us home.  

“He’s probably just being responsible,” she murmured, but she didn’t sound convinced.  

A few minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up outside the club. The window rolled down, revealing a face that made my breath catch despite every effort to stay unaffected.  

Gregory’s features were sharp and perfect—high cheekbones, penetrating eyes, and pale skin that seemed to catch the moonlight. His presence radiated power, danger, and something primally appealing that made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin.  

“Get in,” he commanded, his deep voice sliding over me like dark velvet.  

His gaze swept over Lyra briefly before locking onto me with an intensity that felt almost physical.  

When our eyes met, my heartbeat stuttered, then raced ahead like I had just thrown myself off a cliff. My wolf, so long suppressed beneath layers of pretense, suddenly howled to life within me.  

I recognized the sensation instantly. I had felt its faint echo once before, years ago. But this time there was no denying what it was.  

The mate bond. Awakening. Reaching. Demanding recognition.  

I had been too stubborn to accept it before—Gregory Donovan was my True Mate. And from the hungry look in his eyes, his wolf had just confirmed what he had apparently suspected for years.  

“Fuck,” I whispered, the word carrying the full

weight of the realization as the truth settled over me like a force I could no longer fight.