The Hidden White Wolf's Fated Mate

I have been a ghost for two years, drifting behind the man who cursed my name. Silas is now a billionaire Alpha, ruling his empire with his new fiancée, while I am just a forgotten phantom.

Eight years ago, to save my dying mother and protect Silas from execution, I was forced by a rival Alpha to sign a false confession of treason. I had to publicly reject Silas as my mate, shattering our bond.

My sacrifice was in vain. My mother died that night. Silas, consumed by hatred, left me to rot in the dungeons, bound by toxic silver chains that destroyed my vocal cords. Stripped of my pack, I became a wandering rogue. For six years, I lived in the slums, spending my meager earnings to secretly pray for his success. When we finally crossed paths again, he watched debt collectors beat me half to death in an alley. He threw a stack of bills at my bleeding face.

"Take this charity and disappear from my territory forever."

I died shortly after, struck by a truck on a cold street. Because I was a packless rogue, my death made no sound. My broken body lay unclaimed in a morgue for an entire year. He built his glorious life fueled by his eternal hatred for me, never knowing my love for him was the only thing keeping me alive.

Now, sitting in his luxurious club, Silas commands his men to drag me before him to humiliate me. But how will the great Alpha react when he finds out the traitor he wants to punish is already dead?

Chapter 1

Selena POV:

A fine, persistent rain was ticking against the cobblestones of the human city.

I stood under the awning of a small shop, watching the raindrops pass without resistance through the phantom architecture of my hands.

Even as a ghost, I felt it—a dormant ember smoldering deep in my blood, a power whispered only in the oldest legends. I had never touched it, not once. Not when I lay bleeding in that alley, not when the truck's headlights blinded me on the cold street. Because using it would have meant letting go of him—and I was never strong enough for that.

Death was a cold and lonely state, but I had grown used to it over the past two years.

Across the street, an old fortune-teller witch sat under a large black umbrella, speaking to a human reporter holding a microphone.

"Who was the most devoted soul you've ever encountered in this hidden corner of the city?" the reporter asked.

The old woman sighed, her cloudy eyes staring into the distance.

"A young girl," she rasped. "Came to my stall for six consecutive years. Every week, through sun and deluge."

The girl never asked for her own fortune, only praying to the Moon Goddess for the safety and success of her former Alpha.

The Moon Goddess was our creator, the divine mother who watched over all wolves and tied our souls to our destined mates.

"I consulted my crystal a few nights ago, to check on her," the witch told the reporter, her voice faltering. "Her soul flame... it has already gone cold."

I smiled a bitter, soundless smile, because that dead girl was me.

My soul drifted away from the rainy street, pulled by an invisible tether that tied me to the man I could never truly leave.

I floated into the grand, ancient Moon Goddess Temple, a sacred sanctuary hidden deep within the mountains of our territory.

The air within was heavy with the scent of burning sage and the deep, resinous perfume of old pine.

Standing before the towering marble statue of the Goddess was Silas.

He was the undisputed master of the Blood Moon Pack, a billionaire Alpha whose power and wealth now rivaled the oldest human kings.

He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit that seemed sculpted to his broad shoulders and muscular frame.

He placed a massive check of ten million dollars into the temple's offering box without a flicker of expression.

He was doing this just to buy a simple blessing amulet for his fiancée, Freya.

The high priest, an old wolf with eyes that could perceive the fractures in a soul, handed Silas the small silver amulet.

Silas let out a dark, mocking chuckle as he took it.

"I should be thanking my treacherous former mate," Silas sneered. "Casting me aside when I was destitute was the greatest service she ever rendered. It cleared the path for Freya. She will be crowned my Luna before the month is out."

The priest did not return the powerful Alpha's smile.

He looked deeply into Silas's eyes and spoke a cryptic warning.

"You maintain a flawless facade for the world, Alpha, but in the private ledger of your soul, you carry a terrible debt."

The priest turned and walked away into the shadows of the temple, leaving Silas frowning in the silence.

Suddenly, Silas's eyes glazed over slightly, a sign that someone was using the pack's mental communication network.

Silas, are you coming home soon? I made your favorite roasted meat.

Freya's sweet, demanding voice echoed through the mind-link, loud enough for my ghost ears to catch the psychic vibration.

The squall that had been gathering behind Silas's eyes instantly dissipated.

I am on my way, my love. Wait for me.

He cut the mental connection, his face relaxing into a soft expression I used to think was reserved for me alone.

He walked out of the temple and stopped under the massive, ancient wishing tree in the courtyard.

His sharp Alpha eyesight locked onto the highest branch, where a faded red ribbon fluttered in the cold wind.

It was the ribbon I had tied there eight years ago, sitting on his strong shoulders, laughing as I secured our names together.

I had prayed for our mate bond to last through all eternity.

Silas stared at the ribbon, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"The promises of an Omega," he muttered, "as worthless as soiled paper."

A sudden gust of wind bent the high branch downward.

Silas reached up with lightning speed, his large hand wrapping around the fragile red fabric.

With a sharp, tearing sound that split the quiet air, the old cloth was rent in two. The ruined pieces drifted like dead moths into a muddy puddle at his feet. A moment later, his expensive leather shoe descended, grinding the ribbon's fibres deep into the black soil with a vicious, final twist.

A great, invisible weight pressed down on my spectral form, forcing me towards the earth. I did not fall; I simply dissolved, my knees becoming one with the mud as I reached out to save the symbol of our past.

My transparent fingers simply passed through the mire, the ribbon, and his shoe.

I looked up at his cold, hateful face, and the finality of my own death settled in my chest once more.

Could his hatred for me truly outlast death itself?