Chapter 1: The Unmarked Mate

For three years, Emilia had lived as the unmarked Luna of the Shadow Claw Pack. She shared Wesley’s bed, commanded the respect of the Betas, and wore the subtle scent of his protection like an invisible cloak. Yet, she remained unbonded, her skin unmarred by the claiming bite that would make their union official in the eyes of the pack and the Moon Goddess. The reason was a curse—a bitter legacy from a seer’s prophecy. Wesley’s lineage was shadowed by the spirit of a wronged Alpha, doomed to wander alone after death unless a lone she-wolf mourned him for three nights under the full moon. The prophecy decreed that Wesley must bind himself to this she-wolf for three years, or face a gruesome fate. Wesley, ever the rational and powerful Alpha, had scoffed. Until a rogue attack nearly ripped his throat out, followed by a series of near-fatal ‘accidents’ that left even the pack elders shaken. The threat was real. It was Emilia who finally believed. It was the pack elders who begged the seers, and they found the she-wolf—Sarah, the daughter of the pack cook. Wesley fought it. He roared, he raged, declaring to the entire pack that if he couldn’t have Emilia as his true Luna, he’d rather let the curse take him. But in the end, under the full moon, it was Emilia who stood by his side during the ceremonial vows. And it was Sarah’s name that was entered into the sacred pack ledger as his official, prophesied mate. Wesley swore to Emilia, his voice a low growl of promise, his forehead pressed against hers in their most intimate gesture. “You are my heart, my true mate. This bond with her is nothing—a shackle of words and duty. The moment the three years are up, I will sever it. You are my only Luna.” Emilia believed him. She choked down this half-baked reality for three long years. But as the final month of the prophecy began to wane, Wesley seemed to have forgotten his vow. …The truth of her unbonded status had been a well-kept secret within the pack. Until, with only a moon cycle left, the rumor erupted like a virus. The true mate of Alpha Wesley was not the she-wolf who stood at his side, but another. Reporters—both human and supernatural—swarmed the pack territories. Emilia was cornered multiple times in the parking lot outside the pack’s corporate headquarters, facing a barrage of questions and cameras. She couldn’t deny it. She wasn’t his official mate. Wesley found her trembling in their ensuite, the scent of her distress souring the air. He simply nuzzled her neck, his voice a soothing rumble. “What does a mark matter, my love? You have my heart, my soul. That’s stronger than any bite, any ledger entry.” At that moment, she wanted to believe him. His love had to be enough. But then the news outlets obtained a copy of the pack ledger entry with Wesley and Sarah’s names. Faced with the same swarm of questions, Wesley shoved Sarah behind him, his body a shield, a low, threatening growl emanating from his chest. “Leave. Now. Or face the consequences of angering an Alpha.” The crowd scattered instantly. So, he was capable of protection. He was capable of drawing a line in the sand. Emilia watched the live feed on her phone, the screen freezing on Wesley’s protective stance over Sarah. A single, hot tear splashed onto the glass. Suddenly, the sympathetic glances from other pack members felt like mockery. She wanted to run, to flee to the deepest part of the forest where no one would know her name. But she needed to hear it from him. She needed to understand. Like a sleepwalker, she returned to the pack house they shared. It was ablaze with light, unlike the usual quiet dim. She pushed the door open, and the figure that scurried forward wasn’t the elderly housekeeper. Sarah knelt on the polished hardwood, placing a pair of slippers neatly before her. “Luna, please change your shoes,” she said, her voice a practiced, meek whisper. She looked up, her face a mask of timid deference. Emilia froze, her wolf stirring in confusion. Wesley walked in from the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand. His eyes narrowed at the scene, his scent shifting instantly to displeasure. “Emilia,” his voice was a low warning. “Was that necessary? To make her kneel?” The accusatory tone was new. Unprecedented. Once, she’d accidentally broken an ancient family totem during a training session. He’d only grabbed her hands, checking for splinters, his voice soft. “It’s just an object, my love. Don’t fret. If you asked for my life, I’d give it willingly.” A man who once offered his life now blamed her without hearing a word. In his eyes, she saw only cold judgment, none of the old tenderness. The will to defend herself drained away. What was the point? Sarah remained on her knees, stubbornly holding the slippers. “Wesley, it’s fine. I’ve served Miss Emilia since we were pups. It’s a habit.” Wesley strode over and pulled her to her feet. “You don’t serve anyone here anymore. You are also a mate of this pack.” Also a mate. She could call him ‘Wesley.’ The words shattered Emilia. She staggered, bracing herself against the wall to stay upright. Sarah leaned into Wesley’s embrace, a blush coloring her cheeks. It took Emilia a long moment to find her voice, hoarse and trembling. “Wesley. What is this? What does this mean?” “Don’t make a scene, Emilia. It means what it means. We’ve lived this way for three years. Why can’t it continue?” He said it so lightly, as if offering a blessing. Emilia’s pain twisted into a bitter smile. “Really, Wesley? Then what am I to you?” “You are my love,” he answered without hesitation. “And her?” Emilia’s finger, trembling slightly, pointed at the woman in his arms. How could he hold another and claim to love her? Wesley met her gaze,utterly composed. “Loving you and feeling a protective duty toward Sarah are not mutually exclusive.” “Miss,” Sarah rushed forward, grabbing Emilia’s wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. Her tone was pleading. “I won’t take your place. I’ll stay hidden, I promise. I’m here to join this family, not break it.” A man could love two women without conflict. But she could no longer swallow the bitterness. She was losing her place, and now, it seemed, his love. She wrenched her wrist away, holding her head high, clinging to the last shreds of her dignity. “You can manage it, Wesley. I can’t.” As the words left her lips, Sarah let out a sharp cry. She stumbled, her forehead connecting with the sharp corner of a side table with a sickening thud. Blood instantly bloomed against her pale skin.