My Mate Rejected Me; My Second Chance Was His Regret

Kyra's POV: I kept my head lowered as I slipped through the crowd, the edge of my cloak drawn just enough to shadow my face without drawing suspicion. The pack square was louder than I had imagined, louder than anything I had ever been allowed to stand in the middle of. Voices overlapped in a constant swell of merchants calling, children laughing, metal clinking, and fabric rustling, and it pressed in on me from all sides. “Fresh bread! Sweet rolls, miss! Come taste!” A merchant bellowed from my left, waving a golden loaf like a flag while another voice cut in from the right. I dodged a woman carrying a basket nearly as wide as she was, then stepped aside to avoid a pair of boys chasing each other recklessly through the crowd. Every few steps, someone beckoned to me, hands waving, voices rising in invitation, and I felt like prey being subtly circled rather than a customer being welcomed. Still, I kept walking. This was what I had wanted, wasn’t it? Just once, before the wedding. Before my life stopped belonging to me entirely. The thought settled heavily in my chest, but I pushed it aside and moved deeper into the square, past the familiar outer stalls and into the tighter, more crowded inner lanes where the buildings leaned closer together and it didn’t take long for the excitement to thin into regret. A quiet, creeping kind that slipped in between breaths. I shouldn’t have come alone. I knew that. I had known it even as I slipped out of the packhouse, timing my steps between guards, memorizing the rhythm of patrols like it was another lesson drilled into me. But knowing had not been enough to stop me because I wanted one moment of choosing something for myself even if it was reckless and foolish. Besides, turning back meant admitting defeat, and I’d had enough of defeat lately. “Spare a coin, pretty one?” A hoarse voice rang out from beside me as a rough hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. I looked up into a scarred face, a jagged line running from his eye to his jaw, twisting his mouth into a permanent sneer and my stomach lurched as I jerked my arm back, wrenching free before he could tighten his hold and I didn’t wait to see his reaction. My heart leapt into a frantic rhythm as I turned and pushed forward, slipping between people, ignoring the annoyed looks and muttered complaints as I forced my way deeper into the crowd. My feet slapped against the dusty ground as I pushed past elbows and crates, not caring where I was headed. I finally skidded to a stop beside a stall piled high with clay pots, with chest heaving as sweat cooled on my skin. When I lifted my head and looked around, my blood ran cold on seeing that the paths no longer matched anything I could recall. I turned slowly, scanning the streets, searching for something, anything, that looked recognizable. A sign, a landmark, a stall I might have passed before but each direction looked just as foreign as the last. Before leaving, I had studied the map in my father’s study. I had stood there longer than necessary, tracing the layout of the square carefully, committing the main routes to memory, telling myself that it would be enough. But standing here now, surrounded by noise and bodies and shifting movement, that memory felt useless. I swallowed, forcing myself to stay still instead of turning in circles like a lost child. Think. Panicking would only make this worse. “Mr. Handford!” The thought cut through the panic as my music tutor’s kind face flashed in my mind. He owned a*****e in the square, and if I could find him, he’d help me without questions or at least without too many. With that decided, I turned toward the nearest stall where bolts of fabric were stacked in careful layers and hurried toward the stout woman arranging them. “Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Mr. Handford’s instrument shop? The music store?” She barely glanced up, wiping her hands on her apron as the square continued its endless roar around us. She studied me for a while, her gaze flicking over my cloak, and my posture, as though weighing something unspoken. She was middle-aged, with tired eyes and a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders despite the warmth of the day. “Have you recently moved here?” She asked and I shook my head quickly. “No. I just… I don't usually go out.” The words felt strange on my tongue, because honestly, my Father never let me out of the house. Growing up, while other pups my age ran wild through the pack lands, chasing butterflies or splashing in the river, I sat in the sunlit library with my spine straight and my ankles crossed just so, reading books on Luna etiquette, on how to speak without raising my voice, and how to soothe an angry Alpha with nothing but grace. “You were born to be the perfect Luna, Kyra.” Father would say, as he placed another thick volume in my lap. It used to sound absurd at first but when I discovered that the moment I drew my first breath, a marriage alliance was sealed between my father, the Beta of Respawn Pack, and the Alpha himself. They’d even given mine and Prince Killian’s future union a name before we could walk: “The union that will secure Respawn’s legacy.” I remembered the fear that used to flicker in the adults’ eyes whenever someone mentioned destined mates. What if I met mine? What if Killian met his? The moon goddess was known to be mischievous. But our fathers refused to bend, they doubled down on the contract, tightened the leash on my freedom, and drilled the importance of duty into my bones. However, on my eighteenth birthday, Killian turned out to be my fated mate which made me happy, because he had grown into a strong, honorable prince who looked at me with pride instead of possession. So, discovering he was my true mate felt like the goddess herself had signed the papers my fathers had drawn up years ago. Still, our happiness couldn't compare to our fathers who immediately declared that our wedding would be held the day I turn twenty, so in four days, I would become Luna of Respawn Pack. That was why I had slipped out earlier today. Just once, before the unending duties swallowed me whole, I wanted to feel the wind on my face without someone reminding me how a Luna should stand, how she should breathe, how she should smile. Just once, I wanted to be Kyra, not the perfectly trained future wife, not the dutiful daughter, not even the blessed mate. “Are you alright dear?” The woman asked, glancing at me up and down. Dragged back to reality I nodded and her mouth tightened, then softened into something that looked like pity. “Well, come inside for a moment and wait while I fetch my husband. I have been in the square for years now and I haven't heard of any Mr. Hanford but he’ll know.” “Oh, no.” I said immediately, stepping back. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can ask someone else.” She clicked her tongue. “With how beautiful you look you’d be preyed on by thieves and perverts alike.” Her eyes flicked to my face, and my hair. “Looking lost and beautiful is an invitation around here. So, hold on.” On hearing her words, my heart grew weary so I quickly stepped inside her store that smelled faintly of herbs and old wood as she gestured to a bench near the wall. “Sit.” I perched on the edge, hands folded tightly in my lap while she disappeared through a back door. Minutes passed and I stood up, then sat again until she returned, smiling faintly. “My husband is on his way.” She said, holding out a chipped cup. “Water?” “I… No, thank you.” I declined, shaking my head. Suddenly, her smile faltered and something dark flickered in her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry. A peasant like myself should never have offered you water.” The words stung and guilt rushed in, drowning my unease. “No, that’s not it. Please, I didn’t mean…” Eventually, I took the cup and downed down the water in one gulp, then handed it back and sat straighter, forcing myself to breathe when the room suddenly tilted. At first, I thought I had stood too quickly, but then my limbs felt distant, as though they no longer belonged to me. My vision blurred and when I tried to speak, my tongue felt heavy and the bench slipped away as I fell sideways. I was dimly aware of a man looming over me, because my eyelids were as heavy as stone. “Wait…” I slurred when he put his hands on me, fumbling to bind my hands with a rope and my eyes widened in fear. “Let me go!” I pleaded with what little strength I had left. My head swam as rough hands grabbed my wrists, forcing them behind my back. I twisted and kicked, as thick rope bit into my skin while I struggled, gasping for air that felt too heavy to breathe. “Stop, please…” I slurred, turning my head toward the middle-aged woman who had offered me that drink just minutes ago. She stood a few feet away, her face pale in the sunlight, hands clasped tightly over her mouth as if she couldn't hold back the guilt. I reached for her with everything I had, fingers straining uselessly. “Help me… please…” “I’m sorry.” She whispered, voice cracking, body trembling like a leaf in the wind. “I’m so sorry, child. They made me…” Dizziness crashed over me harder, and the man’s grip tightened as black spots danced across my sight. Then the world spun one last time, and everything went blank. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed were cold metal chains clanked around my wrists and ankles, biting into my skin with every jolt. I was lying on hard wood, and the entire space was moving, rumbling and shaking violently as wheels bounced over stones. A carriage? I was in a carriage deep in the forest at night. Everything was pitch black except for a faint, flickering light up ahead, probably lanterns carried by whoever was driving. I squinted, trying to make sense of the shadows, when the carriage lurched sharply. I tumbled sideways and landed hard against a warm body and a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.