My Rival, My Mate

PAYNE'S POV I wasn’t meant to be here. This world, sparkling with gold and drowning in decadence, wasn't mine. If the Wisehearts knew this truth, they would have me hung in the town square… or whatever the wolves of their rank in their pack did to those they thought were filthy. But they wouldn’t find out. I had ensured that. The mask on my face was more than just a disguise for the Wisehearts' Northern Predators masquerade ball. It was a shield that concealed the truth about who I truly was. My hands were covered in blood beneath the polished exterior and carefully practiced charm. His blood. Edward Moreau. Loyal to the Wiseheart, a rising star in their tight-knit pack, but tragically naive. Just the perfect target. I still remember the way he looked at me after the blade of my claws sank into his chest: confused, hurt, and betrayed. He never saw it coming. “You… you’re not supposed to…” His words had sputtered out with his final breath, his life spilling across my hands like ink on parchment. He was right. I wasn’t supposed to. But I had done it anyway. Now I wore his name like a perfectly tailored suit. Edward Moreau had received an invitation to the Wisehearts’ masquerade ball, and now so had I. I adjusted the black leather mask obscuring the upper half of my face and then brushed a hand over the crisp lapels of my borrowed tuxedo. Edward had been very particular and meticulous about appearances, and I had worked really hard to keep up the charade. The grand ballroom of Wiseheart Manor was a marvel of opulence. Gilded arches framed massive windows, and crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow. The scent of wealth and privilege clung to the air, sickly sweet and suffocating. But beneath it all, I could feel the pulse of something primal. Wolves in human clothing prowled the room, their power barely contained beneath their polished exteriors. I didn’t belong here. But no one had noticed. Yet. “Edward, darling!” A voice like honey dripping over razors cut through the din, and I turned to face the source. Gwendolyn Wiseheart, the eldest daughter of the dynasty, glided toward me with the grace of a queen. Her silver mask glittered under the chandelier’s light, and her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes. “Gwen.” I forced a smile, dipping my head in a polite nod. She reached for my arm, her nails digging in just enough to remind me that this was no friendly gesture. “Mother was hoping to speak with you. You’ve been avoiding us all evening.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said smoothly. The lie rolled off my tongue like silk. Her gaze lingered on me, sharp and probing. For a moment, I wondered if she could see through the mask, through the facade. But then she smiled again, releasing my arm with a dismissive flick of her fingers. “Don’t keep her waiting.” I nodded again, excusing myself with a gracious bow. As I moved away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. Gwendolyn was dangerous, but she wasn’t the reason I was here. No, my focus was on her. Nova Wiseheart. She was a golden flame in the midst of the shimmering crowd, her gown clinging to her like liquid sunlight. Even with her mask, there was no mistaking her. She moved with a confidence that was almost theatrical. Her laughter was a sharp, melodic note cutting through the hum of the room. But I knew better. That laughter wasn’t real. I’d watched her long enough from the shadows to recognise the cracks in her facade: the fleeting moments of hesitation, the way her hands clenched at her sides when she thought no one was looking. She was playing a role, just like me. But where I had the truth of murder weighing on my conscience, she had secrets of her own. The pull toward her was magnetic, primal, and utterly inconvenient. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, growling its approval at the sight of her. Her scent—orchids and plum—was intoxicating, clouding my thoughts. But I couldn’t afford distractions. I’d come here with a purpose: to infiltrate the Wisehearts, gather intel, and leave before they realised who... or what, I really was. And yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. I drifted closer, careful to keep my movements casual and inconspicuous. No one paid me any mind; I was just another guest in a room full of masks. She didn’t notice me at first. She was too engrossed in her conversation with some overdressed fool who was trying far too hard to win her favor. I stopped just behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. My wolf growled again, and I swallowed hard, forcing it down. When I finally spoke, my voice was low, barely more than a whisper. “You shouldn’t wander alone, Nova.” She froze. Her body tensed as she turned to face me. Her eyes, sharp and defiant, locked onto mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The energy between us crackled with electricity and danger. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Someone who knows exactly who you are.” I was teasing. Or was I not? Her expression flickered, just for a moment, before she masked it with irritation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Don’t you?” I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a growl. “I can smell it on you, little wolf.” Her breath hitched, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction. She tried to step back. But I moved with her, keeping the distance between us agonisingly close. “You don’t belong here,” she said, her voice quieter now. Yes, practically anyone who knew who she was or why she was called the Black Sore of their pack wasn't permitted to be close to her. No one was permitted to get so attached to her. I laughed softly, the sound dark and humorless. “Neither do you.” I just enjoyed the banter. Yet, it wasn't a lie. Wasn't she supposed to be hiding or something? Her eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear flicker across her face. Before she could respond, the moment shattered as a shrill voice called her name. “Nova!” A girl in a crimson dress stumbled toward us. Terrible. Her irking laughter grated against my ears. “Oh my God, Nova, you look amazing!” Nova stiffened, her mask slipping back into place. She turned away from me. Her attention was now focused on the bloody interruption. But as she walked away, I stayed rooted to the spot, my gaze still fixed on her retreating figure. She might think she could escape me; the mai n reason behind her being called a Black Sore, but she was wrong. The hunt had only just begun.