My Mate Ordered Me to Drink Wolfsbane in Public

Ten years. I've waited ten years for this moment.

My fingers trace the delicate embroidery along the ceremonial gown's bodice as I stand at the edge of the Silverfang pack territory. Every stitch was sewn by his hands when we were young—before the world became complicated, before duty and destiny pulled us apart. The fabric whispers against my skin like a promise kept, even if I'm the only one who remembered.

The autumn wind carries the scent of pine and earth, but my heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear anything else. Any moment now, Arian will arrive. My fated mate. The boy who sketched this dress on scraps of paper during lazy summer afternoons, who promised me forever under the full moon.

I smooth down the skirt one more time, ignoring how my hands tremble.

The rumble of engines shatters the forest's quiet. My breath catches as a convoy of sleek black vehicles rolls into view—Range Rovers, Mercedes, a Bentley. This isn't the modest pickup truck I remember from our youth. The vehicles scream wealth and power, and something cold settles in my stomach.

The lead car stops twenty feet away. The door opens.

He steps out, and I forget how to breathe.

Arian. But not the Arian I knew. This man is towering, broad-shouldered, radiating an authority that makes the air itself feel heavy. His tailored black suit probably costs more than most pack members earn in a year. His dark hair is styled with sharp precision, and his jaw—gods, when did he become so devastatingly handsome and so terrifyingly cold?

But it's his eyes that destroy me. Those warm brown eyes I used to get lost in now look at me with... nothing. Absolute ice.

"Arian," I whisper, taking a step forward.

Then she emerges from the passenger side.

The woman is stunning in a way that feels weaponized—platinum blonde hair in perfect waves, designer dress hugging curves that make mine look childish in comparison, diamonds glittering at her throat. She loops her arm through Arian's with practiced ease, pressing herself against his side like she belongs there.

My wolf whimpers inside me. Wrong. This is all wrong.

"Well, well." The woman's voice drips with false sweetness as her cold blue eyes rake over me. "Arian, darling, who is this... person?"

I open my mouth to speak, but she's already moving. Her heel comes down hard on the hem of my gown.

"Oh!" She gasps, stumbling forward with theatrical grace. "How clumsy of me!"

The sound of tearing fabric rips through my chest worse than any physical pain. I feel the delicate embroidery give way, feel myself falling as she yanks the dress. Gravel bites into my knees, sharp and unforgiving. Blood wells up immediately, and I gasp at the sting.

But that's nothing compared to what happens next.

The scent of my blood hits the air—and everything changes.

I feel it like lightning. The snap of recognition, the electric charge that makes every hair on