After My Mate Chose a Fake Lycan Princess

The mountain trail was slick with morning mist during our routine pack run. I had fallen a few paces behind the group to catch my breath, jogging around a massive granite boulder. That was when I froze.

Carter Montgomery—my fated mate of three years and the future Alpha of our Silverfang Pack—was standing against the cliffside. But he wasn’t waiting for me.

He had Lacey Jones pressed flat against the rock face.

Lacey was a transfer who had arrived barely two weeks ago, flaunting designer bags and cheap perfume. Right now, Carter’s eyes were closed, his nose buried deep into the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent, whispering in a low, reverent murmur, "You're all that matters. You're everything."

Those were the promises meant for a fated mate. Words he had never once spoken to me.

Inside my chest, my wolf shrieked in raw, tearing agony. My own scent—wild lavender and frost mint—spiked in shock and nausea.

Before I could find my voice, the mountain shuddered.

A deafening crack tore through the pass. The ground dropped beneath my feet as thousands of pounds of rock detonated from above. Dirt and boulders rained down in a blinding curtain, slamming shut the entrance to the transit passage.

Dust choked the air. Darkness swallowed all of us—Carter, Lacey, me, and six other pack members.

We were sealed inside a tomb of solid rock.

Panic hit me like a physical blow. The jagged walls pressed in from every direction, squeezing the oxygen straight out of my lungs. My deepest, most carefully guarded weakness—a paralyzing, suffocating claustrophobia—ripped through my nervous system.

Inside me, my wolf whimpered, curled into a trembling ball, and locked up tight. I couldn’t shift. I couldn’t even stand.

My chest heaved in shallow, jagged gasps. As my terror peaked, my distress-amplified mate scent flooded the tight cavern in thick, suffocating waves of lavender and mint.

"Carter!" Lacey’s shrill, theatrical scream sliced through the gloom. She dropped to the dirt, clawing dramatically at her throat. "I can't breathe! Her scent... it’s choking me! I'm having a reaction... please, make it stop!"

It was an obvious, calculated performance. But Carter didn't question it.

He drew a slow breath through his nose. His jaw set hard, and even in the dim light, I saw his eyes shift to a flat, cold amber. Then, he unleashed his Alpha tone—the dominant command that bypasses every wolf's free will.

"Shield Lacey!" Carter roared, his voice hammering against our skulls. "She is the secret daughter of Lycan King Hamilton! She outranks everyone in this pack! Her survival is our only priority!"

I crawled across the sharp gravel on my hands and knees, desperate, tears cutting tracks through the dust on my cheeks. "Carter... please," I choked out, reaching for his boots. "I can't breathe... my chest..."

I reached for my mate. The man bound to my soul.

Carter looked down at me with pure disgust. "Get away from her, Natalie!"

He shoved me with both hands. The force sent me flying backward, slamming my spine hard against the jagged stone wall. Pain exploded across my back.

"Push her back!" one of the warriors shouted, eager to impress the supposed Lycan princess. "Don't let her scent hurt Lady Lacey!"

The other wolves swarmed forward like a pack of rabid dogs. Hands shoved me. Heavy boots trampled my fingers, my legs, my chest.

*Crack.*

A searing, blinding agony ripped through my side as my ribs snapped under someone’s heel. A falling slab of shale crashed into my forehead. Warm blood flooded down my face, and the blackness swallowed me whole.

***

Blinding daylight pierced my eyelids hours later.

Muffled shouts echoed through the mountain air. The rescue team had finally broken through the rubble.

I blinked through crusted blood, barely clinging to consciousness. A few yards ahead, Carter emerged into the sunlight. He was cradling Lacey in his arms like a hero, his face painted with noble exhaustion as the pack cheered.

Nobody looked back into the dark. Nobody reached for me. I lay broken and bleeding in the dirt, discarded like trash.

Then, the roar of a high-powered engine shattered the valley.

A sleek black SUV tore up the dirt road, followed by three armored vehicles. Enormous Lycan royal guards poured out, their suffocating, ancient auras sweeping across the ridge. Every single Silverfang wolf present instantly bowed their heads, baring their necks in pure, terrified instinct.

The SUV door opened.

Monica Hamilton—my quiet, unpretentious best friend—stepped out into the dirt.

She didn't look at the bowing wolves. She marched straight toward the collapse, shoving right past a stunned Carter without a second glance.

When she found me half-buried in the rubble, her composure shattered.

"Nat..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

She knelt in the sharp stones, gathering my broken body into her arms with a gentleness that made the watching warriors shift in sudden, creeping shame.

Monica carried me out into the sun. Carter took a step toward her, puffing out his chest to address her. "Monica, wait, let my medics take care of—"

*Crack.*

The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Monica’s hand whipped across Carter’s face with the devastating, bone-rattling strength of a true Lycan royal. The blow whipped his head around, sending him crashing to his knees in the dirt. Carter’s inner wolf whimpered audibly in his chest, completely subdued.

Monica didn't spare him another breath.

"Get the healer ready," she commanded her royal guards, her voice freezing the air.

Without looking back at Carter once, she carried me toward the SUV.