Chapter Three

My fingertips were still tingling.

Second Chance. A second fated bond.

Norton. A Beta who needed to join with his fated mate to awaken as an Alpha.

…the moon goddess really did have a sense of humor.

When the feast finally broke up and Owen was surrounded by elders discussing mining details, I slipped toward the edge of the crowd.

Someone fell into step beside me.

Norton.

We cooperated without a word, skirting around the long table and slipping through the side door. The heavy wooden doors shut behind us, cutting off the banquet noise in an instant. We walked down a curve in the corridor before Norton stopped.

“Just now.” He spoke first, studying me for a couple seconds. “Didn’t you feel like… something was off?”

I knew exactly what he meant, but I only looked back, cool. “Off how?”

He pressed his lips together, obviously not used to talking about things like this.

“That… mental thing. That… moment… I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

He hesitated, then went on.

“I’ve never sensed anything like it. But just now… it really felt like… like…”

“A fated mate link,” I finished for him.

Silence fell in the hallway.

Norton froze, staring at me. “Then… we…”

“So what?” I asked.

He blinked, thrown off by that.

“The moon goddess thinks this is funny and switched out my chain,” I said. “But my life is not a pair of dice for her to play with.”

His brows furrowed deeper. “Normally speaking, a fated mate is—”

“I’ve never lived off anyone’s love.” I met his eyes levelly. “Maybe I used to fantasize about it. I don’t anymore.”

He frowned harder. “That’s not what I meant. I just—”

“Even if we really are fated,” I said, “so what?”

I lifted a hand, gesturing at the ice-cold pile of stone around us.

“Once I leave, none of this has anything to do with me,” I said slowly. “Not Coyote. Not this pack. Not these people.”

I paused, then looked at him. “Not you.”

Norton’s fingers curled into a fist, then slowly loosened. There were things he wanted to say. In the end, he didn’t. He just drew in a long breath. We stood facing each other like that, neither of us mentioning the word “fated” again.

Until footsteps sounded behind us.

“What are you talking about?”

That familiar voice came from the direction of the hall, heavy with the pressure that only showed on full-moon nights.

Norton and I turned at the same time.

Owen stood in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his formal jacket draped over one arm, the other hand shoved casually in his pocket. His eyes, however, were anything but casual.

He looked between us, gaze flicking back and forth. Whatever smile had been on his face slowly faded.

Norton straightened instinctively. “Alpha.”

Owen ignored him, eyes fixed on me. He jerked his chin. “Come with me.”

He grabbed my wrist in a rough, uncompromising grip and dragged me away. I didn’t resist or help; I simply let him haul me along.

We cut through the back doors and down the steps toward the parking lot. Cold wind sliced through the seams of my dress, burning away what little alcohol was left in my system. My head felt painfully clear.

“Talk.” Owen slammed me up against the side of a car, looking down at me. “What were you two discussing?”

Familiar Alpha pressure rolled off him, that sharp cedar scent filling the air.

I knew I no longer felt that suffocating shutdown in my core—that was the half-mark gone. His presence could no longer crush its way into the depths of me. But my body still reacted, tension locked into old habits, making it feel like he still had me pinned.

“He was asking about fated mates. He wants to awaken.” I said it plainly.

Owen stared at me for a few seconds. I could see him deciding how much of that was truth and how much was deflection. His dominance flared stronger.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” I held his gaze. “Ask him.”

We stared each other down for several long beats. Finally, he seemed to believe his own pressure—to believe I wouldn’t dare lie with that weight bearing down on me.

His grip shifted, his palm sliding up to the half-mark at my neck, thumb pressing down, like he was reminding me of something.

“Don’t forget,” he said quietly. “Your father sent you here to repay a life debt.”

He articulated each word with icy clarity. “That means your life, your claws, belong to Coyote.”

He moved closer, his breath brushing my ear.

“To me.”

Cold wind whipped past his shoulder, carrying the smell of snow and booze.

“Without my say-so,” he murmured, “you’d better not get any ideas.”

I stared at him and suddenly found it all a little funny—not that I smiled.

“I understand,” I said flatly.