The Moons Mistake
769 Words
Astrid
“My little mate.”
The words hit me like a slap. Sharp. Burning. Instant.
My body locks up, every muscle seizing with disbelief. My throat goes dry, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
What… what did he just say?
I look at Nicholas, praying he’ll laugh. That he’ll roll his eyes and tell this stranger that claiming a woman isn’t the same thing as ordering off a damn menu. But he’s not laughing. He doesn’t even look surprised.
He looks grim. Silent.
And that’s when it sinks in. The strange scent from earlier. The heat that spiraled through my bloodstream during the run. The way my wolf has been pacing just beneath the surface—excited, alert, curious.
Oh, Moon Goddess.
No. No, no, no.
This man—this total stranger—is my fated mate.
I stumble back a step. Pure instinct. Fear... maybe something darker. Something heavier. Something that whispers danger and destiny in the same breath.
Because he’s not just any Alpha.
He has that look.
The kind that silences rooms. That commands without needing to speak. Cold eyes. A smirk that drips arrogance, and danger, and unspoken threats. Like he enjoys being the villain in everyone’s story.
And those eyes…
Pitch black, rimmed in smoky steel grey. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach twist. Like I’ve seen them before in the ghosts of forgotten memories past.
He steps closer. And I freeze all over again.
“I don’t know you,” I growl.
“You will.” His voice is deep. Rough. Like gravel and smoke and whiskey that’s been left too long in the sun.
Nicholas moves—protective, careful—stepping slightly between us. “Astrid—”
“No.” I cut him off, hand raised. “I’m not leaving.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I feel it. That ache in my chest. That invisible pull. The magnetic thread that hums between us like a live wire.
Fate. Stupid fate.
The Moon Goddess doesn’t make mistakes. But sometimes? She makes you wish she did.
I study him now, eyes scanning every hard edge of his frame. He’s tall. Tanned. Broad in a way that feels like a warning. Midnight-black hair in a messy sweep. A small, faint scar slices above one brow. Tattoos wrap up both arms, curling under the sleeves of his shirt like whispers in a language I don’t speak.
And he smells like… goddess he smells good.
Leather. Pine. And Thunder. Like the forest before a storm breaks—wild and electric and cruelly beautiful. My wolf doesn’t run. She doesn’t growl or recoil. She tilts her damn head and waits.
The worst part? He doesn’t even look happy about it.
There’s no awe in his gaze. No wonder. No soft, reverent realisation that we’re bound by something divine. If anything—he looks annoyed. Like this bond is an inconvenience. Like I’ve personally ruined his week.
“Who are you?” I ask, voice soft despite the steel I’m trying to summon.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Dom.”
That’s it. One syllable.
But it lands like a blow.
Dom.
It feels too big. Too heavy. Like I already know the weight of that name. As if my bones remember something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet. The way he’s looking at me… like he’s already made a decision. Like he knows exactly who I am—and hates me for it. I see it in the tight clench of his jaw. In the fists he’s fighting not to curl. In every flicker of heat in those bottomless eyes.
Nicholas tries again, tension radiating off him like steam. “Dom, maybe this isn’t the time—”
“I’m taking her with me,” Dom says flatly. Just like that. Like he’s discussing a goddamn parcel. “She belongs in my pack now.”
“Like hell I do.” I snap, spine straightening with the kind of fury that scorches.
His lips twitch. Not quite a smile. Not quite not. “Mate law says otherwise, Princess.”
Mate.
Law.
I nearly choke. I want to scream. I want to run. I want to punch the Moon Goddess right in her starry little face. Because whatever this is—whatever he is—I am not ready. Not for the bond. Not for the pull. Not for this storm that’s crackling at the edge of my soul, whispering that everything is about to change.
That everything already has.
- Writer
