Chapter 2 Pavel

Our beautiful nation was built on blood, frost, and secrets.

A ruthless world disguised as progress, where only the strong survive—and the hidden rule from the shadows.

The scarcity of women has turned desire into desperation, and order into chaos. Alliances fracture, clans go to war, and entire regions burn in the name of claiming what is rare. A woman is not just a partner—she is power. And power always comes at a price.

Even mortals struggle to find one willing to stand by them. But for us—werewolves bound by ancient instinct—it is far worse. We don’t get to choose. We wait. For the one. The only one. The mate written into our blood by forces older than time. While mortals negotiate, seduce, or compromise, we can only endure the silence and hope that fate hasn’t forgotten us.

Alaska is a frozen hell for anyone not born in its depths. But for Alexei, Roman, Leon, Sergei, and me, it is the land that forged us. There, the wind doesn’t just slice the skin—it teaches. There is no greater pride than being born in a village buried in the tundra, where winter never ends and death walks quietly among the snow.

The snow and wind were our first teachers. They carved endurance into our bodies and loyalty into our hearts. From the moment we stood on two feet, we knew weakness was an invitation to vanish. Our childhood was marked by ice, discipline, and work. We grew up in a house built by seven fathers—brothers, gammas who left  their pack and formed their own to convinced our mother to bond with them.

They raised us with hardened hands and values that could not be bent: honor, effort, loyalty. We learned to hunt, to fish, to endure the cold in silence. But the most sacred lesson was this—protect each other. In a land where the ice can kill you in your sleep, family is the only certainty.

"If one falls, we all fall."

"And if one kills, we all carry it."

Our mother, the village midwife, is the most formidable woman I’ve ever known. Her strength is not loud—it’s implacable. She didn’t speak with sweetness, but her love was unshakable. We saw it every time she returned from a delivery, soaked in blood and snow, only to ensure we had food on the table.

"A man is measured by how he protects his blood," she told us. "But the gods measure him by how he carries his destiny."

She spoke of fate often—not as myth, but as law.

That the five of us had one same mate, chosen by something older than time. A woman whose soul had been woven with ours before we were even born. A companion who would carry our light and temper our shadows.

And if destiny didn’t bring her to us, we were to find her. Like our fathers did.

"If fate doesn’t deliver her," she said, ladling soup during our last visit, "go out into the world, find her, and claim her, as your fathers crossed mountains to claim me. Don’t wait for signs. Be the sign."

"Women today aren’t like you, Mother," Alexei replied with sincerity. "No one matches your strength."

"Then wait," she said, smiling faintly. "But don’t wait forever or I will have to help you all."

We didn’t believe in any of it. Not truly. We were monsters in disguise—beasts in men’s flesh, living among mortals while hiding what we are. No god would grant us the miracle of love.

Our nights were filled with nameless women. No promises. No tenderness.

"I’m not interested in someone who expects love from me," Alexei once said with a shrug.

"We weren’t made for that," Leon added, quietly.

But time forced us forward. And as the eldest, I knew I had to lead.

Leaving Alaska and being accepted into one of the most prestigious academies in the country, located in Chicago, was the turning point—not just for me, but for all of us. I carved a path the others could follow, proving that we didn’t have to fade into the frost. That we could rise. That our bloodline, though ancient and savage, had a place in the modern world.

Thanks to my performance, my brothers joined me. We trained. We excelled. We conquered.

But Mother did what only she could. She acted.

One day, after returning from a mission, we found our names listed in the National Bonding Project. She had filled the forms, completed the evaluations, and even selected compatibility preferences—as if she were one of us.

Sergei discovered it first. We thought it was an error. Then came the call: a meeting had been scheduled to introduce us to our “ideal match.”

"How the hell did she do all that from Alaska?" Leon asked, stunned.

"It’s Mother," I said. "She always finds a way."

None of us dared to scold her. Not because we agreed—but because she had earned the right to move the pieces of fate in our name.

So we accepted the meeting.

Thirty minutes before it, we opened the file. Just a glance.

Just a face.

And the pull hit us. Deep. Silent. Inevitable.

Copper waves of hair, like fire braided by wind. Skin pale and smooth like glass under snowlight. And her eyes…

Not blue.

Molten ice.

None of us could explain the silence that followed.

We closed the file like her image had bitten us.

"She’s just another woman," I said. "A face among thousands. She is not the one."

Until we were in the bonding program room and the door opened.

And the world stilled.

She didn’t storm in. She didn’t speak.

She existed.

A quiet storm that crossed the threshold like she had always belonged there.

And in that instant—without a word—we all knew.

She wasn’t a coincidence.

She was fate.

The one.

The mate our mother spoke.

"Did she know what would happen when she filled out the forms for us?"

The miracle we stopped believing in, but we always wanted.

The miracle we will never let go.