Escaping the Wrong Mate for the Right One

I walked beside Theron on the path toward the ceremonial grounds, the sting from the wolfsbane wound still burning through my flesh. I forced myself to look steady, though every movement throbbed with pain, because Rowan had made it brutally clear: if I disobeyed, Sylvie would be taken from me.

Theron strode with the air of a young monarch, shoulders squared, chin tilted proudly, his golden eyes gleaming with self-importance. He reveled in the spotlight. As we pushed through the gathered pack, whispers followed like smoke under the pale wash of moonlight.

“He carries himself already like an Alpha.”

“Is that his mother walking with him?”

“No, that’s his aunt—Lyra.”

“Lyra? The same woman who mistreats him and his sister? Why would they allow her to be up there with him?”

Theron either didn’t register their comments or secretly fed on them, basking in the attention like it was meant for him alone. He mounted the platform with a theatrical stride, practically glowing beneath their stares.

I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to let their words strike deeper, though they pressed on me like stones against my chest. I had learned long ago that any show of emotion, any slip of anger or pain, would only be twisted as proof of guilt. I stayed silent because silence was my only shield. I was present not by choice, but by force.

From the edge of the gathering, I caught sight of Sylvie. She stood at Mirelle’s side, small and stiff, her wide eyes darting over the crowd with restless unease. She neither waved nor smiled. She simply stared, rigid and still, as though even the smallest display of disobedience would invite punishment.

The priest appeared, clad in ceremonial robes of black trimmed with silver, raising both hands until the voices of the crowd quieted. His tone carried like thunder.

“Tonight, beneath the sacred eye of the moon, the heir of Alpha Rowan reaches the threshold of manhood. Let the pack bear witness as Theron is recognized among us.”

Cheers rolled through the masses like waves.

Then the priest turned his sharp gaze upon me.

“Lyra, guardian of the heir, remove his ceremonial footwear. Let him step forward into manhood.”

I lowered myself, my knees aching, and reached for Theron’s foot. With deliberate cruelty, he ground his heel into my already injured hand. The shock of pain tore through me like fire. My throat burned with the scream I refused to release as blood welled fresh beneath the bandages. He pulled back smoothly, leaving behind the crimson blotch that spread beneath the cloth. He then bowed dramatically to the crowd, eliciting another wave of applause. The rite was complete.

I wanted nothing more than to disappear. But Rowan’s watchful eyes pinned me down from the high seat, making it clear I was not free to leave. My body moved on instinct, trailing the others toward the banquet hall, each step hollow, each breath nothing but endurance.

Inside, the atmosphere was a cacophony of laughter and cheer. Toasts clanged like bells. Theron occupied the place of honor at the head table, soaking in admiration with the arrogance of someone born for it. Haley, ever the loyal shadow, sat beside him, giggling as she spun a butter knife between her fingers.

Across the hall, I found Sylvie sitting with a young omega woman, her plate untouched, her small body still. Her eyes never left mine. Even when her cup tipped, spilling water down her lap, she didn’t flinch or move. I tried to offer her the faintest smile, to make her believe that I was all right—though I was anything but.

And then Katherine entered.

The room shifted at once, every gaze snapping to her. She crossed the space with calculated confidence, taking the seat beside Rowan as though it had always belonged to her. She laid her hand lightly on his arm, staking her claim.

Haley’s face lit up. “You’re so beautiful! I wish you were my mom.”

Rowan allowed a faint smile.

From across the table, Mirelle’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Certainly a better choice than those other women who birthed strays.”

My jaw clenched. I smoothed my napkin with steady fingers, though beneath the fabric, my knuckles turned white.

“I’ll excuse myself,” I said evenly, forcing calm. “I need a moment.”

The night air outside was sharper, cutting through the suffocating hall. My lungs drew in the cold with relief, but it didn’t last. A sharp thunk split the silence, followed by the sound of young laughter. Curiosity and dread stirred together as I followed the noise to the training yard.

And then I froze.

Theron and several boys were gathered, arrows in hand, laughing with cruel delight as they shot toward a living target. I crept closer, heart pounding—and horror gripped me. Against the far wall stood Sylvie. Her small arms were bound tight behind her back, a rough chalk circle scrawled around her head like a cruel bullseye. Her fragile body trembled, but she stayed upright, her jaw clenched in terrified defiance.

Theron lifted his bow.

The arrow hit her shoulder.

She staggered back, blood spreading through the fabric of her dress, but the boys howled with laughter. One clapped Theron proudly on the back. Yet Sylvie didn’t cry. She fixed her eyes on him, burning, and with a low, animal snarl, drove her wrists against the post until the rope gave way. Then she lunged, striking Theron across the face with all her strength. He stumbled back, stunned.

The other boys shouted, swarming, grabbing at her, dragging her small frame to the ground.

That was when I snapped.

“Take your filthy hands off her!” I roared, hurling one boy aside with raw fury. Sylvie scrambled into my arms, clinging desperately as I bared my teeth at the others. “Try it again, and I swear—”

“Lyra!” Rowan’s voice thundered across the yard.

I spun. He stood framed at the entrance, Mirelle and Katherine flanking him like shadows. Behind them, more wolves gathered, the commotion pulling in onlookers. Sylvie’s blood seeped into my sleeves, warm and terrifying.

“What is happening here?!” Mirelle gasped, voice pitched with false outrage.

“She attacked him!” one boy cried, pointing at Sylvie. “She struck Theron!”

“She bit me!” another shouted, clutching his wrist.

“She was tied up!” I snapped, trembling with fury. “They made her their target! Theron shot her with an arrow. Look at her shoulder!”

Mirelle’s eyes narrowed, her tone like ice. “That child is unstable. Exactly like her mother.”

I dug my nails into the dirt, holding back the scream that threatened to tear me apart. Sylvie shivered in my embrace, her blood soaking through my clothes. I stayed anchored to her.

Rowan’s eyes swept the scene—the boys holding their small injuries, Theron rubbing his cheek, and then Sylvie, trembling but unbroken. Finally, his verdict came.

“Take the boys to the healers. Their wounds require attention. And bring Sylvie to the west backroom. No chains.”

“She needs a healer,” I said, voice cracking. “She’s bleeding badly.”

Rowan nodded once to a guard. “See to her injury.”

“And after that?” I asked, rising to my feet, every heartbeat pounding like a drum.

His expression stayed unreadable. “Then I will decide her punishment.”

As the guards approached, Sylvie clutched tighter to my sleeve, refusing to let go. Fury surged through me like wildfire.

“Thank you,” I said, each word edged with ice. “But I’ll tend her wounds myself.”

Without waiting for permission, I strode away, ignoring the calls behind me. Because deep down, I knew—if I stayed in that place a second longer, I might not survive what I would do next.