Fated Mate Isn’t Me
When Adrian and I broke up, he knelt outside my door all night. When I finally agreed to get back together, he lit a bonfire in the main hall, invited the elders to witness it, and swore I would become his Luna.
Then, right at the finish line of a racetrack, he hauled a trembling, sobbing blonde girl out of the “trophy,” draped his jacket over her shoulders, and turned gentle like he’d become a different man.
He looked back at me and said, “Ann, don’t make a scene. She ended up like this because of us.”
The next day, he said I should atone by pack law, kneel inside a vow circle drawn with salt and silver powder, and endure my wolf soul’s backlash under the moonlight.
Later, he threw me into the basement she used to live in, forced me to survive the way she did, forced me to lower my head and apologize.
What he didn’t know was that there was a little pup in my belly.
And I wasn’t going to tell him.
I’d wait until he was most off guard, slide the divorce papers in front of him, let him sign them with his own hand, then vanish cleanly and absolutely, with my child.