MATED TO MY DEAD HUSBAND'S BROTHER

They buried Kieran on a Tuesday, and I knew—deep in my bones—that something about it was wrong. Not just the day itself — though Tuesday felt too ordinary for something this final — but the way no one cried. Two hundred werewolves stood in perfect formation around the grave, silent and controlled, like this was a ceremony… not a loss. Like they already knew how this story ended. I was the only one crying. I'd stopped trying to hide it somewhere around the third hymn. Let them see. Let them think I was weak. I was human, after all — they'd expected weakness from the beginning. The minister said something about the moon's eternal light and the pack's unbroken bonds. I didn't hear most of it. I stared at the casket, trying to force my mind to understand that Kieran was inside it. That the same man who used to pull me into his arms in the middle of the night—just because he could—was now… nothing but a body in a box. My chest tightened until breathing felt like a mistake. Kieran, who could outrun a car. Who healed from a broken bone in hours. Who'd laughed at me once when I tripped over nothing and told me werewolves didn't fall. Except he did. Off a cliff, during a routine training hunt, in front of a dozen pack members who all said the same thing: it happened too fast, we couldn't reach him, there was nothing we could do. No one could explain why Kieran — the most skilled hunter in the pack — had been the one to fall. And no one would meet my eyes when they told me the story. I'd asked to see him. They'd said no. Gently, but firmly. It's better if you remember him as he was. That was four days ago, and I still didn't believe a word of it. The service ended. People began to move — slow, respectful, perfectly choreographed. I stayed where I was, watching them lower the casket into the ground, and felt something cold settle deep in my chest. This wasn't grief. This was certainty. Something was very, very wrong. The reception was held at the main house. The Blackwood estate was the kind of place that made you feel small just by existing near it. Old stone, tall windows, the kind of architecture that said we've been here longer than you and we'll be here long after you're gone. Kieran had grown up here. I'd moved in after the wedding, and I'd never quite shaken the feeling that I was a guest who'd overstayed her welcome. People filled the main hall with the efficiency of a group that had done this before. Food appeared on tables I hadn't seen anyone set. Drinks were poured. Conversations started in low tones that would gradually rise as people remembered they were allowed to keep living. I stood near the window with a glass of wine I hadn't touched and tried to look like I belonged somewhere. "Elara" I turned. Iris Blackwood stood beside me, holding two plates of food. She was Kieran's younger sister — sharp-eyed, quick-tongued, one of the few people in this pack who'd treated me like a person instead of an inconvenience. She handed me one of the plates without asking. "You need to eat." "I'm not hungry." "I know. Do it anyway." She didn't wait for me to argue, just stood there with the plate extended until I took it. Then she lowered her voice. "How are you holding up?" I looked at her. "How do you think?" "Right. Stupid question." She took a bite of something that looked like a cucumber sandwich. "Listen. There's going to be a meeting tonight. Council, elders, my brother. They'll be discussing — logistics." "Logistics," I repeated flatly. "For the pack. For you." She hesitated. "Under pack law, you're Kieran's widow. But you're human. You don't have rank, you don't have bloodline, and technically — " She stopped. "Technically what?" Iris looked uncomfortable, which on her was rare and deeply unsettling. "Technically, you don't have a reason to stay." The wine glass felt very fragile in my hand. "He's been dead for four days." "I know. I'm not saying it's fair. I'm saying it's how things work here." She glanced around, then back at me. "Caden will handle it. But I wanted you to know it was happening. So you're not blindsided." Caden. Kieran's older brother. The Alpha. The man who'd spoken maybe twenty words to me in two years and hadn't looked me in the eye since the wedding. "Thanks for the warning," I said quietly. Iris squeezed my arm once, then disappeared back into the crowd. I set the wine down. Set the plate down. Walked out of the hall before anyone could stop me. I found an empty sitting room on the second floor and locked the door behind me. Then I stood there in the silence and let myself actually think for the first time in four days. Kieran was dead. The official story was an accident. But accidents didn't explain why he'd been so distracted in the weeks before he died. Why he'd started asking me strange questions about my work in the archives. Why I'd found him in his office at 2am three nights in a row, surrounded by documents he wouldn't let me see. Why the last thing he'd said to me was I'll be back by sunset, I love you — like he was reassuring himself as much as me. I pulled out my phone. Opened the photos I'd taken over the last year — just normal things, moments I'd wanted to remember. I scrolled back to three weeks ago. There. A photo I'd taken of Kieran's desk while he was in the shower, because I'd been teasing him about how messy it was. I zoomed in. Scattered papers. A map of pack territory. And in the corner, barely visible — a page with numbers on it. Financial records, maybe. I zoomed in further. The numbers were highlighted. Circled. Like he'd been tracking something. I stared at that photo for a long time. Then someone knocked on the door. "Elara." I knew that voice. Low, controlled, the kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to fill a room. Caden. I unlocked the door. He stood in the hallway, still in the dark suit from the funeral, looking exactly like what he was: a man who'd spent his entire life learning how to carry weight without showing it. "We need to talk," he said. "About logistics?" Something crossed his face. "Iris told you." "Enough." He nodded once. "My office. Now." It wasn't a request. His office was all dark wood and leather and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that looked like they'd been there for generations. He closed the door behind us and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I sat. He didn't. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, looking at me with an expression I couldn't read. "You heard about the meeting," he said. "I heard I'm a logistics problem." "You're not a problem." His voice was even. Careful. "But your position in the pack is unclear. And unclear positions create complications." "Complications," I repeated. The word tasted bitter. "Your brother's been dead for four days and I'm already a complication." "That's not what I meant." "Then what did you mean?" Caden was quiet for a moment. Then he said, very carefully: "Pack law is clear. A widow without blood ties has thirty days to secure a new bond or leave peacefully." The room tilted slightly. "Leave," I said. "Or stay. Permanently. As family." I stared at him. "I don't understand." "You stay by marrying into the family again." He looked at me directly, unflinching. "You marry me. That secures your position. It honors Kieran's memory. And it ends the questions." For a moment I couldn't breathe. "You're asking me to marry you." "I'm offering you a choice." "A choice," I said, and my voice sounded strange even to me. "Your brother has been in the ground for less than three hours and you're proposing." "I'm giving you options." "Options." I stood up. My hands were shaking and I shoved them in my pockets. "What are my options, exactly? Marry you or leave with nothing and get hunted as a rogue?" "You wouldn't be hunted—" "Don't lie to me." The words came out sharper than I'd intended. "I've lived here for two years. I know what happens to lone humans near pack territory. So tell me the truth. If I leave, how long do I last?" Caden's jaw tightened. "Not long." "Then it's not a choice. It's an ultimatum." "It's the best I can offer." I looked at him — this man I barely knew, who was asking me to bind my life to his in front of a pack that had never wanted me here in the first place. "Why?" I asked. "Why do you even care what happens to me?" He was quiet for a long moment. "Because you were Kieran's," he said finally. "That makes you mine to protect." The word mine didn’t sound protective. It sounded like ownership. The word hung in the air between us. "I need time," I said. "You have thirty days." "I need more than thirty seconds to process this." Something shifted in his expression. Almost like regret. "Take tonight. But I need an answer by morning." "Why the rush?" "Because the longer this is unresolved, the more vulnerable you are." He straightened. "I'm trying to help you, Elara. Even if it doesn't feel like it." I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his help. But I was too tired. So I just nodded and walked to the door. His voice stopped me before I reached it. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About Kieran. About all of this." I looked back. He looked like he meant it. I left before I could decide if that mattered. I went back to my room — the room I'd shared with Kieran for two years — and sat on the edge of the bed and stared at nothing. Marry Caden. Or leave and probably die. Some choice. My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. I opened it. Stop asking questions. Kieran didn’t fall. He was pushed. You’re next. My hands went cold. I stared at that message for a long time. Then I deleted it, turned off my phone, and made a decision. I'd marry Caden Blackwood. I'd stay in this pack. And I'd find out what really happened to my husband. Even if it killed me.