meeting up

Augustina.

I was not supposed to see Alpha Kael Dravaryn.

That was the rule.

Until dinner, I was to remain upstairs, out of sight, while they welcomed my future husband into our home and negotiated the terms of my life like a treaty between packs.

Until then, I was to stay hidden. Like I was some puppet who couldn't contribute to decisions about her own life.

They said he was ruthless. That he didn’t tolerate nonsense. And tonight, I’d meet the man who could decide if I lived a life of comfort… or obedience.

I sat on the edge of my bed, jaw clenched, listening to the low murmur of voices drift faintly up the staircase. Every word I couldn’t hear made my anger tighten further.

Then the doorbell rang, and my stomach dropped.

The sound cut cleanly through the house.

I sat up.

If they wanted me hidden, then I would watch. If they were going to decide my future, then I would at least see the man who thought he had the right to claim it.

Curiously, I changed quickly, pulling on my favorite denim jorts and a fitted white tank dotted with tiny raindrop-shaped gems.

Barefoot, I slipped into the corridor.

The manor was old and temperamental, but it had raised me. I knew which boards screamed for attention and which stayed loyal. I moved with practiced ease, silent as instinct, until I reached the upper landing overlooking the entrance hall.

I didn’t need an introduction to know which one he was.

My breath stalled the moment I saw him.

Alpha Kael Dravaryn stood between my parents and another man I barely registered, his height alone tilting the balance of the foyer. He didn’t crowd the space—he claimed it. The dark navy three-piece suit fit him with deliberate precision, stretched across shoulders built for force, not fashion. The kind of shoulders that suggested doors were optional.

My fingers curled into the banister before I realized they were shaking.

My mother fluttered beside him, lashes lowering and lifting, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. She was performing. Kael didn’t notice or didn’t care. His expression remained unreadable, carved into something calm and immovable. Stone, not ice. Ice cracks. Stone endures.

The man with him smiled politely, a small, human gesture that felt almost out of place. Kael didn’t return it. He didn’t return anything.

I leaned back into the shadows, pulse ticking faster in my throat.

He wasn’t old. Not even close. No softness, no signs of age creeping in at the edges. Even beneath the tailored suit, the lines of his body were unmistakable—solid, disciplined, controlled. His jaw was sharp, cheekbones high, dark stubble shadowing his face in a way that looked intentional, expensive. Nothing about him felt accidental.

This was no boy being handed a title.

This was a man who’d earned it.

And I—

I had only just graduated high school two years ago.

My gaze flicked to his hands as he adjusted his cufflinks, slow and precise. Steady. Not the hands of someone nervous. Not the hands of someone unsure.

What would we even talk about?

I liked paint-stained fingers and half-finished sketches. I liked the sound of rain against glass and the way the world softened when it fell. I doubted any of that would interest a man whose life likely revolved around power, territory, and decisions that ended arguments permanently.

My stomach tightened.

In less than four months, I would be expected to share a bed with him.

The thought slid cold along my spine. A stranger. A widower. A man whispered about in pack halls and spoken of carefully, as if names alone could invite consequences. A man whose wife had died young.

A man who might have driven his wife to an early grave.

The judgment came fast and guilt followed just as quickly.

I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what he’d lost. He had children. He might still be grieving. He might be carrying something heavy beneath that calm exterior.

But as he lifted his gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting briefly through the room,I knew one thing with unsettling certainty.

Kael Dravaryn did not look like a man broken by loss.

He looked like a man who had survived it.

In our world, men learned young how to seal themselves shut. Power demanded it. Whatever lived behind Alpha Kael Dravaryn’s stillness—grief, cruelty, boredom—it stayed locked away.

“Why don’t we step into my office?” my father said smoothly. “A glass of my best whiskey. We can discuss the marriage properly.”

Kael inclined his head in silent agreement.

Then his gaze lifted.

Straight to me.

I dropped out of sight so fast my knees hit the carpet. My pulse slammed against my ribs, loud enough I was sure the whole house could hear it.

He didn’t see me.

He couldn’t have.

I counted to three. Then five. Slowly, I edged back up.

Kael had already turned away, his attention fixed on my parents as if I’d never existed at all.

“I’ll check on the kitchen,” my mother chimed in, all sugar and shine. “The chef is preparing a feast.”

Kael and the man beside him offered polite, restrained smiles.

Kael’s smile didn't reach his eyes.

Did he ever smile when it wasn’t required?

I waited until they disappeared down the corridor before moving. I flew down the stairs, bare feet whispering against marble, and slipped into the library beside my father’s office. My heart thudded hard as I pressed my ear to the shared door.

“This union benefits us both,” my father said, his voice crisp, businesslike. “It strengthens alliances.”

“Have you told Augustina?” Kael asked.

Hearing my name in his voice—deep, controlled—sent something sharp through me. I curled my fingers into the hem of my tank.

I’d be hearing him say it for the rest of my life.

“Yes,” my father said after a pause. I didn’t need to see him to know what that pause meant. “Last night.”

“And her reaction?”

Silence.

Then, “She understands it’s an honor,” my father said carefully, “to marry a man of your status.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“That wasn’t my question, Alpha Lucien,” Kael replied. There was a shift in his tone—subtle, but unmistakable. “She won’t just be a wife. I need a mother for my children. You do understand that.”

My breath hitched.

“Augustina is… caring,” my father said. The hesitation startled me. “Responsible. She’s helped with her nephews and nieces. She seemed to enjoy it.”

I bit down on my lip.

If holding a toddler for ten minutes counted as preparation for motherhood, then sure. I was wildly qualified.

“I need certainty,” Kael said. “Not optimism.”

My father cleared his throat. “She will meet your expectations.”

The words landed wrong.

Cold. Transactional.

“I can assure you,” my father added, too quickly, “Augustina will satisfy you.”

Heat crept up my neck, slow and unmistakable. Was I the only one hearing how that sounded?

A silence followed—too long, stretched thin—before my father cleared his throat again.

“Have you informed the Regent?”

“Yes,” Kael said. “Last night. Right after our call.”

Their voices slid into talk of schedules and meetings, names that carried weight but meant nothing to me. My attention drifted. I traced a shallow groove along the spine of a book, then another, grounding myself in the ridges beneath my fingertips.

Then Kael spoke again.

“I need to make a call home. Lucien and I could use a moment before dinner. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” my father replied without missing a beat. “The library is just through that door. Quiet. Comfortable. We still have an hour before I introduce you to my daughter.”

My stomach dropped.

I pulled back from the connecting door just as footsteps approached. The handle turned. I bolted for the nearest shelf, flattening myself against the wood, breath locked tight in my chest.

The door opened.

I peeked through the narrow gap between books as Kael stepped inside, his presence changing the room instantly—heavier, denser. His companion followed, more relaxed, already rolling his shoulders like he owned the space.

My father offered one last courteous smile and left.

The door closed.

The sound echoed.

I was still there.

Lucien dropped into a leather chair with a long exhale. “Well?” he said.

Kael moved farther into the room, loosening his cuffs. His frown eased, just a fraction—enough to tell me it was deliberate.

“Exhausting,” he said. “Especially Mrs. Seraphina.”

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh.

Kael’s gaze drifted toward the shelves. Toward me.

“God help me,” he added calmly, “if her daughter is anything like her.”

A flicker of irritation crept up my neck, warming my cheeks. Yes, my mother could be… intense. Exhausting, even. But that didn’t mean he got to—

“Have you seen a picture of her?” Lucien asked.

My breath stalled.

He plucked a silver frame from the side table, turning it toward the light. A short, careless laugh escaped him.

My stomach dropped.

That picture.

The one my father had stubbornly refused to hide, no matter how many times my mother complained. I was twelve in it—grinning wide enough to show every brace on my teeth, pigtails skewered with plastic ribbons, a polka-dot dress paired with bright red rain boots. I’d thought I looked bold. Looking back, I just looked painfully young.

Now I wished the frame had shattered years ago.

Lucien angled it toward Kael. “Well?”

Kael’s jaw tightened instantly. “Put that down. I feel like a creep just looking at it.”

“She was a cute kid,” Lucien said lightly. “Could’ve been worse.”

Kael’s eyes flicked to the frame again, sharp and assessing. “She’d better have lost the braces. And those godawful bangs.”

Heat rushed to my face. My hand flew up to my forehead, fingers brushing the fringe I’d stubbornly refused to grow out.

Lucien smirked. “I don’t know. It works for that innocent schoolgirl vibe.”

“I have no interest in that kind of girl.” Kael’s voice sliced clean through the room.

A sharp thunk shattered the moment.

My elbow had clipped a book. It hit the floor with a dull thud that sounded far too loud.

Silence.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I turned, panic flaring, and tried to slip into the next aisle—

Too late.

A solid presence closed in. My shoulder hit something unyielding. Someone.

I stumbled back, spine knocking into the shelves, pain shooting upward in a bright line. My breath left me in a sharp gasp.

I looked up.

Alpha Kael Dravaryn stood over me, tall enough to block the light, his gaze locked onto mine with unnerving intensity. Up close, he felt… heavier. Not in size—presence. Like the air had adjusted itself around him.

“Sorry—” The word rushed out. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

His eyes narrowed, then shifted—recognition flickering, brief and unmistakable.

And just like that, my carefully avoided first meeting with my future husband was no longer avoidable.

It was official.

And it was already a disaster.