Contracted To My Fated Mate

The gates of Blue Moon Pack territory opened with a groan that echoed through Esmeray’s chest like a warning she should’ve heeded miles ago. She’d been gone three years this time. Three years added on to five years of service she'd done before her mother died. Two thousand nine hundred and twenty days of blood and dirt, the kind of violence that carved itself into bone marrow and stayed there. During her last stint, Esmeray led wolves into battle, strategized and sacrificed. Now she was a decorated war general. Respected, even. And still, the gates opened like jaws. Esmeray got out of her truck, spine straight and shoulders squared. Every inch of her five-foot-eleven frame radiated the kind of authority that made lesser wolves drop their eyes. Her natural hair was pulled back into a thick braid that fell past her shoulder blades. She wore her military leathers, the black on black material fitted with the Blue Moon insignia stitched over her heart and the wolf kingdom’s crest on her right shoulder. Her full lips pressed into a thin line as she surveyed the territory she’d once called home. It looked smaller than she remembered. Or maybe you just got bigger, Snowflake murmured in the back of her mind, her wolf’s voice a low rumble of satisfaction. We’re not the same girl who left. No. They weren’t. The packhouse loomed ahead, a sprawling structure of stone and timber that had housed generations of Blackthornes’. Wolves lined the path leading up to it—pack members who’d come to witness her return. Some faces she recognized. Others were new, younger, eyes wide with the kind of awe reserved for legends. She hated it. Esmeray boots hit the packed earth with a solid thud as she walked. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the compound, painting everything in shades of amber and rust. The air smelled like pine and earth and the faint musk of wolves who’d shifted recently. Home. It should’ve felt like home. Instead, it felt like a trap. The feeling had been gnawing at her for days. “General Blackthorne.” One of the gate guards—a young male she didn’t recognize—stepped forward, head bowed in deference. “Alpha Blackthorne requests your presence in his study immediately.” Alpha Blackthorne, her father. Esmeray’s jaw tightened. He nor her brother had come to welcome her home, but sent someone else in their stead to summon her. “Tell him I’ll be there after I’ve showered and changed.” The guard shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. “He… he said immediately, General. It’s urgent.” Urgent. Right. Because three years of radio silence wasn’t urgent, but the moment she crossed back into pack territory, suddenly everything was a goddess-damned emergency. Snowflake growled low in her chest. I don’t like this. Neither do I. But Esmeray followed the guard toward the packhouse. Her elite team had peeled off at the border to return to their own families, their own lives. She’d dismissed them with gratitude and the promise of a few days’ rest before they reconvened. Now she wished she’d kept at least one of them with her. The packhouse interior was exactly as she remembered, with high ceilings, exposed beams, and that kind of rustic wealth that came from generations of power. Wolves moved through the halls with purpose, some pausing to bow their heads as she passed. She greeted most everyone with a nod, but her focus had narrowed to a single point. Her father’s study. The door was already open when she arrived, as if they’d been waiting. As if they’d been watching. Alpha Theron Blackthorne stood behind his massive oak desk, hands braced on its surface, his dark brown skin weathered by age and authority. He was still a formidable male—broad-shouldered, tall, with silver threading through his close-cropped black hair and beard. His eyes, the same warm brown as Esmeray’s, tracked her movement as she entered. Beside him stood Sagan, her twin. Sagan had always been her other half. At one point and time they’d done everything together. Even dared to dream the same until they couldn’t anymore, until duty called. Esmeray had left to forge herself in fire, Sagan had stayed, had learned to play politics, had positioned himself exactly where their father wanted him. At his right hand. “Esmeray.” Her father’s voice sounded different, deeper. “Welcome home.” She didn’t respond or soften. Just stood in the center of the room, arms loose at her sides, and waited. The silence stretched. Sagan shifted, and she caught the movement in her peripheral vision. He looked good—well-fed, well-rested, the kind of good that came from not spending three years sleeping in war camps and eating rations. He wore fine clothes, dark slacks and a fitted shirt that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. His locs were freshly maintained, pulled back from his face. He looked like an Alpha. “You’ve done well,” her father continued, straightening. “Your reputation precedes you. The Wolf King himself has sung your praises. A decorated war general at thirty. The youngest in the kingdom’s history.” Esmeray said nothing. “You’ve made this pack proud. Made me proud.” Still nothing. Theron’s jaw tightened. He’d never liked her silence, her refusal to fill space with empty words. “I’ve called you here because there are matters we need to discuss. Matters concerning your future.” Here it comes, Snowflake warned. They had been preparing since being given the okay to travel home, even though neither knew for what. “I’m to be beta,” Esmeray said flatly. “When Sagan takes over as Alpha. That was the arrangement before I left.” Something flickered across her father’s face. Regret? Guilt? It was gone too fast to name. “Plans have changed,” Sagan said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deeper than hers, but they shared the same cadence, the same rhythm. Once upon a time, they’d finished each other’s sentences. “The kingdom has changed. The political landscape has shifted.” Esmeray’s gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. “What does that mean?” “It means,” her father said, reclaiming control of the conversation, “that opportunities have presented themselves. Opportunities that will secure Blue Moon’s position for generations to come.” The churning in her gut multiplied. “An alliance has been proposed,” Theron continued. “Between Blue Moon Pack and the royal family.” Her world felt as if it tilted. No. “The Crown Prince,” her father said, and his voice carried the weight of finality, “Kenzo Grayfall, is in need of a mate. The royal council has been searching for a suitable match—someone of pure alpha blood, someone with strength and status. Someone who can stand beside the future Wolf King.” Esmeray’s heart was a war drum in her chest. “No.” “You’ve been chosen,” Sagan said quietly. “The contract was signed two months ago.” Two months. Two. f*****g. Months. “You sold me.” The words came out hard but inside, Snowflake was snarling, clawing, demanding blood. “You sold me.” She repeated the words, trying to come to terms with what it was. With what they’d done. “We secured your future,” her father snapped. “Do you understand what this means? You’ll be the Crown Princess. When Kenzo takes the throne, you’ll be his queen. Blue Moon will have direct ties to the royal family. Our pack will be untouchable.” “I don’t want to be untouchable.” Esmeray’s voice was ice. “I want what was promised to me. I want my place as Sagan’s beta. I want—” “You want to play second to your brother for the rest of your life?” Theron’s voice rose, filling the room. “You’re a pure-blooded alpha, Esmeray. You were born to lead, not to follow. This is your chance to lead an entire kingdom.” “I didn’t ask for this chance.” “You don’t get to ask!” Her father slammed his hand on the desk, the crack of flesh on wood echoing like a gunshot. “You are my daughter. You are a Blackthorne. And you will do your duty to this pack.” Duty. Always duty. Never choice. Never autonomy. Esmeray turned to Sagan, searching his face for something—remorse, hesitation, anything that looked like the brother she’d grown up with. “You agreed to this.” It wasn’t a question. Sagan’s jaw worked. “It’s what’s best for the pack.” “It’s what’s best for you.” The truth tasted disgusting. “You get to be Alpha without competition. Without me challenging you for the title. Without having to split power.” “That’s not—” “Don’t.” Esmeray held up a hand, and Sagan fell silent. “Don’t insult me by pretending this is anything other than what it is. You wanted the title. Father wanted the alliance. And I was convenient.” “Esmeray—” “When do I leave?” She directed the question at her father, her voice stripped of everything but cold professionalism. Theron blinked, clearly not expecting capitulation. “Three days. The Crown Prince will send an escort to bring you to the royal palace. The mating ceremony will take place within the month.” A month. She had a month before her life became someone else’s property. “Is that all?” Esmeray asked. Her father frowned. “We thought you’d have questions. Concerns.” “I have plenty of both. But you’ve made it clear my opinion doesn’t matter.” She turned toward the door, every muscle in her body screaming to shift, to run, to tear something apart with her bare hands. “So unless there’s anything else you need to inform me of, I’d like to be dismissed.” “Esmeray.” Sagan’s voice cracked on her name. “Please. Just listen—” She stopped, hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn around. “I spent three years fighting for this kingdom. Bleeding for it. Killing for it. I came home expecting to finally take my place beside you, to help you lead our pack into a new era.” Her voice dropped, went quiet and deadly. “Instead, I find out I’ve been bartered away like a broodmare. So no, Sagan. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to hear how this is for the greater good or how I should be grateful for the opportunity.” “You’re being unreasonable,” her father said. Esmeray laughed, the sound bitter even to her own ears. “I’m being unreasonable? I’m the one being unreasonable?” She finally turned, and whatever her father saw in her face made him take a step back. “You negotiated my future without my knowledge or consent. You signed a contract binding me to a mate I’ve never met. You took away my choice, my autonomy, my right to decide my own fate. And I’m unreasonable?” “It’s done,” Theron said, but his voice had lost some of its certainty. “The contract is signed. The alliance is set. You can rage against it all you want, but it won’t change anything.” No. It wouldn’t. Because that was the thing about being a woman in a world run by men—even when you were an alpha, even when you were a decorated war general, even when you’d proven yourself a thousand times over, you were still just a piece on someone else’s board. “Then I guess we’re done here,” Esmeray said. She left before either of them could respond, her boots echoing down the hallway like a death march. Wolves scattered out of her path, sensing the violence radiating off her in waves. Snowflake was a caged animal in her mind, pacing, snarling, demanding they shift and run until their paws bled. But Esmeray kept walking. Past the packhouse. Past the training grounds. Past the familiar paths of her childhood until she reached the edge of pack territory, where the forest grew thick and wild. Only then did she let herself break. Only then did she tip her head back and howled her rage at the sky, the sound tearing from her throat like a living thing. Birds scattered from the trees. Small animals fled. And somewhere in the distance, wolves howled in response, recognizing the cry of one of their own in pain. She’d survived war. She’d survived loss. She’d survived things that would’ve broken lesser wolves. But this? This felt like the end of everything she’d fought to become. Esmeray sank to her knees in the dirt, hands fisting in the earth, and let herself feel it—the betrayal, the fury, the bone-deep grief of realizing the people she’d trusted most had sold her future for political gain. We’ll survive this too, Snowflake whispered, but even her wolf sounded uncertain. Will we? Esmeray thought back. Because for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure. For the first time in her life, she felt truly and utterly trapped. And in three days, she’d be delivered to the Crown Prince, expected to smile and play her part in someone else’s story. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and fire. Esmeray stayed on her knees in the dirt and watched the light die.