After My Mate Chose Her, the Lycan King Chose Me

Rain lashed against the windshield of my SUV, turning the winding road leading to the Silver Moon Pack lands into a blur of gray and green. My wolf, Hera, paced restlessly in the back of my mind, her anxiety bleeding into my own. The council meeting had been draining—hours of debating territory lines and resource allocation while the elders gave me those pitying looks. The looks that said, *'Great Luna, shame about the womb.'*

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white. Ten years. I had given ten years of blood, sweat, and literal flesh to this pack. I touched the jagged, raised skin beneath my silk blouse, the silver scar that had ruined me to save my mate, Alpha Conor Anderson. It throbbed whenever a storm rolled in, a constant reminder of the price I paid.

Suddenly, a flash of movement darted from the tree line.

"Shit!"

I slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the wet asphalt, the heavy vehicle skidding sideways. There was a sickening *thud* against the front bumper before the car jerked to a halt.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw the door open and sprinted into the rain. A figure lay crumpled on the wet road—a girl, young, maybe nineteen. She was soaked, shivering, her dark hair plastered to her face.

"Are you alright?" I dropped to my knees beside her, reaching out to check for a pulse. "I didn't see you—"

The girl looked up. Her eyes were wide with terror, but as I got closer, Hera didn't whine in sympathy. She recoiled. A low, guttural growl vibrated in my chest, unbidden.

*Enemy,* Hera hissed. *Wrong. Wrong.*

I froze. It wasn't just the girl's presence. It was the scent clinging to her damp skin. Beneath the smell of rain and wet pavement, there was a cloying sweetness—milk and vanilla. It was innocent, almost sickeningly so. But woven through it, unmistakable and potent, was a scent I knew better than my own.

Forest pine and musk.

*Conor.*

My hand hovered over the girl's shoulder. Why did this rogue smell like my husband? Why was his scent so fresh on her, as if he had been holding her moments ago?

Before I could ask, a flash blinded me. I looked up to see a group of teenagers from the pack standing on the ridge, phones raised.

"Oh my goddess, did the Luna just hit that girl?" one of them shouted.

The girl on the ground let out a theatrical sob, curling into a ball. "Please," she whimpered, loud enough for the phones to pick up. "I didn't mean to trespass! Please don't hurt me!"

I stood up, my authority snapping back into place. "I am not going to hurt you. Get up."

But the damage was done. By the time I got back to the Pack House, my phone was blowing up. The internal pack network was flooded with photos of me towering over the "cowering" girl. The captions were brutal.