Chapter 4 _ His mate
1196 Words
She had turned away from him.
Not because she wanted to. Not because the bond had snapped. But because someone had interfered—a flash of silver cutting into his view
A girl.
Wolf.
Alive in every sense of the word. Her mask shimmered like starlight, her dress flowing like a second skin. She moved with ease, grace, freedom—the kind of creature who fit into this glittering world without even trying.
The kind of girl who should have been his mate.
Not the trembling, delicate figure in earth-tones clinging to a bar like it was her only anchor.
And yet…
His wolf snarled at the thought. No.
This one. This fragile, silent girl was the one he wanted. The one his soul had screamed for. The only one who ever made him feel truly seen.
The wolf didn't care about elegance or power or pedigree. It wanted her.
And when he watched the two of them—his mate and the silver girl—he saw something he hadn’t expected. Trust.
The way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. The way she let the girl in silver into her space. She didn’t do that easily. He could tell. She wasn’t just any guest. She was…safe.
It made something twist in his chest. Jealousy. Not of the girl—but of what she represented.
He wanted Aria to look at him that way. To find safety in him.
But she didn’t.
She had run from him first. Rejected him first
And that truth still burned.
He gritted his teeth, his wolf pacing behind his skin. The silver girl turned to leave, fading into the crowd like moonlight.
And then—
Another man stepped in.
A young wolf. Dressed sharp. Confident. His hand extended toward her.
Lucian was on his feet before he could think. He didn’t remember standing. Didn’t remember crossing the room.
He only knew that when that stranger reached for her, she reached back.
Not yet touching—but close enough to hurt.
Mine.
The word thundered through him, violent and final.
In the next breath, he was beside her. Her delicate fingers still half-lifted when he closed his hand around hers.
Warm. Fragile.
Perfect.
“It’s my turn,” he growled low, voice meant only for her.
The other wolf looked into Lucian’s eyes—or what he could see of them behind the mask—and stepped away without a sound.
Lucian hadn’t needed to bare fangs. A fraction of power was enough.
He didn’t care who watched as he led her to the center of the ballroom. Didn’t care about the murmurs, the gasps, the unspoken questions.
He wanted them to see.
To know.
She was his.
His woman. His mate. His to protect. His to claim.
Even masked, they could feel who he was. They didn’t need a name. His presence spoke louder than any title.
And here he was…dancing with a girl in a simple green dress and a brown mask. She looked like something out of the forest, not a palace—human, grounded, untouched by their world.
But she was his.
And she wasn’t breathing.
Her heart raced like a frightened bird’s in his hand, her pulse stuttering beneath his touch. His wolf clawed to the surface, wild and frenzied—but Lucian held it back.
Instead, he leaned down, voice gentled by something he didn’t understand.
“Breathe,” he said.
Just one word.
But it was enough to steady her. Just a little.
“I’m the center of attention,” he said, his voice smooth but quiet, brushing against her ear like a whisper of wind. “Not you. They’re watching me. So relax.”
She didn’t speak. But he felt it—the shift in her body. Her fingers loosened slightly in his hand, her spine uncoiling just enough to move with the rhythm. Her eyes fluttered shut, just for a moment, as though letting herself forget where they were. Letting the music carry her.
Lucian watched her closely.
That tiny surrender—so subtle, so delicate—hit him harder than a battlefield charge. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t name the thing inside him that softened when she leaned into him just slightly, like she’d let down a piece of the wall she kept so tightly guarded.
His grip remained steady. His steps sure.
He had always been the center of attention. Since the day he first shifted under the blood moon, when lightning split the sky in answer to his howl and his wolf declared its dominion. The other packs had seen him as something terrifying, something regal, something untouchable. Even before the title of Alpha had been passed down, he’d already carried it in how the ground trembled beneath his feet.
Eyes had always followed him. Respect. Fear. Awe. It was nothing new.
But this girl—this human—wasn’t drawn to the spotlight. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the candlelight, into the crowd, into herself.
And yet she was the only one he could see.
She didn’t need to try to claim him. Didn’t beg for his attention like the others. She didn’t even want it.
Which made his obsession with her all the more maddening.
He breathed her in again—jasmine and lilies and something softer underneath, like spring rain on warm earth. Even cloaked in spellwork, her scent curled into his lungs and refused to let go.
He’d never wanted someone so much and understood them so little.
Lucian drew her gently through a slow turn, his hand warm against her back.
“What’s your name?” he asked finally, breaking the silence that had settled between them like a fragile truce.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
Just silence.
He swallowed, eyes narrowing slightly behind the mask.
“I want to see your face,” he said next, softer now, but no less true.
And then—just above the swell of strings and whispered murmurs—she spoke.
“I don’t want you to,” she said.
He heard the fear in it. The resistance. The raw truth.
And even though every part of him—every instinct, every bone, every breath—wanted to reach up and unmask her, to see the girl his soul had already claimed… he didn’t.
He didn’t force her.
Didn’t demand what she wasn’t ready to give.
Instead, he stayed still, moving with her in a slow, measured rhythm, his hand resting firmly on her waist, anchoring her.
His jaw tensed. His wolf snarled in protest. But Lucian didn’t move to break the moment.
Because for the first time in his life, someone had told him no.
And for the first time… he chose to listen.
He didn’t wait out of patience.
He waited for trust.
For the moment she’d look up and choose him—not because fate had written it, not because her blood called to his, not because the bond demanded it—but because she wanted to.
And when that moment came, he would be ready.
Not as a king. Not as a lycan.
But as hers.
- Writer
