All Chapters of My mate chose my sister : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

260 Chapters

Chapter One: The Night Everything Changed

The worst part wasn't watching him choose her. It was the smile she gave me right after.I heard my name in the bond before I even saw his face. That's the only way I know how to say it. One second I was standing at the edge of the Blackwood pack's gathering hall, half-listening to the music, half-deciding whether the smoked salmon canapés were worth the walk across the room, and then the world split open down the middle and something deep inside my chest yanked so hard I stopped breathing.Mate.My wolf said it like a prayer. Like she had been holding it her entire life just to say it once.I spun around. My drink nearly went to the floor. And across the packed, swaying, laughing hall, through the bodies and the candle haze and the too-warm air that always built up when two hundred wolves got dressed up and pretended to be civilized, a pair of dark eyes found mine like they had been waiting.Alexander Blackwood.I had known him my entire life. Grown up watching him train in the east

Chapter Two: The Bond That Can't Be Broken

My room felt smaller than it had that morning. I sat on the edge of the bed with my shoes still in my hands and the party still going somewhere across the pack grounds, faint music carrying on the night air, and I tried to do the thing you're supposed to do when your life rearranges itself without your permission. I tried to be rational. I tried to list the facts. The bond exists and he knows it and he chose her anyway. She is three months pregnant. She knew. She must have known and she said nothing. She gave me that smile.My hands started shaking and I put the shoes down carefully so I wouldn't have to think about why.And then something else happened.It started at my fingertips. A warmth. No. Not warmth exactly, more like pressure that had no source, building at the edges of my palms, and when I looked down there was light. Silver light, faint as a held breath, dancing at the tips of my fingers like static electricity that had decided to be beautiful instead of sharp.I had never

Chapter Three: Branded

By breakfast, I had already been tried, convicted, and sentenced by people who weren’t there.I heard it before I saw it. Two pack women talking outside the communal hall, voices low and pleasant the way voices get when the gossip is particularly good. I caught my name and slowed without meaning to, pressing close to the wall of the corridor with my tray in my hands and my stomach already tightening.“…cornered him in the hallway, apparently. Right after the announcement.”“No.”“That’s what Dena said. She was practically throwing herself at him. In front of everyone.”“She’s always been obsessed with Sophia’s life. Remember when they were teenagers and she—”I didn’t wait to hear what I’d done as a teenager. I pushed through the side door into the cold morning air and stood on the path with my untouched tray and breathed carefully through my nose until the urge to go back in there and say something passed.It passed. Barely.The communal breakfast hall held about sixty people on a no

Chapter Four: The Full Picture

My mother kept her secrets in a room no one was supposed to know about. I had known about it since I was twelve.The pack archive sat at the back of the administrative building, behind a door that looked like a supply closet and smelled like old paper and cedar oil and the specific dry cold of a room that never quite warmed up. I had found it by accident as a child, following a cat that turned out not to exist, and I had never told anyone. Not even Sophia. Especially not Sophia.I went there at two in the morning, three days after the gathering, because I couldn’t sleep and the silver light in my hands had started to feel less like a warning and more like a compass pointing somewhere I hadn’t figured out yet.The lock was old. The key I’d copied at fourteen still worked.I slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind me.The archive was floor-to-ceiling shelving on three walls, boxes and folders organized by decade, pack census records and alliance agreements and birth registries go

Chapter Five: Glass Girl

Alpha Victor Blackwood had a way of making rooms feel smaller than they were. Not through size, he wasn’t a physically imposing man, but through the specific quality of his attention. He looked at you the way a surveyor looks at land he is already planning to develop. Assessing. Deciding. The decision made before you even opened your mouth.I had been summoned to his study at ten in the morning, four days after the gathering, with a note slipped under my bedroom door that said simply: Please attend at your earliest convenience. Which in pack language meant: Come now. Bring nothing. Say less.I dressed carefully. That was the only act of defiance available to me, so I made it count.The study smelled like leather and old wood and the faint mineral cold of the stone walls beneath the paneling. Victor sat behind his desk with a folder open in front of him that he didn’t look at once during the entire meeting. Alexander sat to his father’s left, in the chair that meant second-in-command,

Chapter Six: Poison in the Well

Sophia came to visit me on a Tuesday, which told me everything. Tuesdays were when my father had his standing lunch with the pack elders. Tuesdays were when Alexander ran extended drills with the border patrol and didn’t return until late afternoon. Tuesdays were, apparently, when my sister felt safest walking into the room of the person she had destroyed.She knocked first, which surprised me. Sophia had never knocked on my door in twenty-three years of shared existence. She had always just walked in, the twin prerogative, the assumption of access. The knock was new. The knock was performance.I opened the door.She was wearing pale blue, which she knew looked good on her, and her hair was down, and she was carrying a small wicker basket with a cloth over the top the way people carry things in stories about kindness.“I thought I’d check in,” she said. Her voice was warm and careful and precisely calibrated. “You’ve been so quiet since the gathering. I’ve been worried.”I looked at h

Chapter Seven: What the Mirror Shows

I had not shifted since before the gathering.That was ten days. Ten days of keeping my wolf pressed down and quiet and small inside me the way you keep a door shut against wind, both hands on the handle, all your weight against it. Shifting required space and privacy and the particular absence of dread that I had not been able to locate anywhere inside myself since the night everything broke. My wolf had been patient about it. She had waited. But I could feel her patience thinning at the edges the way ice thins in early spring, still holding, still holding, and then one morning simply not.I went to the trees at the eastern boundary of the pack grounds before dawn, when the sky was the color of a bruise healing at the edges and the air tasted like frost and pine resin and the specific cold that lives in the hour before the world remembers it is supposed to warm up. Lily was keeping watch at the tree line. She had not asked why I needed a lookout. She had simply come.“If anyone heads

Chapter Eight: Crow at the Window

It arrived on a Thursday morning while I was doing nothing more significant than staring at a wall.I had been in the east block room for six days by then, relocated, stripped of training privileges, quietly erased from the functioning life of the pack the way you erase a word from a page, not torn out, just gone over so many times it stops being legible. I had developed a routine out of pure necessity because routine was the only thing standing between me and the specific kind of unraveling that I could not afford. Wake at six. Eat alone. Walk the perimeter of what I was still permitted to walk. Read in the afternoons. Do not look at the Blackwood estate. Do not count the days until the ceremony. Do not think about silver wolves or archive letters or the map folded in the lining of my winter coat.I was not successfully doing any of that last part, but the attempt had a certain dignity.I was sitting at the narrow desk by the window when the crow landed on the sill.It was a large bi

Chapter Nine: The Cost of Loyalty

Lily came to my room on Friday afternoon with red eyes and steady hands, which meant she had already finished crying and had moved on to deciding.I knew those two states in her the way I knew the difference between rain coming and rain arrived. She had been my closest friend for eleven years, since the second week of our first year in pack schooling when she had sat next to me on a bench outside the history room and said, without introduction: you look like you’re doing mathematics in your head. What’s the problem? I had told her. She had solved it in four minutes. We had been inseparable since.So I recognized the look. I just didn’t know yet what it was going to cost her.“Sit down,” I said.“I’m fine standing.”“Lily. Sit down.”She sat. She put her hands flat on her knees and looked at me with the expression of someone who has rehearsed what they want to say and is now deciding whether the rehearsed version is honest enough. Then she scrapped it, apparently, because what came out

Chapter Ten: Cracks in the Ice

I watched Alexander fall apart in increments so small that anyone not paying attention would have missed every single one.I was paying attention.I had nothing else to do with my time in the east block except read, walk the narrow permitted circuit of the grounds, and notice things. And what I noticed, over the course of four consecutive mornings spent sitting on the low stone wall at the south end of the east yard with a book I was not reading, was that Alexander Blackwood was breaking down in a way that his training had made almost invisible.Almost.The warriors assembled at dawn, twelve of them, the senior border patrol unit he drilled personally three times a week. They moved through their formations with the efficiency of people who had done this so many times it had become physical memory. Alexander led from the front, as he always did, calling the shifts and the rotations in a voice that carried clean and even across the cold yard.He was technically flawless. That was the th

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