CHAPTER 2: ME?! HIS MATE?

The silence in the room is so thick I could cut it with the fork I used earlier. I'm still bathed in this ridiculous silver light making me glow like a streetlamp. My inner wolf is running in circles, wagging her tail and sniffing the air, drunk on the smell of ozone and pine rolling off the man on the altar.

It’s him! He’s ours! my wolf shrieks, practically drooling.

Shut up, he’s looking at us like we’re a cockroach infestation, I snap back.

Alistair drops his crystal glass. It shatters against the marble altar, but nobody cares. His gaze drags down from my hair to the scuffed boots peeking out from under my dress. He clenches his fists. A venomous whispering starts to spread through the silk dresses and expensive suits in the crowd.

"It must be a magic glitch," a high-pitched, condescending voice says near me. It’s Camila, the official "fiancée," glaring at me through narrowed eyes. "That woman smells like an alleyway and deep-fryer grease."

Alistair doesn't answer immediately. He shifts his gaze to Magnus, Camila's father. The ancient Alpha's face is twisted in fury, his scars pulling tight as he gives Alistair a curt nod. A silent reminder of the billions of dollars in trade routes on the line if this marriage of convenience falls apart because of some peasant chosen by the moon.

Alistair squares his shoulders. He shifts into full corporate-dictator posture and pins his cold eyes on me. He opens his mouth and his voice, heavy with authority, sweeps across the room.

"I, Alistair of the Central Clan, Alpha Supreme, reject you as my fated mate. I do not recognize the bond. You are not of my bloodline, you do not belong in my world, and you will not be my Luna."

The echo of his words slams into the walls. Tradition says rejecting a mate is the most agonizing pain a wolf can experience. Your soul is supposed to shatter, you drop to your knees weeping blood, begging for mercy while your inner wolf dies in agony. Several women in the room cover their mouths, waiting for my dramatic collapse.

I check my cheap wristwatch. The hand points to eleven-forty.

Hey, Mario’s promo ends at midnight. If we leave right now, we can walk it, I mention to my wolf.

Are you getting the one with the stuffed cheese crust? she asks, completely ignoring Alistair’s speech.

Yeah, but focus. We’re in a hurry.

I look back up at the great Alpha Supreme. His chest is puffed out, waiting for my tears or my tantrum. I adjust my dress strap, clear my throat, and break the high-society silence.

"Alright, cool," I say out loud, shrugging.

Alistair’s jaw drops one millimeter. It's the first time I see a crack in his ice mask.

"What?" he asks, bewildered, losing his dictatorial tone for a split second.

"I mean, okay, great. Rejection accepted, or however this works. No hard feelings, boss. You're not exactly my type anyway; I prefer guys who know how to smile and don't smell like industrial pine cleaner." I take a final sip from my champagne flute and dump it on a nearby tray. "If we're done with the theatrics, I'm out. I have a pizza waiting for me."

I turn around. The sound of scandalous gasps from the pack's elderly women is music to my ears. I leave Sonia behind, who looks ready to pass out, and walk straight toward the massive mahogany double doors leading to the exit.

Step one. My wolf yawns in my mind.

Step two. I hear Alistair growl something behind my back, probably an order for me to stop. I ignore him.

Step three. The moonbeam tracks my path, lighting the way to freedom and pepperoni.

Step four. I wonder if Mario is going to charge me extra for the garlic dip.

Step five.

Something snaps in the air. An electrical buzz pierces my eardrums, like the crack of a gigantic whip. The moonbeam doesn't vanish; it turns solid. I feel a violent yank in the exact center of my chest, right where the soul is supposed to sit. It’s not a gentle push, not a breeze. It’s like a damn freight truck hooked a tow cable to my ribs and floored it in reverse.

My feet lift off the floor.

"WHAT THE FU—!" I manage to scream.

I go flying backwards. Literally through the air. I cross the ballroom space at an absurd speed, flying right over the heads of guests who dive to the floor screaming. The wind slaps my face. Everything is a blur of expensive suits and chandeliers until my suicidal trajectory meets an obstacle.

I crash with the force of a meteor into a wall of solid muscle.

The impact knocks all the oxygen out of my lungs. I hear the crunch of fabric tearing and a choked grunt of surprise. My weight and the speed of the impact knock the wall over. We tumble down the marble altar steps together in a tangle of limbs, obliterating several floral arrangements in the process.

The world stops spinning. I blink, trying to focus my vision while gasping for air. My ribs ache, my head is spinning, and the yank in my chest is completely gone, replaced by a sweltering heat.

I realize I am straddling the Alpha Supreme's chest. My knee is dug in dangerously close to his crotch, and my hands are tangled in the shredded lapels of his designer suit. Alistair’s eyes are wide open, panting heavily. His pupils have dilated until only a thin ring of pure gold remains. His scent… his scent is so strong it makes me dizzy.

The entire high society surrounds us in a circle of absolute horror.

I plant one hand on his pec to push myself up, groaning at the pain.

"Damn it..." I mutter, rubbing my forehead as I look down at his tense, furious face from inches away. "Your suit smells way too good for an idiot."