The Mismated Foolish Luna

The river that separated the two packs had always been a quiet reminder of the boundaries they lived by.

There was the Serrin River Pack, known for its strength and leadership along the western shore, and the Serin River Pack, its eastern counterpart, known for its tradition and wisdom. The two packs shared so much-practically identical in culture and practices-that even their own people sometimes struggled to tell them apart.

The ferry rocked gently on the water, its wooden frame creaking under the weight of its passengers. I huddled in the corner, clutching my small, embroidered bundle of belongings tightly to my chest.

I could feel the ferry swaying with each passing wave, but all I could focus on was the harsh reality that awaited me back home. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be with him.

As the sun dipped lower, casting a fiery red hue over the waters, I watched the ripples spread like gold dust.

It was beautiful-so beautiful that I couldn't stop myself from pausing. But just as the last bit of sunlight gleamed off the waves, the quiet chatter of the men at the far end of the ferry cut through my reverie.

"Alpha still hasn't taken a mate? He's killing everyone with his indecisiveness," one of them laughed, shaking his head.

"No, no," another corrected, "Our alpha has an arranged mate. Rumor has it the wedding's soon."

A flicker of warmth bloomed in my chest, and my lips curled into a secret smile. It was me they were talking about, and they didn't even know.

It had been arranged when we were children, a promise made when we were barely old enough to understand its weight. Liam and I had grown up together, and as soon as I was old enough to wear lace and learn how to sew, it was decided I would be his mate.

He'd always been kind-too kind, really. He gave me flowers, his favorite bites of food, and the best of everything. He cared for me in ways that seemed far beyond friendship. And when he drank that cursed sweet soup, he handed it to me, telling me to drink first, always.

I drank it because it was for him. Because he was my Liam.

But when the world turned dark, and I woke to the healer's quiet whispers of "permanent damage," I didn't understand the depth of it. I was five. What did I know of forever?

The elders, in their guilt, promised that when I turned eighteen, Liam would make me his mate in the full, sacred way. He would claim me, mark me as his, and we would be united.

"Wait for me, Juliette. When you're eighteen, I will make you mine," he had promised, his hands gripping mine, his eyes filled with unspeakable affection.

I waited.

But when I was finally old enough-when I had waited long enough to finally say those words to him-I was met with nothing but coldness.

Two years ago, I ran to him, so eager to finally share my joy. I was ready.

"I can be your mate now, Liam. I'm ready."

He didn't smile. He didn't even look at me properly. His gaze was distant, almost disgusted.

"You've got it wrong, Juliette. You wait for eighteen years, not just a few," he sneered. His eyes flickered away as if I were a nuisance, not the promise he had made.

As the rich, influential guests entered, including his best friend Garrick, Liam barely spared me a glance.

"Liam, I envy you. Your betrothed is so quiet and refined, so well-matched."

I sat in the courtyard on a stone, trying to breathe through the pain that gripped my chest. I had loved him for so long. And yet, as the years went by, I wondered if I had been wrong. But it didn't matter. I wasn't angry. Not yet. There was still time.

So I would wait. Even if it took another eighteen years.