My Mate Humiliated Me Until the Lycan Prince Claimed Me

The morning of the ceremony arrived with a heavy, gray frost on the windows.

I didn't have attendants. There were no seamstresses smoothing lace down my back, no makeup artists, and no excited whispers. The traditional Luna gown—a sweeping thing of ivory silk and crimson embroidery—sat hanging in the closet across the compound, likely already altered to fit someone smaller.

I dressed alone in my quarters.

I chose a simple, dark dress with high cuffs and a modest collar that covered the fresh bandages over my ribs. It had no pack insignias and no ceremonial colors. I pulled my dark hair over one shoulder and braided it tightly with steady fingers, tying off the end with a plain cord.

My reflection looked calm. Pale, but steady.

I sat at my desk and unlocked my phone. I opened the encrypted folder one last time. Every file, every photograph, and every timestamp had already uploaded to Cassian’s private server in Silverpine.

*Safe.*

I powered the device off and slid it into my coat pocket.

Deep behind my sternum, right beneath the ache of my cracked ribs, something shifted. It was a slow, heavy roll—like a sleeping giant turning over in the dark. It hadn't gone quiet since marker 47 last night. The memory of Cassian’s scent—cedar and winter smoke—seemed to cling to the inside of my lungs.

*I know,* I told the stirring presence silently. *Just wait.*

I left my room and took the back stairs down toward the chapel.

As I passed the Alpha suite on the second floor, the double doors were pulled slightly ajar. I didn't mean to look, but Colt’s voice drifted into the hall, sharp and clipped.

"Stop fidgeting, Poppy. Ryker is already downstairs with the guest list."

I paused in the shadow of the doorway.

Colt stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his formal black Ironclaw dress jacket. The gold braids on his shoulders gleamed under the chandelier. He looked every inch the proud, untouchable pack Alpha.

Poppy was hovering near his elbow, wearing an ivory gown cut so close to the traditional Luna design it made my stomach turn. In her hands, she clutched a small velvet pouch.

While Colt checked his reflection, Poppy slipped her fingers inside and pulled out the Luna Moonstone.

She held the pendant flat in her palm, staring down at it with frantic intensity. Her knuckles went white. She was trying, with everything she had, to coax the faint, silver glow out of the rock. She wanted to walk into that chapel wearing it bright around her neck.

The stone remained completely dead. It was gray, cold, and lifeless as river gravel.

A flash of ugly anger twisted Poppy's delicate features. When Colt turned around, she jammed the stone deep into the pocket of her skirt and smoothed her expression into that wide-eyed, fragile smile.

"You look wonderful, Colt," she breathed.

"We do this by the book," he said coldly, checking his watch. "Let's go."

I turned and walked away before they could spot me, heading down the stone staircase toward the lower level.

***

St. Catherine’s chapel smelled of melting beeswax, old wood, and cold iron.

The pews were completely full. Warriors, pack elders, and trackers from every border outpost sat packed shoulder to shoulder. Hundreds of Ironclaw wolves had gathered to watch their Alpha take his Luna.

At the front of the altar stood Colt. He radiated thick, suffocating Alpha authority, his shoulders broad and his chin high.

The heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel swung open.

A hush fell over the room. Every head turned in unison.

I stepped over the threshold alone. No escort. No father. Just me, in a plain dark dress, walking into a sea of silk and formal suits.

The moment my foot hit the flagstone aisle, the air in the chapel fractured.

The mate-bond scent exploded between us.

It was undeniable. It filled the cavernous hall like a shockwave—sweet clover, wild mint, and the heavy mountain pine of our fated link. It was the Moon Goddess’s ancient mark, screaming into the silence that Colt Stone belonged to me, and I belonged to him.

The pack gasped. Elders shifted in their seats. People looked between me and the altar, their eyes wide with confusion. Colt had spent months telling them our bond was nonexistent, that I was a broken she-wolf unworthy of the title. But no wolf in that room could deny what their noses were telling them.

Colt’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. His amber eyes flared with sudden fury. He looked at my calm face, looked at my plain dress, and saw his carefully constructed narrative threatening to fall apart before the eyes of his people.

I took three slow, measured steps down the aisle.

I wasn't even halfway to the altar when Colt raised his hand.

He didn't let me approach. He didn't let me speak. He stepped to the edge of the dais, drew air into his massive chest, and unleashed his Alpha tone.

The command rattled the stained-glass windows.

"I, Colt Stone, Alpha of the Ironclaw Pack, reject you, Averie Weaver, as my mate and Luna!"

The words struck me like a physical blow.

It didn't just break in my ears; it tore through my soul. The bond snapped like a severed steel cable. A blinding, searing agony ripped through my chest, burning like raw silver poured straight into my veins.

The faint, partial claim mark at the side of my neck went ice-cold. The numbness spread violently through my throat, choking the air from my lungs.

My vision blurred with black spots.

My knees gave out beneath me, and I hit the cold stone floor with a sickening thud.

The chapel erupted into horrified murmurs.

Through the haze of blinding pain, I looked up. Colt stood tall on the altar, breathing hard, his eyes cold and triumphant.

From the side wings, Poppy Jensen stepped smoothly into the candlelight, her chin lifted, her lips curved into a quiet smirk, waiting to take my place.