Lucien’s sharp and unyielding gaze scanned the room. “We are officially initiating a mating mandate. All unmated wolves aged twenty-one and over have thirty days to form and seal a bond. It doesn’t need to be a fated match. It simply needs to be committed and magically stabilized.”
Gasps, murmurs, and questions buzzed across the room. It slammed into my head like a migraine, and I threw up my mental shields. It was too loud. Too much.
Lucien’s gaze snapped to me. “There will be no exceptions.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
This was why I lived in the city. Why I rented that apartment. Why I kept a physical and emotional radius around myself like a moat. Because here, I was
Roman Velasquez,
Lucien’s cousin. Eligible. A strategic match.
And now?
Now they were coming for my autonomy.
A hand went up near the back of the room. “Alpha, does that include you?”
The room went still again. It wasn’t tension, exactly-more like everyone had collectively realized that the alpha had just been asked a very personal question.
Lucien’s mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. “No. I’m magically self-sustaining. As you all know, my fated mate passed years ago, but the bond still holds residual magic. As the elders will tell you, a true fated bond lasts eternally. In life, in death, in every echo of magic that lingers between.”
Nothing in his tone invited pity. No one spoke after that.
I kept my face neutral as the memories slid in. The pack had grieved when Lucien’s mate died. During the weeks of mourning, even the strongest wolves had gone quiet, moving like they were underwater. Lucien hadn’t stepped away from his duties once, but everyone knew he hadn’t been the same since. No one ever really talked about it. It was too raw. Too personal.
The pack had never really recovered, and the silence around his name had become part of the air we breathed.
I didn’t even hear the rest. My ears rang with a rising sense of dread. My whole body buzzed with panic. I needed out.
“Roman,” Seraphina said. She was at my side in seconds, her voice laced with sugar and satisfaction. “This is excellent news. The perfect opportunity, really. You and I have always had a connection. It makes sense, don’t you think? We’d be perfect together. Powerful. Balanced. We’d be unstoppable, and we would rule the pack someday.”
My chest tightened. I needed to breathe, but it felt as if the air was laced with smoke.
She leaned closer. “You don’t need to pretend anymore. We both know I’m the obvious choice.”
Too close. Too sure of herself. I couldn’t stomach this right now.
“I need to-” My voice cracked.
Eyes were on me.
Lucien. The elders.
I couldn’t let her win. Couldn’t let them decide for me, even if this was about the future of the damn pack.
“I’m already with someone,” I blurted. “She’s… human. Her name’s Maggie James. I plan to mate with her.”
Silence.
Seraphina blinked. Her expression twisted, hurt and disbelief curdling into something colder.
Me? I was smiling. Not because it felt good, but because I’d learned early on how to charm through panic. Mask harder. Smile tighter. Get out fast.
But on the inside, I was unraveling.
What the fuck did I just do?
Lucien arched one perfect brow, and I could feel the interest in the room shift toward him, like everyone was waiting for him to call my bluff. Instead, he gave me a thin, calculating smile.
“Good.” The warmth in his tone made the knot in my stomach tighten. “That leads us perfectly into the next item on our agenda.”
He pulled a sleek, obsidian device about the size of my palm from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Its screen glowed faintly with a scrolling blue-green pulse, the numbers shifting in time with an unseen rhythm. Even from here, I could hear the faint hum of magic inside it.
“This,” Lucien said, holding it aloft so the pack could see, “is a ley line resonance monitor. It’s a very recent acquisition from a rather exclusive contact. It allows us to measure the stability of our wards and the strength of the ley lines that feed them. No more guesswork. No more relying on my own intuition-which, I’ll add, has been spot on.”
He tapped the screen, and a sharper spike of light rippled across it. Murmurs of awe, curiosity, and skepticism swept through the room. “It reads fluctuations in real time and will tell us if our corrective measures are having the intended effect.”
Corrective measures. Mating mandate.
I didn’t move a muscle, but my mind was already chewing on the problem. If that device said the wards weren’t improving, Lucien would double down.
Lucien’s gaze slid over the pack, lingering just long enough on a few of the unmated to make his point. “I will be carrying this with me. The betas patrolling the perimeter will also be using it. When the bonds start sealing, we should see the proof right here.”
His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the readings don’t improve… we will take further steps. But for tonight, we celebrate the beginning of a stronger, more connected pack.”
Applause rippled unevenly across the room. I didn’t move, didn’t clap. My eyes stayed on the tracker in his hand. The glowing numbers seemed to breathe.
Somewhere in my chest, that rising dread turned into nausea and an urgent need to escape the confines of this room.
Maggie
I hadn’t seen Roman since yesterday.
Not in the hallway, not in the kitchen, not even a flash of those brooding eyes from behind a closed door. Part of me wondered if he was avoiding me after the whole debacle with the plate and window treatments. I knew I needed to be more mindful of his rules and quirks, but I had been deep in my head about the design I was stuck on, and it had been a lapse. But I was working on it.
I’d keep working on it.
Still, I figured he was just busy.
Pack business, as he called it. Whatever that meant. Mafia? Werewolf HOA? High-stakes event planning?
I didn’t ask. Not my circus, not my moon-blessed wolf cult.
When my stomach demanded lunch, I wandered into the kitchen with the kind of zombie-like energy that came from staring at Illustrator files for three hours straight. I moved through the motions of making a sandwich-bread, cheese, turkey, pickle-my body on autopilot, my brain still tangled in the jagged aftertaste of last night’s dream. A dream where Eric had showed up at the apartment, said he’d made a mistake, pulled me into his arms, and whispered that I was enough. I woke up crying.
I hated how much I missed him. Not the real him, but the idea of him. The comfort of having someone, even if it was someone who didn’t see me. At least then I could pretend that I mattered, that I was wanted. That I didn’t have to change myself into a smaller, softer, more palatable version just to be chosen.
Was there a version of me that could ever actually be wanted?
Putting the sandwich on a plate-I made sure not to take the blue one-I walked into the living room.
And froze.
The curtains on the balcony doors were open, and Roman was outside.
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