His Hidden Mate

Chapter2

Yara' POV

No one speaks as they lead me into the grand hall of the pack house. This is where the “ceremony” will happen, though calling it that is a joke. There are no flowers, no music, no celebration. Only a few uninterested witnesses stood at the front with my father and a man I'd never seen before.

Helter. I know it’s him. He’s the only stranger here.

Of course, he’s handsome. That’s the cruel part. The gods seem to bless their monsters with beauty, as if the world should admire them even while they destroy them.

Helter towers over everyone else. His frame is all muscle, shifting with quiet strength. He wears black from head to toe, his long leather coat flowing when he moves, like he’s trying to merge with the shadows themselves. He doesn’t look like anyone from our pack. He looks darker. Wilder. Dangerous.

My eyes lifted to his face. Sharp features. A powerful jaw, high cheekbones. Full lips pressed into a hard line. And then his eyes, gold, bright and predatory, like a wolf mid-hunt.

When I step closer, he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften. He just stares, as if I’m nothing but an object to claim. And that tells me everything I need to know.

The stories were right. He’s a beast. A killer. A nightmare wrapped in an attractive shell, meant to trick you into thinking he’s safe. But he’s not. He’s waiting. Waiting for the right moment to tear me apart.

He takes a single step toward me, and my body locks tight. In a heartbeat, I think he’ll speak. He doesn’t. His gaze only drags over me, steady and sharp, as if measuring exactly what he’s bought.

I force myself not to flinch, not to look away.

If I do, he’ll see me as weak. And if I’m his wife, I can’t cower every time his eyes are on me.

I don’t speak, I don’t even dare. I don’t know what his rules are yet.

The priest begins. His voice is flat, like he just wants it over with. There’s no joy, no weight, nothing that makes this feel like a wedding.

But then, why would there be? This isn’t love. It isn’t even an alliance. It’s just a deal, a transaction.

I do what I’m told, say what I’m supposed to, never hesitating. And then it’s done, sealed.

Helter doesn’t touch me, doesn’t claim me in front of them. No kisses, no gestures at all. He only turns, hands my father the money, and then glances at me once before striding out the door.

His order is clear: Follow, don’t ask, don’t speak.

I glance at my father, but he won’t look at me. Part of me almost respects that. Why waste energy on someone who no longer exists? He sold me off. In his world, that means I’m gone.

So, I turn, I follow. Outside, the air is cold and sharp against the thin dress. Smoke and damp earth cling to the night.

On the steps, a maid stands waiting. She holds out a small bag.

“Your things,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of pity or kindness, just duty.

I took it. It’s light. Too light. But then again, I never had much. These are simply the things he decided I should have.

I swallow hard and glance back at the pack one last time.

No one’s watching me leave. No one’s saying goodbye. And why would they? They never cared. The guards keep patrolling, the omegas rush to finish their chores, life goes on, as if I were never here.

But it stings. Spirits, it stings. Twenty-three years in this place, and I don’t even get a single farewell. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I never meant to exist.

The roar of an engine pulls my head forward. A sleek black car rolls up the steps, too polished, too perfect to belong here. It gleams like it doesn’t belong in this world. And I know it doesn’t belong to a rogue.

So how does he have it? My chest tightens. Where is he taking me? Helter has no pack, no land, no kingdom. And yet here’s this car, shining like a crown.

Who exactly is this man I’ve been sold to?

Helter doesn’t answer. He walks to the car, steady and sure, never looking back.

I clutch my bag tighter. The life I had is gone. No turning back. I forced my feet to follow him inside.

I lean back, confused as the driver pulls us away. A driver for a rogue? That alone feels wrong. Rogues aren’t supposed to have loyalty. They don’t have people working for them. So why does he?

The thought gnaws at me. Is he really a rogue at all? Or did my father lie about everything?

I press my hands against the smooth leather seat. Softer than anything I’ve ever touched. Back home, I wasn’t allowed comfort—wooden chairs only, as if I didn’t deserve them.

The scent in the car is his. Helter. All Helter. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. Even as the car glides down the road, silent and steady, he stares ahead.

Maybe it’s better this way. If I don’t exist with him, maybe he won’t hurt me. Foolish, I know—but it’s all I have.

It bothers me, though. At the wedding, he didn’t acknowledge me. Here, in this car, nothing. Just silence, stretching thicker with every mile.

I hugged my bag closer, as if it could anchor me. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t have the right to ask. None of this makes sense. Why didn’t my father question it? The car, the driver, the wealth—none of it fits the word “rogue.”

I glanced at him. Sharp jaw, muscles shifting with each exhale. My eyes linger too long. His gaze flicks toward me. Heat crawls up my neck. He saw me.

I stay quiet, watching the world blur past the window. My only home is behind me, and whatever lies ahead feels like a dangerous mystery.

The car hums steadily. The air is heavy. Maybe it’s tension. Maybe it’s just me. Either way, I clutched my bag tighter, as if it could save me from what was coming.

The trees blur past. Hours seem to pass. The sun dips low, the sky darkens. I have no idea where we’re going, only that it’s far.

Then, his voice cuts through the silence. Deep. Commanding. Controlled.

“There are rules,” Helter says. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. “You won’t run. I don’t care what you’re used to, but if you try, you’ll regret it.”

I swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the glass. My chest tightens. I want to speak, to protest, but I know better.

I am his now. And I have no choice.

“You’ll have your own room, everything you need,” he adds, and I blink, surprised. “I don’t share my bed.”

Relief should come, but it doesn’t. It feels more like another chain.

“But when I want you, you’ll give in.”

My stomach flips. My grip tightens on the bag in my lap. Of course, this was coming. This marriage isn’t real, it’s a transaction. My body is part of the price. I remind myself I’ve survived worse, but the thought doesn’t stop the unease clawing at my throat.

“I don’t tolerate disobedience,” he continues, his tone flat, as if reciting rules. “And I expect honesty. Tell me, have you found your mate?”

The question catches me off guard. It doesn’t fit with the rest of his inquiries. When I turned eighteen, the bond should have revealed itself, but it never did. Another reason my pack despises me.

“No,” I reply quietly. “I have not found my mate.”

He furrows his brow, studying me. “Have you been with anyone at all?”

Heat rushes to my face. My fingers dig into my thighs as shame creeps up my skin. I know what he’s getting at. I know he won’t like the truth.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m still a virgin.”

He emits a low sound in his throat, perhaps with approval. Then silence.

For a long moment, he remains still, not uttering a word. I forced myself to steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s observing me, and the intensity sends a cold shiver down my spine. His golden eyes meet mine, inscrutable, unwavering.

Then he exhales, as if my words were inconsequential, and resumes his questioning.

“How old are you?”

I hesitate. Shouldn’t he already know?

“Twenty-three,” I finally say.

His eyes flicker, thoughtful, but he says nothing. His gaze drifts back to the window, expression unreadable.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling my answer mattered to him. I don’t understand why. Perhaps he expected someone else—someone more experienced.

If that’s what he wanted, he chose the wrong woman. I have nothing to offer. No past. No lover. No experience at all.