An Unexpected Visitor

~ANORA~

When I finally wake, the sun is dipping below the peaks of the horizon, casting long shadows across my bedchamber.

Every muscle in my body aches from lying curled in the same awkward position for hours. My stomach gives a loud grumble, reminding me I have eaten nothing since the night before, when my world was set on fire by Rorik and Lindis.

I sit there, debating whether to drag myself downstairs for food or simply stay on the floor and let the misery swallow me whole, when a gentle knock sounds on the heavy oak door, and it creaks open slowly.

Two young omegas slip inside, each carrying a bright orange gown draped over their arms. “Luna,” they say in unison, bowing low. “The Alpha bids you choose from these designs.”

I look at the dresses, my eyes narrowing. “For what purpose?” I ask, my voice raspy but firm.

“It is for the anniversary feast tonight, my lady.”

I blink, stunned. What anniversary? What is there left to celebrate when he has betrayed me in the worst way possible? Our marriage died the moment he took Lindis to our bed.

“Why are there only two orange gowns?” I ask, keeping my temper in check. I know it isn’t the fault of these frightened girls and I don't want to take it out on them.

Rorik knows full well how I loathe the colour orange. Why send me two different shades of orange dresses without any other options? Why choose the designs at all? It has always been my duty to select our clothing for every feast and gathering.

The omegas exchange nervous glances, shifting from foot to foot. “Lady Lindis has already claimed the blue gown,” one murmurs. “She instructed us to bring you these.”

I let out a loud, hysterical laugh and press both palms to my face as fresh tears spill hot down my cheeks. I can’t even fathom what is going on right now.

Everything is moving too fast. I keep waiting to wake up and find it all a nightmare. Why in the goddess’s name is Lindis choosing my anniversary gown?

“Take those gowns and leave,” I command, my voice flat.

The omegas bow hastily and flee.

A few minutes later, the door opens again and Rorik walks in. He’s already dressed in his ceremonial attire: a deep crimson doublet with the pack crest stitched in gold thread, a fur-trimmed cloak across his broad shoulders, and his dark hair brushed back from his face. He looks every inch the regal Alpha.

Once upon a time, my heart would have skipped a beat at the sight of him looking so handsome and put together. Now my chest just twists with pain and betrayal.

“You’re not dressed for the feast,” he says, very calmly.

"What is there to celebrate?" I ask hoarsely, not bothering to look up at him.

"It's our marriage anniversary, Anora. You're expected to appear."

He is so audacious, and that confidence was one of the things I used to love about him. Now, it made me want to claw my own eyes out just so I wouldn't have to look at him.

Rorik steps further into the room, and his expression softens. He crouches in front of me until his eyes are level with mine, then reaches out and rests his hands on my shoulders. They're warm and familiar.

“Anora, I’m sorry.” He says it so simply, so easily, that my heart lurches. "I know how you feel about all this. But you have to understand me, love."

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the tears. I’ve cried enough already. A hard lump sits in my throat, so thick that I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to, so I swallow and say nothing.

“The mate bond,” Rorik says again, his voice even softer now.

“Don’t you dare start with that,” I choke out.

“I need you to understand what it feels like.” His thumbs stroke my shoulders gently. “The pull is stronger than anything, Anora. I can’t fight it. And I need my true mate beside me to lead this pack. War is brewing on our borders, and the Lycan King is seeking alliances with the strongest werewolf packs. We can’t afford to look weak.”

A tear slips free and rolls down my cheek. His scent drifts over me, cedar and woodsmoke and something that has always been just him, and my heart breaks a little further. Despite everything, he is still the boy I loved with my whole heart for years. He’s the boy I fought my own father for, and the one who stood beside me when the whole pack turned their noses up at me. A love like that doesn’t just die in a single night, no matter how badly I want it to.

A weak, foolish part of me wants to fall into his arms. I want him to wrap me up in his warmth and promise me that everything will be all right. I want him to tell me that none of this is real and that it will all go away.

Rorik brushes the tear from my cheek with his thumb, then cups my face in his palm and tilts my chin up until I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“You’re still my Luna, Anora. Lindis is your best friend. You know how sweet she is. We can all be happy together…”

Just like that, the spell breaks.

I shove his hands away. “You’re talking like you only found out yesterday that she’s your mate. You and Lindis are a year older than me. You both got your wolves a whole year before I was meant to get mine, long before we ever started courting. You knew she was your mate, Rorik. You knew, and you came after me anyway.”

Something like remorse flickers in his eyes, but he looks away. For a long moment, he says nothing. He just crouches there with his jaw tight, looking guilty.

“You wouldn’t understand, Anora,” he finally says. “It’s complicated.”

I want to open my mouth and beg him to make me understand. It’s mad, but I want all of this to be one big, terrible misunderstanding. I don’t want to see Rorik as the monster who preyed on my trust and stole my birthright. I don’t want him to be the villain of my story, because then every happy memory I have of him turns to ash.

Before I can gather myself enough to speak, there’s a sharp knock at the door, and a gamma’s voice calls urgently from the other side.

“Alpha! Word has just reached us. The Lycan King has entered our territory, and he’s on his way to the packhouse.”

Rorik’s eyes go wide, and all the colour drains from his face.

I’m just as stunned. The Lycan King never visits werewolf packs. He never has, not even when he’s invited. I sent him an invitation to the anniversary feast a few days ago, but only because it was proper to do so. Every pack sends one, and he ignores them all.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine he would actually come.