Chapter 6 – THE FORCED RITE

The full moon hung heavy over the stone circle.

I stood in the center wearing the ceremonial gown they forced on me. The fabric felt wrong against my skin. Too heavy. Too formal. Like it belonged to someone else.

Deucalion stood across from me.

He did not look at my face.

Not once.

His eyes stayed fixed somewhere past my shoulder, cold and distant. Every part of him made it clear he did not want this. He was sober. Fully aware. And still he treated me like a duty he had no choice but to finish.

The eldest elder raised his hands. “Let the bonding begin.”

I kept my chin high even as my stomach twisted.

Deucalion stepped closer. His hand found the back of my neck. The touch was firm but empty. No warmth. No care. Just pressure.

When his teeth sank into my skin, I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.

The incomplete mark burned instantly. It felt wrong.

Incomplete.

Forced.

My wolf howled inside me in pure protest, but I stayed silent.

Around us the pack watched. Hundreds of eyes. None of them saw me. They only saw a body strong enough to carry Blackridge blood.

When the elder finished the words, Deucalion pulled back.

He still did not look at me.

“It is done,” the elder announced.

The crowd cheered.

I felt nothing but the burning mark on my neck.

They led us to a private room prepared for the consummation. Tradition demanded it. The bond had to be sealed fully.

The door closed behind us.

Deucalion walked to the window and stared out at the moon for a long moment. I stayed near the door, the ceremonial gown still clinging to my skin.

Finally he turned.

He looked me in the eye.

“Get on the bed.”

His voice was flat.

I did not move.

He looked at me then, just briefly, and the cold in his eyes made my chest tighten.

“Do not make this harder than it already is.”

I walked to the bed and sat on the edge.

He removed his shirt without a word. The hard lines of his chest and shoulders caught the moonlight. When he came to me, every movement was controlled. Efficient. Detached.

He kissed me deeply.

His hands pushed the gown off my shoulders. The fabric slid down my arms and pooled at my waist. His palms moved over my breasts, firm and assessing, thumbs brushing across my nipples until they hardened against his touch. There was no tenderness in it. Only the slow, deliberate way a man completes a required task.

He pushed me onto my back.

I stared at the ceiling and tried to disappear inside my own head.

His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard enough to pull a sharp breath from my throat. His teeth scraped lightly. One hand slid down my stomach, between my legs, and found me already wet despite everything. Two fingers pushed inside without warning, curling, stretching, testing. He worked them in and out with the same cold precision he used for everything else, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet room.

When he finally settled between my thighs, I felt the thick head of him press against me. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely until my body had no choice but to take him. The stretch burned. The incomplete mark on my neck throbbed in time with every deep thrust.

His hips moved with steady, powerful strokes. Each one drove him deeper. The bed creaked. My breath came shorter. Heat built low in my stomach even as my chest stayed hollow. His body was heavy, hot, relentless. One of his hands gripped my hip hard enough to leave bruises. The other braced beside my head.

At one point his breath brushed my ear. “You are not her.”

The words cut deeper than the mark.

I closed my eyes.

He kept going, harder now, chasing his own release with no care for mine. The slap of skin against skin filled the room. My body responded anyway, tightening, pulsing, betraying me with a sharp, unwanted climax that left me shaking beneath him.

He finished moments later with a low, rough sound, burying himself deep as he came.

When it was over, he pulled out and stood, already reaching for his clothes.

The incomplete mark still burned. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat, reminding me that the bond had been forced and rejected in the same breath.

I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around myself. My body still tingled. My thighs were slick. The air smelled of sex and rejection.

Neither of us spoke.

Outside, the celebration continued. Voices. Laughter. Music.

Then the noise changed.

Shouting.

A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, cut through the celebration.

I frowned. Deucalion’s head turned toward the door.

More shouting.

Then a crash.

I stood and walked to the window. From here I could see part of the stone circle. People were moving in every direction. The elders looked alarmed.

Deucalion opened the door without a word and walked out. I grabbed the discarded ceremonial gown, pulled it on as fast as I could, and followed.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, the chaos hit me fully.

Aria stood in the middle of the stone circle.

Her hair was messy. Her eyes were red and wild. She looked like she had run the entire way here. “Where is she?” Aria shouted. “Where is my sister?”

My mother tried to grab her arm. “Aria, stop—”

Aria shoved her away. “You lied to me! Both of you lied!”

My father stepped forward. “This is not the place.”

“I don’t care!” Aria’s voice cracked. “You told me the arrangement was postponed. You told me Deucalion was still waiting for me. And the whole time you sent her instead?”

She pointed at the main house.

At me.

I stopped at the edge of the circle.

Every head turned. Aria’s eyes locked on mine. For a second there was only silence.

Then pure hatred filled her face. “You,” she whispered.

I did not speak. Aria walked toward me slowly. Her hands were shaking.

“You took him.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t you dare.” Her voice rose. “You always wanted what was mine. Always. And now you took the one thing I actually cared about.”

Deucalion stood a few feet away, watching everything with a hard expression.

Aria spun toward him. “Did you know? Did you agree to this?”

He said nothing.

Aria’s face twisted. “You let her replace me?”

Still nothing.

She turned back to me.

Tears ran down her cheeks, but her eyes were pure fire.

“I hate you,” she said, loud enough for the entire pack to hear. “I will never forgive you for this.”

My mother tried again. “Aria, enough—”

“No!” Aria screamed. “She is not the Luna. She is a thief. She stole my place. She stole my future.”

I stood there with the incomplete mark still burning on my neck and the memory of Deucalion’s cold body still on my skin.

Everyone was looking at me.

No one was looking at the truth.

Aria took another step closer until we were almost face to face.

“I hope the bond never settles,” she whispered so only I could hear. “I hope it burns you every single day for the rest of your life.”

Then she raised her voice again. “I will make sure everyone knows what you really are.”

The crowd shifted. Whispers started.

Deucalion’s parents looked furious.

My parents looked trapped.

And I stood in the middle of it all, the forced mark throbbing, the memory of being used still fresh, while my own sister poured every ounce of her hatred onto me in front of an entire pack.

Aria’s eyes never left mine.

“You will regret this, Malia,” she said. “I promise you that.”

The full moon watched us in silence.

And for the first time since the ceremony began, I felt something colder than the mark.

I felt threatened by my own younger sister.