Mated To My Step Brother

They cast me out beneath a blood moon. No ceremony. No tears. Just silence, and the judgment of a dozen golden eyes that used to feel like home. My breath hung in the air like mist, fragile and vanishing. The snow beneath my bare feet burned, but I didn’t move. If I did, I’d shatter. If I blinked, the pain might spill out and stain the snow red. I should’ve cried. Should’ve begged. But I’d already learned that wolves don’t cry—they bleed. I stood with my arms at my sides as Elder Maelen’s voice rang out into the frozen trees. “You are hereby stripped of your status, your protection, and your name. You leave as the moon wanes. You do not return.” The crowd didn’t stir. My own mate—former mate—stood among them, jaw clenched, face blank. He wouldn’t even look at me. A month ago, he told me we were fated. That he could see my soul in my eyes. That my size didn’t matter, that strength came in many forms. But that was before the others started whispering. Before I failed to shift. The rejection was loud in its silence. Unshifted. Useless. Fat. Weak. Worthless. Their words became my bones. I didn’t speak as they stripped the faint silver band from my wrist—the symbol of my pack bond. The magic hissed as it left me, a cold, stinging ache radiating up my arm and settling behind my ribs. It was done. I was no one. “Keep your head down when we get there,” my mother said two days later, her hands trembling on the steering wheel as the snow beat down outside. “They don’t know what happened. You’re just my daughter. That’s all.” I didn’t respond. I watched the forest outside blur into gray and white, branches bowing under the weight of the storm. Even the trees looked like they pitied me. My mother was trying, I knew that. She was all I had left. But I couldn’t make myself feel grateful—not yet. Not when the ache of rejection still pressed against my lungs like a weight. She’d found a new man, a new town, a new life. As if we could simply start over, like I wasn’t dragging my broken pieces behind me like chains. “He has a son,” she added carefully. “Your age. I didn’t think to ask if you’d crossed paths before, but—” The house came into view, cutting her off. It was nothing like our old den—no stone, no roots, no sacred earth. This place was tall and stern, made of blackened wood and frost-covered glass, surrounded by dense pine trees that looked more like guards than scenery. A single porch light glowed amber in the snow, casting long shadows across the drive. “He’s a good man, Liora,” she whispered. “We’ll be safe here.” Safe. The word sounded foreign in my ears. The door opened before we could knock. He was older than I expected. Broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper beard, deep-set eyes that flicked to me and softened. Elias Blackthorne. My mother’s fiancé. He looked like he belonged in these woods—weathered, calm, strong in the way oak trees are strong. “You must be Liora,” he said gently. I nodded once. Forced a smile I didn’t feel. And then—I smelled it. The shift in the air was instant. A sharp spike of cedar, smoke, and something wild. My wolf, still silent and broken inside me, stirred. Just once. Just enough to make my spine go rigid. Someone was watching. Footsteps thudded across hardwood inside the house. And then— He appeared in the doorway, tall and unapologetically solid, arms crossed over a tight black shirt that clung to muscle and heat. Tattoos crawled down both of his arms—thick, ancient symbols that looked like they’d been carved, not inked. His hair was dark, tousled, falling over one brow, and his face was sharp, brutal in its beauty. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Thin lips twisted in something between recognition and disdain. But it was his eyes that stole my breath. Ice blue. Piercing. Alpha. No. No, no, no. “Kalen,” I breathed before I could stop myself. He blinked slowly, like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke. Then his lip curled. “Well,” he said, voice like gravel and thunder, “look who the goddess dragged in.” My throat closed. I hadn’t seen him since I was sixteen—since he’d shoved my books out of my arms and whispered, Maybe if you weren’t twice the size of a normal wolf, someone would claim you. I had never been claimed. And now he was standing here, smirking like the ghost of every nightmare I thought I left behind. “You two know each other?” Elias asked, frowning. My mother looked between us, guilt crawling up her face. Kalen’s eyes raked over me, slow and cutting. I knew what he saw—wide hips, thick thighs in worn jeans, a hoodie stretched tight across my chest. My arms were soft, my belly curved. I wasn’t small. I wasn’t delicate. And his stare said everything I needed to know. “Yeah,” he drawled, leaning against the doorway. “We went to school together. She was hard to miss.” Heat burned in my chest—shame, rage, and something uglier. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said, voice quiet but sharp. “I plan on staying out of your way.” He shrugged, but something flickered in his gaze. Something I couldn’t name. “Good,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to get crushed underfoot.” I spent that first night in my new room staring at the ceiling, listening to the creak of floorboards above. Kalen’s room. He paced, back and forth, heavy footsteps and restless movement. As if something in the house itched beneath his skin, too. As if something inside him recognized me—and hated it. I stared down at my bare wrist, where my pack’s mark used to glow, and for the first time in days, I let myself feel the weight of it all. The rejection. The exile. The twisted humor of the gods. Kalen Blackthorne. My new stepbrother. My old tormentor. And an Alpha whose scent made my wolf stir from her grave. Fate had one hell of a sense of humour.