Chapter 4 The Mate I never wanted

Rodrigo's POV

Marriage was a necessary inconvenience. Nothing more, nothing less.

The elders had made that clear enough times that I'd stopped bothering to argue back. Every council meeting circled the same tired point.

"You need a Luna."

"A mated Alpha inspires confidence."

"You're thirty-two, Rodrigo."

As if I needed the reminder.

Roco Gonzalez, my right hand and the only person who usually understood me, hadn't even bothered defending me this time. "They aren't wrong," he'd said, and half the room nodded like he'd handed down scripture.

Traitors, all of them.

Elder Matteo's reasoning had been the same every time — alliance, trade routes, borders, influence. Not one word about the woman herself. Which suited me fine. Lucille Ashford wasn't marrying Rodrigo Valente. The Silverthorn Pack was marrying the Vesper Pack. I'd met her twice. Beautiful and polite. Exactly the kind of Luna the elders wanted — someone who stayed out of my affairs and did as she was told.

I wouldn't have to think about her at all.

That was the plan, right up until she walked through those doors in white and silver, veil hiding her face, and something in me sat up that had never so much as twitched before.

Fenrir stirred first. A faint scent cut through the perfume, and my wolf rose to attention like he'd caught a threat — except it didn't feel like a threat. It felt like recognition.

I didn't like things I couldn't explain.

By the time she reached the altar, the pull between us had turned into something closer to a rope drawn tight across my chest. I told myself it was nerves, or the weight of the room, or a hundred watching wolves waiting for me to slip. I did not, for one second, consider that it might be real.

Then I lifted her veil to seal the kiss and the world went white.

Fenrir surged so hard I nearly lost my footing. Energy cracked through the hall loud enough that gasps went up from three hundred guests. She pulled away before I could finish it properly, veil back down before anyone could see her face clearly. That never happened in arranged unions. Symbolic ceremonies didn't produce that kind of light.

The elders looked as stunned as I felt. I felt nothing but confusion, and Fenrir would not shut up about it.

The reception blurred past in congratulations and political noise I usually tuned out without effort. Tonight it grated. Every time she left my line of sight, the pull in my chest eased. Every time she came back into it, Fenrir surged again, pacing under my skin like something had been unlocked that he had no intention of putting back.

I hated the pattern. I hated not having a name for it more.

By sunset, only the bonding ceremony stood between me and the end of this day. Simple enough — a symbolic kiss, no real mark, exactly as agreed with the Ashfords. I'd done the political-marriage bonding rite before, at other pack functions. It meant nothing. It would take thirty seconds.

The moon hung high over the empty grounds when I stepped toward her. Only a handful of elders remained to witness. Lucille stood still, and that scent from the altar was stronger now — close enough that Fenrir all but vibrated beneath my ribs.

"The bond must now be sealed," the Elder said.

I nodded. Simple enough.

My hand settled on her waist and something in me short-circuited. Fenrir lunged forward so hard it felt physical.

Mine.

I ignored him and lowered my head. I told myself this ended the second my lips touched her skin.

Then her scent filled my lungs completely and every plan I'd walked in with disintegrated. My fangs dropped before I gave the order. Before I fully understood what I was doing, I bit down for real.

The second her blood hit my tongue, the world stopped.

Fenrir didn't surge this time. He roared.

MATE.

I nearly lost my footing for the second time that day.

OUR MATE.

No. Impossible.

MATE.

The word wouldn't stop. It filled every corner of my skull like he'd been waiting years to say it and wasn't going to be talked out of it now. Lucille Ashford was not my mate. This marriage was arranged, brokered over trade routes and borders, agreed to in a conference room by men who'd never once mentioned the Moon Goddess having an opinion on the matter. I did not have time to be invested in a mate. I had an empire to run and elders to manage and I had built every part of my life around needing no one.

Fenrir did not care.

MATE.

She made a small, breathless sound against me that nearly finished off what little control I had left, and Fenrir pushed harder, delighted with himself.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Then she shoved me back — not hard, but enough. I actually stumbled. Nobody put their hands on me like that. Nobody * ‘pushed’ me. I stared down at her, veil still hiding most of her face, and felt something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite amusement either. Bold. I'd give her that.

My hand tightened on her waist without my permission, because Fenrir was losing what remained of his mind and refused to let her put distance between us. The elders were already congratulating us, voices rising in celebration around a moment they didn't fully understand. I barely registered a word of it.

All I could focus on was the person standing in the circle of my arm.

My mate.

Impossible. And undeniably real.

She lifted her veil again and looked up at me, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was completely out of ideas — because Fenrir had just made one thing painfully, permanently clear.

The woman standing in front of me was not simply my wife.

She was my mate.

I'd walked into this wedding expecting a merger. I was walking out of it with something I never asked for and had no idea how to want.