Escaping the Wrong Mate for the Right One

I had barely managed to take two steps toward the door when Mirelle’s voice cut through the heavy air, laced with sweetness that was nothing but venom.

“Well, look at this. She’s running away. Again.”

I froze. Not because I wanted to obey, but because I understood how this pack operated—leaving was never simple. The burn on my forehead still seared from the wolfsbane, the blistered skin a cruel reminder.

“I’m not fleeing,” I rasped, my voice raw with pain and fury. “I’m walking away. There’s nothing left for me here anymore, only wounds and scars that never heal.”

Mirelle tilted her head, feigning innocence, her tone mockingly gentle. “Scars? Please. Do you imagine you’re the only one who’s ever suffered? Stop with the theatrics, Lyra. It’s tiresome.”

“I was in my own room,” I shot back, each word sharp as a blade. “With my daughter. Preparing for her birthday. Remember that, Mirelle? Her birthday. And your precious children destroyed it.”

Theron stepped forward with careful poise, as though this entire moment had been rehearsed. “We only wanted her to look nice. Like our mother used to make her look. You didn’t need to scream that way. You pushed me—and Haley too.”

He pulled back his sleeve, showing a red mark as though it were some grand evidence. “We didn’t even know it was wolfsbane. It wasn’t our fault.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sympathetic. It was cutting.

“Poor Theron,” someone murmured from the crowd.

“What an ungrateful woman,” another whispered. “Always turning herself into the victim.”

Rowan’s voice broke through next, calm in sound but cold in weight. “So tell me, Lyra—is this truly about a dress? About a little skin irritation? Or is this simply your attempt to sabotage Theron’s ceremony?”

“This isn’t about a dress,” I said firmly. “This is about your children hurling wolfsbane at me. At me—and at Sylvie. Our daughter.”

“She shouldn’t have been around in the first place,” Mirelle replied dismissively, her voice light as though she were talking about some stray animal.

“She belongs here,” I snapped. “This is her home.”

Rowan’s voice hardened like steel. “This is the packhouse. And Sylvie… Sylvie is not of the Silver Blood pack.”

“She’s ours, Rowan. Yours and mine. You marked me once. You swore I would be your Luna. You said we would raise her together.”

He said nothing.

“And then you turned away, pretended she didn’t even exist—while I was left to raise children who weren’t mine. You called me family when it was convenient for you, but when it wasn’t—you cast me aside as a rogue.”

His jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

“You demanded I protect them, nurture them, love them. And even now, you expect me to stand beside a boy who burned my skin. But my child?” My voice cracked with grief. “You treated her like she was nothing. Like she wasn’t even your own flesh.”

Finally, he spoke. “You knew what would happen if the Elders ever discovered she was born outside the bond—”

“The Elders?” I laughed, bitter and hollow. “You rejected me after Hannah’s death. Then crept back into my bed when no one was watching. You only cared for tradition when it shielded you. But you shattered it yourself the moment you touched me again.”

Mirelle’s voice lashed out like a whip. “You owed Hannah your life! Those children were all she left behind. They were your responsibility whether you liked it or not. And as for Sylvie? Who even knows if she belongs to Rowan? You had others before—”

The slap rang out before she finished.

“Sylvie is Rowan’s daughter,” I said, my voice steady and unshaken. “And those children? They’re not mine. I never birthed them. I never chose them. I raised them because I made a vow before the Moon Goddess. But that vow never demanded I become a slave to this pack.”

Mirelle gaped at me, stunned into silence.

I turned away, bending down to scoop Sylvie into my arms. Her small frame trembled against me, her sobs muffled against my chest. I carried her toward the door. But Rowan stepped into our path, blocking it with his towering frame.

“You really believe walking out will change anything?” he growled. “You bore my bloodline in that girl. That ties you to this pack, whether you wish it or not.”

“Oh, now blood suddenly matters?” I snapped back, anger flaring. “Then prove it. Raise her. Shield her. Claim her proudly. Or does your pride only extend to children conceived under ceremony?”

He had no reply.

“You promised me once that we’d be mates again. That once things settled, you’d make the announcement. You swore I’d be Luna.”

“You knew that wasn’t possible anymore,” he muttered, low and evasive.

I stepped closer, lowering my tone until it was sharp and dangerous. “No. You wouldn’t keep your promise because claiming me meant admitting you broke a sacred law. That you lay with the mate you had rejected. That you hid your own daughter from the pack.”

His eyes darkened with fury. “You’ll still attend the ceremony. Theron is to be declared Alpha Heir, and you will stand beside him.”

Two guards moved forward, closing in. I adjusted Sylvie in my arms, heart hammering as I glared between them. “And if I refuse?”

Rowan’s gaze didn’t flicker. “Then the Elders will be told everything. About your pregnancy. About your banishment. About your return. You’ll be branded rogue again. And Sylvie—” his voice went icy, deliberate, “—Sylvie will be taken under the care of the Silver Blood pack. For her own safety.”

The room fell into suffocating silence.

Mirelle’s lips curved into a smile.

And for the first time, I understood—they would never allow me to leave freely. Not without extracting their price. I tightened my hold on Sylvie, feeling her small heartbeat pounding against mine. I knew, deep within me, that they would never treat her kindly. They weren’t even doing so now, while I was still here.

I had no choice left but to bend. To compromise.