After My Alpha Left Me for His Mistress, I Chose My True Mate

I stand at the pack altar in my white gown, the silk heavy against my skin, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it. The entire Crescent Pack surrounds us in a semicircle, their eyes bright with anticipation. Torches flicker in the cool night air, casting dancing shadows across Elliott's face as he takes my hands in his.

This is it. Seven years of waiting, of enduring his broken promises and last-minute cancellations, of pretending I don't notice the way his attention drifts whenever Clare's name is mentioned. Seven years of suppressing my true wolf, my Lycan heritage, my royal bloodline—all so I could find a mate who loved me for my heart, not my status.

Tonight, it all becomes worth it.

Elliott leans closer, his breath warm against my neck. I tilt my head to the side, exposing the curve where his mark will rest. My pulse throbs beneath my skin. Just one bite, and we'll be bonded forever. Just one—

His grip on my hands goes slack.

I open my eyes. Elliott's gaze has gone distant, unfocused, his jaw tight. I know that look. He's receiving a mind-link.

No. Not now. Not tonight.

"Elliott?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended.

He blinks, his eyes refocusing on me, but there's something frantic in them now. Something that makes my stomach drop like a stone.

"I have to go," he says.

The words don't register at first. Around us, confused murmurs ripple through the crowd.

"What?" I tighten my grip on his hands, but he's already pulling away. "Elliott, we're in the middle of—"

"It's Clare. She's in trouble. Life-threatening." He steps back, and my hands fall empty at my sides. "I'm sorry, Arielle. I have to—"

He doesn't finish. He just turns and runs, his Alpha speed carrying him into the dark woods in seconds.

I stand there, frozen, my white gown suddenly feeling like a shroud. The pack altar, decorated with white roses and moonflowers, mocks me with its beauty. The torches crackle. Someone coughs. Whispers start, soft at first, then growing louder.

"Did he just leave her?"

"At their own ceremony?"

"For that Jensen girl again?"

"Poor thing. She must be so embarrassed."

Poor thing. The words slice through me like claws. Is that what I am? A poor thing, standing alone at an altar, abandoned in front of everyone who matters?

Something inside me cracks. Not my heart—that broke long ago, piece by piece with every broken promise, every cancelled date, every time he chose her over me. No, this is something deeper. Something that's been caged for seven years, suppressed and silent.

My wolf.

She surges forward with a fury I've never felt before, her presence flooding my consciousness like a tidal wave. I've kept her locked away so long I almost forgot what she feels like—powerful, ancient, royal.

I lift my chin and meet the eyes of the pack members staring at me with pity. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I'm done being their object of sympathy.

"I, Arielle White," my voice rings out clear and strong across the clearing, "sever my chosen mate tie with Alpha Elliott Jones of the Crescent Pack. Effective immediately."

Gasps echo around me. The formal words of rejection hang in the air like a death sentence. I feel the snap of our bond breaking—not the deep, soul-crushing pain of a true mate rejection, but still sharp enough to steal my breath. Elliott will feel it too, wherever he is, running to her side like always.

Good. Let him feel it.

I turn my back on the altar, on the pack, on seven years of wasted devotion. My white gown trails behind me as I walk toward the forest. No one tries to stop me. No one speaks.

The trees swallow me whole, their branches reaching overhead like skeletal fingers. The temperature drops, and I should be cold in this thin silk, but my wolf's heat keeps me warm. My bare feet find the forest path easily, muscle memory from years of walking these woods.

I don't cry. I won't give Elliott or Clare or any of them that satisfaction.

Then I smell it.

Cedar and petrichor, rich and dark and utterly intoxicating. It hits me like a physical force, making my knees weak and my wolf whimper with sudden, desperate need. I stop walking, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

I know this scent. I've known it since childhood, buried it deep, denied it for seven years.

"Hello, Arielle."

The voice comes from the shadows ahead, deep and commanding. A figure steps into the moonlight filtering through the trees, and my breath catches.

Rowan Bailey. Lycan King. My childhood guardian.

My true mate.

He moves closer, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes me feel stripped bare. His aura wraps around me—powerful, possessive, protective. Everything Elliott's never was.

"Your suffering," Rowan says quietly, each word deliberate, "ends tonight."