A Stepmother’s Forbidden Mate

Selene Carter knelt on the cold marble floor of the Packhouse kitchen, her hands raw from scrubbing. The scent of bleach burned her nose, mixing with the lingering aroma of roasted venison from that evening’s feast—the one she had prepared but was never allowed to partake in. Her stomach twisted in hunger, but she swallowed it down, just as she had swallowed her pride over the past two years. Two years since Damian stripped her of everything. Two years since her world had crumbled. Her mate had stood before the pack and denounced her, casting her down from her rightful place as Luna to the lowest rank an exile could claim—Omega. He had bound her to the Shadow Crest Pack with laws older than time itself, forbidding her from leaving. Trapped within the walls of the Packhouse, she was nothing more than a servant, a relic of a past no one dared to acknowledge. She no longer bore the mark of her mate. He had severed it that night, burning away their bond and branding her with something far worse—his rejection. And still, her wolf stirred in protest every time she caught his scent, every time she heard his voice commanding from the Alpha’s throne. Her nails bit into her palm as she scrubbed harder. The stone floor would gleam by the time she was finished, but it would never be enough. The Omegas were never enough. “Selene.” A sharp voice cut through the silence. She stilled before turning her head, meeting the icy blue gaze of Lilith Blackwood—Damian’s new Luna. Lilith had once been her friend. Now, she was the reason Selene’s world had fallen apart. Lilith leaned against the doorframe, the silk of her midnight gown shimmering under the golden glow of the chandeliers. She looked every bit the queen Selene had once been, except there was something sharper about her beauty, something more calculated in the way she held herself. “Alpha Damian wants his study cleaned before he retires for the night,” Lilith said with a slow smile. “You should hurry.” Selene forced herself to stand, her knees aching from kneeling too long. She dipped her head, forcing her expression into something neutral. “Yes, Luna.” Lilith’s smirk widened at the title, as if she reveled in hearing it from Selene’s lips. She didn’t move from the doorway as Selene approached, and for a moment, their shoulders brushed as she passed. The scent of lilacs and something darker—something laced with power—curled in Selene’s nose. Lilith had done something to Damian, of that she was sure. But no one dared question it. The Alpha had chosen his new Luna, and the pack had accepted it without protest. No one had spoken for Selene. Not even her mate. She made her way through the dimly lit halls of the Packhouse, the air heavy with the weight of memory. Every corner of this place whispered of the life she had once lived, the love she had once believed was unbreakable. She should hate him. She did hate him. And yet, her wolf still ached with longing, still yearned for the mate bond that had been shattered but not entirely erased. The door to Damian’s study loomed ahead, but just as she reached for the handle, she felt it. A presence. A scent. Dark and rich, threaded with something unfamiliar—something that sent a shiver racing down her spine. Selene turned, and her breath caught. A man stood in the shadows of the hallway, his broad shoulders framed by the moonlight filtering through the tall windows. He was dressed in black, the fabric hugging the powerful lines of his body, but it wasn’t his form that held her frozen. It was his eyes. Gold, molten, burning with an intensity that made her wolf stir. She knew who he was before he spoke. Killian Blackwood had returned. Her pulse pounded in her throat as she took him in. He was taller than she remembered, his features sharper, honed by time and something more dangerous than age—vengeance. His gaze flickered over her, lingering on the bruises she had failed to conceal, the calloused hands that had once been soft. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Neither did she. They had never spoken much before. She had been his stepfather’s Luna, and he had been the ghost in the Packhouse—the son of the late Alpha Blackwood, the boy who had disappeared after his father’s death. But now he was here. And he was staring at her as if he saw through everything. A door creaked open down the hall. Selene snapped her head toward it, her heart lurching as Damian’s scent filled the air. She turned back to Killian, but he was already gone, the shadows swallowing him whole. She sucked in a breath and stepped into the study, her hands trembling as she closed the door behind her. The room was just as she remembered—dark wood, towering shelves, the scent of cedar and power clinging to every surface. And Damian was there. He sat behind the massive desk, his piercing gaze lifting from a document as she entered. Even now, he was devastatingly handsome—raven-black hair, sharp cheekbones, a body carved by battle and dominance. He had been hers once. And now he was nothing but a stranger. “Close the door,” he ordered. Selene obeyed. Damian leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. “You’ve been avoiding me.” A bitter laugh almost escaped her, but she swallowed it down. “You made it clear I don’t belong in your world anymore, Alpha.” His eyes darkened at the title, but he didn’t correct her. Instead, he studied her, his expression unreadable. “Killian is back.” She hesitated before nodding. “He doesn’t trust Lilith,” Damian said, his voice lower now, more contemplative. “And he has every reason not to.” Selene’s stomach tightened. Did Damian suspect something, or was he merely speaking of old wounds? “You’ll stay out of his way,” he continued. “He’s dangerous, and you are—” “Nothing?” she finished for him. His jaw tensed. “You are still bound to this pack.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a defiance she hadn’t allowed herself in years. “Then let me go.” A muscle feathered in his jaw. “You know I can’t.” She did. She was still his, whether he claimed her or not. And that was the cruelest part of all. Selene turned before he could say anything else, before she could see the flicker of something she thought was regret in his eyes. As she stepped into the hallway once more, the scent of cedar and power faded. But another scent remained. A richer one. A darker one. Killian’s. And for the first time in years, Selene felt something other than pain. She felt seen. And that, she realized, was far more dangerous than anything Damian could ever do to her.