Chapter 2

Sylvia's POV I didn't linger in Alderwood Territory. There was no reason to stay. I'd only attended college there to be near Zane, and now that I'd graduated and he'd found his supposed True Mate, the city held nothing for me anymore. I booked the first available flight back to Howling Peaks, the ancestral territory of the Frostfang Pack. My homeland. My birthright. When I stepped off the plane, Morgana Conrad was waiting for me. My best friend since childhood, though we'd barely spoken these past three years due to my... obsession. "So, you're back for good this time?" she asked, searching my face for any signs of the broken-hearted omega I'd pretended to be. I met her gaze steadily, my chin lifted in a way I hadn't allowed myself in years. "For good," I confirmed. In previous years, I'd only visit Howling Peaks briefly between semesters, always rushing back to orbit around Zane like a pathetic moon. My time with Morgana had been limited, our conversations perfunctory. But now the wager was lost. There was nothing pulling me back to that life of pretense anymore. Morgana squeezed my arm as we walked toward her car. "I heard about what happened with Zane," she said, her voice gentle but not pitying. "Let's not talk about that depressing shit. Tonight's about welcoming you home." I smiled—genuinely—and nodded. The knot in my chest loosened slightly. Morgana took me to Eclipse, Howling Peaks' most exclusive werewolf club. She ordered a bottle of rare blood moon whiskey, the kind that burned deliciously going down and hummed in our supernatural veins. "To your homecoming and newfound freedom," she toasted. One drink in, and I could feel my wolf stretching inside me, pleased to shed the meek persona I'd forced upon her for so long. "Thank the Moon Goddess you're done with Zane," Morgana said, refilling our glasses. "The way you transformed yourself for him... I barely recognized you. My wild, fearless Sylvia—suddenly this docile, bookish wallflower who wouldn't touch alcohol or fast cars. It was fucking bizarre." My lips curled into a smile that held the first hint of my former confidence. The Frostfang Pack had always prized courage and strength above all. Before my charade, I'd been known for my love of adrenaline—street racing through mountain passes, bungee jumping from cliffs, even battling rogue wolves along our borders after my first transformation at sixteen. I had been the pack's fiercest female warrior, an extreme sports junkie who sneered at men and Alphas alike. I'd mocked my mother's belief in destined mates and fate. Until Zane. Until I sacrificed everything that made me me to become what he wanted. "I must have lost my fucking mind," I drawled, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. I still couldn't fully understand what had possessed me. Perhaps it was rebellion against my mother, or maybe I needed to prove that mate bonds weren't the ultimate power my mother claimed them to be. I'd been determined to make a wolf I'd chosen fall for me, even if it meant becoming bland, ordinary... even stupid. The bartender nearly spilled a drink as he stared at me, clearly responding to the Alpha pheromones I was no longer suppressing. My wolf preened at the attention. "So," Morgana said, studying me over her glass, "now that you and Zane are over, are you really going back to take your place as the Frostfang heir?" I took a slow sip. "A bet's a bet." My mother, Alpha Astra, stood as the only female Alpha in our region. After my father's death, she'd weathered brutal pack politics and corporate attacks against Frost Industries with unmatched resilience. I'd always admired her strength, even as I chafed under the weight of her expectations and control. My sister Selene had always been too fragile for leadership. And I... I craved freedom too much. My mother had understood that, which is why she'd given me the choice—the wager. Now I'd lost. And while it stung my pride, I wasn't a coward who ran from consequences. Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't Frostfang tradition require you to have a mate before you can officially take over? Has Aunt Astra lined someone up for you already?" "No," I replied with certainty. I understood my mother better than most. She was dominant by nature, but she wasn't cruel about my choice of mate. Her opposition to Zane had always been more about the generations-old rivalry between our packs than about him personally. "Sylvia," Morgana leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially, "even though you lost the bet, Aunt Astra won't force you into anything. And honestly, there are plenty of wolves who'd kill to be with you." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "If all else fails, I could always introduce you to my cousin Caesar." Caesar Conrad. The name alone sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. As the supreme Alpha of all American werewolf packs and leader of the Bloodmoon Pack, he was the dream mate of countless she-wolves. His power, wealth, and devastating looks were legendary—as was his cold, ruthless nature. In my younger years, I'd been momentarily dazzled by him. A brief, embarrassing crush that I'd quickly buried. Up close to that perfect face, no one's heartbeat remained steady. But I was too proud, too determined to stand on my own. I didn't need some powerful Alpha to run my pack for me—I wanted to choose my own path, my own mate. I'd actively avoided any gatherings where Caesar might appear, and in the years since, we'd only exchanged distant glances at formal pack functions. I rolled my eyes at Morgana's suggestion, pretending it was just a joke between us. The cold liquor slid down my throat, leaving an unexpected bitterness on my tongue. As the night wore on, we both grew pleasantly buzzed—not drunk, as werewolves metabolized alcohol too quickly for that, but comfortably warm and loose-limbed. Morgana suddenly checked her phone, her expression turning strange. "Caesar says he's coming to pick us up." I could hear the confusion in her tone. Though she was technically part of Caesar's pack structure, they weren't particularly close. It was odd that he'd suddenly message her, asking if I was with her, offering to drive us home. "He's probably just being responsible," she murmured, but she didn't sound convinced. A few minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up outside the club. The window rolled down, revealing a face that made my breath catch despite my best intentions. Caesar's features were sculpted perfection—aristocratic cheekbones, penetrating eyes, and pale skin that seemed to glow under the moonlight. His presence radiated power, danger, and something primally appealing that made my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin. "Get in," he commanded, his deep voice sliding over me like dark velvet. His gaze swept over Morgana briefly before landing on me with an intensity that felt almost physical. When our eyes met, my heartbeat stuttered, then raced ahead like I'd just thrown myself off a cliff. My wolf, so long suppressed beneath layers of pretense, suddenly howled to life within me. I recognized the sensation instantly, having felt its echo once before, years ago. But this time, there was no denying what it was. The mate bond. Awakening. Reaching. Demanding recognition. I had been too stubborn to accept—Caesar Conrad was my True Mate. And from the hungry look in his eyes, his wolf had just confirmed what he'd apparently suspected for years. "Fuck," I whispered, the word carrying all the weight of my realization, the truth settling over me like a weight I couldn't fight.