It's become unbearable.
Alpha Fenris grips the railing behind the pack house, the cold wind cutting across his face like a blade.
The land stretching before him should feel like his. It once did, but now, it feels distant, stripped of its connection to him. No longer his to claim.
He stands on the edge of everything he's spent his life holding onto, and for the first time, he feels it slipping completely.
The weight of failure grows heavier by the day, the quiet murmurs in the pack growing louder.
He's only one step away from giving up completely. The officials are waiting for the moment he says it aloud. That he's done. That he's ready to step down. That the title can go to Callum.
Callum, his stepbrother, already has everything. A devoted mate. An heir growing strong in her womb. The favor of the pack. The same Alpha blood passed down from their father.. a legacy many now believe was always meant for Callum. Chosen by the goddess herself.
Fenris became Alpha not out of convenience, but through birthright. He is the firstborn, born of the true bond, he's the rightful heir.
Callum is the product of an affair, a truth no one dares speak aloud anymore. All anyone sees now is Callum's strength, his charisma, the way people gravitate toward him.
No one believes in Fenris anymore. What is left for him?
Nothing.
It all began to fall apart the moment it became clear to him that he was unmated. Twenty-six and still untouched by a bond.
He has never experienced heat, never been near the one who's meant to complete him. For wolves like him, time is cruel, once thirty comes, the body begins to fail, instincts dull, strength fades, and even an omega would be better than them.
And Fenris can already feel it, it's already happening to him.
His bones ache more with each passing day, his senses have become slower. Even his wolf, once fierce and obedient, now resists him, answers only when it chooses.
He cannot lead like this. He cannot protect the pack the way an Alpha must. Other packs have sensed the change and struck hard, pushing into their borders.
Fenris has tried to fight back. He has given everything he has left but it hasn't been enough.
Callum has done what he could not. He's fought, spoken before the council, and made decisions that have brought the pack back to safety. And they've followed him for it.
Still, Fenris refuses to let go, not because of pride or history, but because he knows Callum... and more importantly, he knows what Callum's mother is capable of.
If power shifts completely into their hands, Fenris fears what will happen next, he's seen what lies beneath the surface.
When the pressure builds too much to bear, he disappears into the city. He pulls on a thick jacket, shoves his hands into the pockets with a mask on and walks until the noise swallows him.
The city is alive with sound and lights, but none of it touches him. His thoughts drown out everything.
Near a packed pub as he walks by, something hard and sudden crashes into him from the inside. His steps falter and breath stops mid-chest.
His wolf lifts its head fully alert after a very long time of being dormant, wide-eyed, urgent in a way Fenris has never felt before. A single word slams through him like a command.
Mate.
It doesn't feel like curiosity or wonder, it feels like instinct, like purpose roaring awake. His heart hammers. Heat rushes through his spine, every part of him responds to the call without question.
His thoughts fades as he moves unconsciously toward the door.
The moment he pushes it open, the air inside hits him like a wave.. Sweat, Alcohol, Noise.
Music pounds from every corner, and bodies move in a wild rhythm under flashing lights. The scent thickens the air, clogging his senses, yet one thread cuts through everything.
His wolf pushes forward, desperate to get closer.
Strangers reach out to him, hands brush his arm, voices call for his attention but he ignores them all.
He searches inside the place like he is so sure of the face he's looking for.
But the fact is that he doesn't know where the mate is, only that they're close, he can feel the pull coming from just around him, steady and unrelenting. His nerves spark, his blood heating up.
He closes his eyes, lets the bond guide him, and unconsciously... he turns moving forward, then his eyes snap open.
A red light spills across the stage.
There, a slim figure moves with the music, every step flowing into the next with deliberate control.
Long, colorful hair cascades over bare shoulders. A tiny top clings tightly across the chest, the straps gleaming faintly beneath the lights.
The shorts they wear sit dangerously low on their hips, revealing more than they hide.
Fenris doesn't realize he's moving until he's in the crowd, heat burning through his chest as his hand reaches out before his mind catches up. He grabs a slender wrist and pulls the dancer down from the stage.
The moment their skin touches, fire races through his blood. His wolf lets out a low, guttural howl that only he can hear, the sound of victory and desperate want.
A surge of strength rushes through him, and his body jolts as if it had forgotten what it felt like to be strong, to feel this alive.
This is it. He thinks, ..This is really his mate. There's no doubt, just being this close, just the slightest touch, and he can already feel his power returning.
He pulls the dancer through the crowd toward the exit.
A shout comes from the crowd. "What the hell?! Where are you taking her?!"
But Fenris doesn't stop, and the dancer doesn't resist either, following without hesitation.
Outside, the night air is cool and sharp, but it does nothing to calm the heat building in Fenris's body.
When the dancer turns to him, there's already a smile on their face.. slow, sly, as if this moment has played out before.
"Couldn't wait till I was done... Mmh?" The voice is low and velvety, thick with casual heat. A hand glides up Fenris's chest, fingers trailing over his jacket without hesitation. "You want a quiet place now, or do you wanna…"
Fenris grabs the hand and pushes it away sharply.
A sour taste rises in his throat.
Is this truly his mate?
This person dancing half-naked for strangers, covered in glitter and perfume, speaking like intimacy is a transaction?
How many others have seen this act? How many more behind closed doors?
Shame, disbelief and frustration twists deep inside him. He remembers the vow he made long ago. The promise to the moon goddess that he would honor his mate, cherish them, protect them above all.
But now that the moment is here, all he feels is frustration.
And yet… his body tells a different truth.
His strength is already returning, his skin hums with heat, his senses sharpen and his wolf has gone restless with need, satisfied by the nearness of what it has longed for.
He knows what he needs, if he marks this one, he can survive. He can fight again. He can be the same powerful alpha again. And he can't afford to lose this opportunity.
Immediately he decides to take what the goddess gave and reshape it into something worthy. No one can know what kind of a mate he was given, or else his reputation will collapse completly.
At the pack house, he moves swiftly through the dark halls. When they reach his room, he locks the door.
Only then does he truly look at the figure in front of him glowing in the soft light, every movement seductive and unashamed.
The heat in Fenris ignites all over again, his wolf growls low beneath his skin, aching to close the distance.
"You're not the talking type, huh?" the dancer murmurs, voice slow and teasing. "That's fine. I'm the action type too."
The words slice through his temper. How many others have she said that to? He wonders.
Still, he moves, and he doesn't even realize it until he has the dancer beneath him, body pinned against the bed, his hands on either side.
But without warning, the dancer shifts beneath him, a small bottle slips from a pocket, and a sharp spray hits Fenris's face.
He recoils instantly, blinking through the sting.
When his vision clears, everything sharpens.
"What kind of rat are you?" he growls.
The eyes staring up at him are wide, startled, blinking fast. Panic sets in. "What the hell! Why didn't it work on him!?" The voice comes in a Punic.
Fenris doesn't answer, he grabs the bottle and throws it away, his hand slides back up warm skin, instinct already drowning out logic. The scent and heat blinding his senses.
He leans in, one palm pressing against their chest, but he freezes after feeling it. Only for the fake breasts to fall out of the tiny top. His eyes widen with shock.
His fingers move again, lower. His eyes following the curve of the hips as if to confirm.
His fingers brush over the dancers bulge, only for it to harden more under his touch.
Fenris's hands jerk away as if burned. He stumbles back from the bed.
This isn't a woman.
He stands there, chest heaving, his mind crashes under the weight of what he sees, unable to process it.
But even now, his wolf pushes forward, restless and hurting from the sudden distance. Like it wants to go back, wants to feel again.
His body still trembles with the need to go back but his mind screams to throw him out.
Because this... this can't be his mate.
And if it is, then what the hell did he do to the moon goddess to deserve this!?