CHAPTER 2

DOMINIC

"WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN LURKING SINCE DAWN?"

The past several rotations had felt like I was drifting in a distorted reality where my mate wasn’t the same transparent, magnetic, and sincere man I’d been captivated by for the last decade. Aaron—the male who was once always waiting in our Cheshire den when my training at the ice rink concluded—suddenly wasn't. Not only was he absent more frequently than not, but he never bothered to project a mental link or send a ping regarding his destination.

Exchanging our coordinates and full digital agendas had never been a formal pack law in our bond, but it was a courtesy we maintained to keep our scents aligned. Aaron had never given me a reason to let my inner wolf snarl in distrust before. Yet, his cryptic movements, muffled phone calls, and vague dismissals of late had begun to tear at the fabric of my faith in my mate. Our marriage was fraying in ways I never imagined possible in a modern pack dynamic.

He had vanished again this morning before the sun even cleared the Cheshire hills, which was a feat, considering my alarm blared every weekday at five-thirty for morning skate. I glanced down at my device while idling at a Manchester stoplight; there was still no reply to the message I’d sent before heading to the arena.

Dominic: Good morning, alpha. Had to hit the ice. Where are you prowling today? I was gutted to find the bed cold when I shifted.

Thirty minutes had evaporated since that transmission. The driver behind me slammed on their horn, a sharp sound that pierced my sensitive hearing, signaling the light’s transition to green. As I rolled forward, my peripheral vision caught a familiar silhouette on a side street. It was my cousin, Adrian Carrillo. He appeared to be standing guard outside a local Manchester bakery, waiting for someone still obscured by the frosted glass of the storefront.

Another aggressive honk from the human behind me meant I couldn't stall. Adrian’s head snapped toward the traffic as the noise echoed. Rather than offering a pack greeting or a wave, he ducked behind a brick pillar like a rogue who didn’t want his scent tracked.

"I’m losing my mind," I growled to the empty cabin. I commanded the car's interface to dial Adrian. It bypassed the ringing and went straight to a digital recording, which only heightened the unease settling in my gut. Instead of spiraling, I called Aunt Rosa. If Adrian was in the Manchester district, she’d be the first to know.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a call from my favorite nephew this morning?”

"I'm your only nephew, Rosa," I reminded her, clinging to the familiar rhythm of our banter.

"So you are. Well, what’s the word, pup?"

"Is Adrian in the city? I’m certain I just spotted him near that bakery on the way to the Carrillo Music Group HQ."

There was a micro-second of hesitation on the line—a hitch in her breathing that only a werewolf could detect. She sighed. "I can't imagine why he’d be in town without alerting his mother," she stated, but the playfulness had vanished from her tone, replaced by something guarded.

"Right. Maybe I’m just seeing ghosts, then."

"Likely. You know my boy is a dedicated officer at the Portsmouth Naval Base. It’s Friday, which is still a duty day for the Navy, last I checked."

"That’s a fair point," I conceded. It would explain the lack of a phone signal if he were submerged in a secured naval facility. After disconnecting, I tried to force the suspicion down. Everyone had a double in this world, and that’s likely all it was. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have captured a photo to send to Adrian. He’d find it hilarious that some bloke was wandering the Northern Quarter looking like his twin. Then again, the resemblance was so uncanny they could have shared a litter.

ONCE THE INITIAL CHAOS OF THE OFFICE SETTLED, I sat back in my leather chair, staring at the glass walls of the HQ as my mind tried to solve the puzzle of my mate and my best friend. Despite my attempts to rationalize a doppelgänger, I knew what I saw. It was Adrian, and he was intentionally masking his presence from me. I was so submerged in the mental fog that I didn't hear Clara Whitmore enter my office until the latch clicked shut.

"I don’t want to overstep the professional boundary, Dominic, but your scent is heavy with distress. Is there something I can assist with? You’re clearly carrying a weight that’s affecting your focus, and I hate seeing our star center so distracted."

“Is it that glaringly obvious?” Clara gave me a pointed look, her denim-blue eyes shimmering with what looked like genuine empathy, waiting for me to decide if I’d let her in.

I realized then that there was no one else to talk to. The two most vital people in my life were acting like strangers. I couldn't shake the truth: Adrian’s mother was of Caribbean descent and my uncle was a mix of Scottish and German. The odds of another male possessing that exact bone structure, that specific honey-gold skin tone, and that military bearing were astronomical. It had been him at the bakery.

"A few people in my circle have been acting cold and unavailable lately," I admitted, my voice low. "I’m trying to map out why."

"Is one of those people your mate, Aaron?"

A part of me snarled at the intrusion. Aaron wouldn’t appreciate me dissecting our bond with my assistant. It was a dangerous door to open—give some people an inch, and they’ll take the whole territory. But the frustration was a pressure cooker in my chest, and I needed a third-party perspective to tell me I was being paranoid.

"I only mention it because he hasn't been around the HQ or the house much these past two months. I didn't know if the pack was having a dispute or if he just shifted his priorities."

I let out a jagged breath. Even my assistant had noted my mate’s absence. It wasn't that he was gone entirely, but the frequency of his "errands" had become a notable red flag to everyone but me.

"I’m not sure why," I confessed, my guard slipping. "There’s no friction when we’re together. He seems distant, but the second we’re face-to-face, he acts like everything is perfect." I hated the bile in my throat as I continued. "He’s normal... until I interrogate him about where he’s spending his hours away from the den."

The sharp grunt of disapproval Clara made didn't help the sinking feeling in my stomach.

"What was that for?"

"What?" she asked innocently, as if the reaction hadn't been visceral.

"The noise, Clara. You know exactly what I mean."

Clara took a slow breath, looking toward the Manchester skyline. "That was the exact warning sign I ignored before my last serious partner was caught with another mate."

Her admission hit like a cross-check to the ribs. I scoffed, the very idea of Aaron Solis betraying our bond being laughable. There might be a shadow between us, but infidelity wasn't in his nature.

"I'm not saying Aaron is stepping out," Clara stated, rolling her eyes as if she didn't believe her own reassurance. "It just triggered a memory. That was the first shift I noticed when Elliot started a secret life behind my back. Then, when I’d press for details, he’d deflect or turn the interrogation back on me with an accusatory snarl. It was classic projection."

A knot twisted in my gut. Aaron had done exactly that during our last moonlit argument. My usually composed, gentle mate had snapped, asking if he should start auditing my every second at the ice rink.

"I’m certain that’s not what’s happening with Aaron," I finally muttered, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

"No, probably not. Why would he risk it anyway? I assume you have an ironclad pack agreement—a prenup—that protects the Carrillo assets. He’d be a fool to..." Clara’s voice died out when she saw the look of sheer devastation on my face.

"Apologies. It’s just how I think now after being burned. I’ll be at my station for another thirty minutes if you need anything else."

I managed a stiff nod before she retreated, closing the door and leaving me in a silence that felt heavy enough to choke. There was no way Aaron was cheating. Our intimacy was still feral and frequent, especially since he’d stopped his suppressant treatments nine months ago. The doctor at St. Mary’s said it could take a year for his body to be ready to carry. We weren't obsessive about the calendar; if the moon was right and the mood struck, we made love without an agenda.

Except for that one afternoon I’d raced home from the arena because I suspected he was in his fertile window. I’d only thought of it after overhearing a couple of women at the Azure Tide Bar discussing their cycles—how they peaked fourteen days after their start like clockwork. One had mentioned using that data to avoid a pregnancy, and I’d figured the knowledge was just as useful for the opposite goal.

If my mate were betraying me, he wouldn't let me keep trying to seed his womb. Isn't the loss of physical desire the first sign of a wandering heart? Nothing aligned. Every red flag was countered by an act of devotion. I tried to flush Clara’s poison from my mind, but the seed was planted. It fit too well with Aaron’s recent shadows. The red flags might be masked for now, but the fact that they existed at all was a scent I couldn't ignore.