The Alpha Who Faked Our Bond

For five years, I had worn a ring that meant nothing to the Moon. No sacred rites beneath the blood moon, no vows before the Elders, no binding howl under the ancient oak where true mates pledged eternity. Only a paper contract, Sebastian, Alpha of the Mooncrest Pack, pressed into my hands, promising the ceremony would come when the pack was stable. Five winters passed, and the Moon never recognized me as his mate.

When I dared to ask again last week, while folding his leathers, my voice trembling with hope, he didn’t even look up.