His Unholy Mate

Iron-shod boots struck the wet bedrock far down the tunnel, the vibration carrying through the stone floor. Bona lifted her head from the slime of the floor, her chains rattling against cold rock. A year in this hole had hollowed her out, her ribs were stark against her gray skin, wrists gnawed raw by the rusted iron. As a wolfless Omega, she had no inner beast to knit bone or dull the freezing damp, and the pack had considered her disposable long before they slapped the chains on. She had stopped waiting for any rescue by the third month and now she could only listen. Torchlight spilled orange across the iron bars as two guards walked up, moving without any rush. The first guard stopped right outside her cell door and looked her up and down as if she were already dead. "Full moon tonight," he said. "You know what that means." Bona stayed silent. "Bet you thought they forgot about you." He crouched near the iron bars, leaning close enough that she smelled roasted fat on his breath. Her empty stomach cramped violently. "Can't sever a forbidden bond until the prince's wolf wakes - not without shattering his mind. But tonight's his ascension." He sneered through the bars. "You were a shock absorber, runt. Now your job is done." Guards had come down here for months to harvest her fear like owed tribute, but she met his eyes and gave him nothing. His smile faded at once, and he stood back up. "Get her on her feet," he ordered. The second guard unlatched the heavy gate and stepped inside, yanking hard enough on her arm that her shoulder screamed. "Get up, witch." The iron bit deep into open sores as her knees gave way. Her wasted legs shook, but she forced herself up, planting her feet flat against the slick rock. Without a wolf to shield her, pride was the only armor she had left. "Move," he snapped, shoving her out into the damp hallway. They marched her between them with a hard grip clamped on each of her arms, dragging her heavy chains across the wet stone floor. The narrow passageway stank of rust and damp earth, though she had stopped noticing the smell months ago. "We kept you breathing strictly for his sake," the first guard taunted, matching her halting pace. "A stray without a wolf somehow tangling strings with the future Alpha. If we had sl*t your throat back then, the psychic snap would have crippled his beast in that instant" He smirked, watching for a flinch . "His beast is awake and now you're just garbage waiting to be cleared." "Then stop talking," she rasped, her parched throat bleeding at the words. "And clear me."The guard's grin hardened into a scowl. Bona fixed her gaze ahead, locking down the shudder in her muscles. They wanted her to weep or to beg on hands and knees like an Omega was supposed to do. The dark passage opened at the base of a wide stone staircase leading toward the night sky. High above the yard, a massive full moon hung in the open darkness, bathing the wet stones in harsh silver. The guards shoved her forward, and her boots hit the first step as freezing air struck her face. The execution grounds waited just ahead. Bona dragged her chains into the blinding flare of the execution yard. Hundreds of pack members stood packed together, their scent heavy with pine, woodsmoke, and raw hostility. She searched the sea of faces for a single flicker of hesitation or perhaps pity and found none, only the revulsion reserved for an anomaly. Born with shock-white hair to two dark-haired noble wolves, she was an unnatural freak they had never understood, a walking bad omen whose wolfless blood had dared touch their royal heir. The guards slammed her back against the splintered execution post, wrenching her arms behind the wood and winding chains. A sharp gasp escaped her before she could swallow it down. Her voice came out level, but beneath the defiance, a cold tremor seized her throat. She forced her eyes up past the sneering front ranks to the royal balcony overlooking the courtyard. High above the mob stood the future Alpha, Kaelen Ashford, cloaked in heavy royal furs, staring down at her with eyes entirely void of emotion. She had never asked for the bond that tangled them together, never wanted his beast or his royal line. Yet here she was, dragged out of a dark hole to bleed on the frozen stones so his wolf could ascend untainted - and he looked upon her agony as nothing more than a necessary cleansing before he turned his head to look away. Bona swallowed down the burning bile and lifted her chin against the cold, refusing to offer him the satisfaction of a single tear. Why would he look away? she thought, holding his gaze. He ordered this altar built, he should have the courage to watch the sacrifice. A tall official stepped out from the ring, his ceremonial sash crisp across his chest and his scroll unrolled. He waited until the yard fell completely quiet. "By pack law, the prisoner stands condemned," he announced, his voice carrying clean over the dirt. "She is found guilty of entrapment of the royal heir through illicit sorcery, and of tainting the royal line with cursed blood. Tonight, beneath the full moon, her punishment will be completed." Witch. Abomination. Curse. They had shouted those words down into her cell every week, testing whether she would break or confess her sorcery. But the insults meant nothing she had not already survived. When the official looked up from the parchment, she held his gaze. "Do you offer any final plea before the pack?" he asked. "Will you beg for mercy?" "Get on with it," she said. He rolled the scroll shut. The executioner stepped forward. His blade was long and polished, moonlight running clean along the steel edge. Around the perimeter, the crowd shifted, bodies leaning forward to secure a clear view of the post. The executioner raised the blade above her ribs. Right before the strike, her eyes flickered open once more. High above on the dais, kaelen remained carved from stone, his gaze cold and utterly unmoved but he looked...conflicted she thought or maybe she had imagined it. Bona shut her eyes. The blade plunged straight through her chest and agony tore the breath from her lungs. Her vision had started to blur, she landed on her knees and fell face flat on the cold courtyard. In her final moment she thought at least, this suffering has finally been taken away from her, she no longer felt resentment or hatred for anyone, no, in that fleeting second, all she felt was peace. The world went black. Then air slammed back into her throat. Bona gasped awake, stumbling on two sound feet. The dark courtyard was gone. Warm lantern light flooded her vision, thick with the smell of roasting meats and sweet wine. Her hands clawed at her chest, expecting a bloody hole and cracked bones, but her fingers gripped clean emerald silk. Her ribs were whole. Her body was unharmed. Drums hammered through the soles of her satin slippers, vibrating against the earth in a sacred rhythm. Golden lanterns illuminated laughing faces, wine goblets, and velvet mantles. Around her, high-ranking wolves preened in their finest robes, while omegas in service livery scurried to pour wine. Bona pulled back her sleeves with shaking fingers. Her wrists were smooth and clean, untouched by iron. There were no sores nor scars. She was whole again, exactly as she had been before the dungeon. An attendant bustled behind her, smoothing the velvet stole across her collarbones with brisk, careless hands, snapping open a brass pocket watch with a sharp click. "The royal dais is already seated. Stand straight, girl" the woman said. Bona's pulse spiked into her throat. "What is the hour?" "Midnight is in five minutes," the woman hissed, tugging Bona's sleeve into place. "The pairing ritual begins on the final chime. When the future Alpha steps onto the sacred dais to choose, every unwed female must present her wrist. You know the law, even if you are only just an Omega."The words crashed through Bona like an avalanche. Midnight. One year ago tonight, on the stroke of midnight, the future Alpha had crossed the courtyard. When their hands had accidentally brushed in the press of bodies, the bond had ignited like wild kerosene, sealing her fate and condemning her as a witch who cursed the heir. The drums slowed to a heavy, steady beat. Horns blew from the pavilion, commanding total silence. She had minutes before the touch that killed her. If she stayed in line, the bond would lock in. The chains, the dungeon, the blade in her chest- it would all happen again. Not this time, she thought she wouldn't let herself die again. Bona turned away from the crowd, scanning the room for an exit. Then her eyes fell on a shadow. Near the lantern-lit pavilion edge, partially cloaked in the gloom, stood a broad, towering stranger. In a sea of tailored velvet and royal finery, he was violently out of place, wrapped in a coarse, mud-spattered traveling cloak over battered commoner leather. The royal herald drew breath for the final call. Two minutes. Bona turned her back on the dais and took her first deliberate step toward the shadow.