Fate's Unexpected Mate

FATE'S POV

Consciousness arrives like an unwelcome visitor. My eyelids feel weighted with cement as sunlight assaults my face through unfamiliar blinds. The throbbing in my temples matches the rhythm of my heartbeat—too fast, too loud.

"Holy shit," I whisper, my voice sandpaper-rough.

I try to sit up, but something—someone—pins me down. A muscular arm drapes across my bare torso, heavy and possessive. I freeze, memories from last night materializing in fragments. The club. Tequila shots. A deep laugh. Hungry kisses against a wall.

The stranger beside me stirs, and I hold my breath. His face is partially buried in the pillow, dark hair tousled across his forehead. Handsome, even in unconsciousness. The sheets barely cover his lower half, and I realize with a jolt that I'm equally naked.

"Perfect," I mutter. "Just perfect."

This isn't a hotel room like I initially thought. It's an apartment—minimalist, expensive-looking. Art on the walls that probably costs more than my car. I scan the room for my clothes, spotting my black dress hanging precariously from a lamp, one heel by the door, another under what appears to be a vintage record player.

The man shifts again, and I seize my opportunity. With the stealth of someone escaping a crime scene, I slide from beneath his arm and roll to the floor with a soft thud. I hold my position, crouched naked beside the bed, waiting to see if he wakes.

He doesn't.

I gather my things in a frantic scavenger hunt—dress, underwear, purse, phone. My bra remains elusive until I spot a scrap of red lace hanging from the bathroom doorknob like a flag of surrender.

In the bathroom, I assess the damage. Mascara shadows beneath my eyes, hair a wild mess, a small bruise blooming on my collarbone. I splash water on my face and try to piece together what happened.

Last night was supposed to be a celebration—my first real job offer after graduation. One drink had turned to many. Then he appeared, with eyes that seemed to see right through me and a smile that promised trouble.

I dress quickly, wincing at my reflection. Twenty-three years old and having my first walk of shame. My adoptive mother would be horrified.

My phone shows seventeen missed calls. Not good.

I tiptoe back into the bedroom, pausing to look at the sleeping stranger. For a moment, I consider leaving a note, but what would I say? "Thanks for the forgettable night I can barely remember"?

Instead, I slip out silently, closing the door with painful slowness behind me.

Outside, morning has fully arrived. The city buzzes with early commuters as I order a rideshare, desperate to get home. The car arrives within minutes, driven by a woman who mercifully asks no questions about my disheveled state.

"Rough night?" she eventually offers, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

"You could say that," I reply, staring out the window.

"Been there," she says with a knowing smile. "Though you might want to check your phone. It's been buzzing non-stop."

I glance down to see another incoming call from "Mom." With a sigh, I answer.

"Where are you?" Her voice is tight with worry.

"On my way home. I'm sorry, I should have called—"

"Just get here. Now." She hangs up before I can respond.

Something in her tone sends a chill through me. In twenty-three years, I've never heard her sound so... afraid.

When the car turns onto my street, I immediately spot the black SUV parked in our driveway. It's sleek, expensive, with tinted windows and—most tellingly—yellow license plates adorned with a silver crescent moon.

My stomach drops. The Silver Moon pack. The most powerful werewolf pack in the region.

I pay the driver and approach my house slowly, as if delaying my steps might somehow change what awaits inside. The front door opens before I reach it, revealing my father—James Harlow—his face a mask of grim resignation.

"Dad? What's going on?"

He doesn't answer, just steps aside to let me enter. The living room has transformed into some kind of formal meeting space. My mother sits rigidly on our worn sofa, flanked by two men in tailored suits. Their posture screams authority, and the silver crescent moon pins on their lapels confirm my suspicions.

"Fate," my mother says, her voice barely above a whisper. "These men are from the Silver Moon pack."

"I gathered that," I reply, suddenly conscious of my rumpled dress and smudged makeup. "Why are they here?"

One of the men stands, buttoning his jacket with practiced ease. "Miss Harlow, my name is Ethan Blackwood. I serve as Head Sentinel to Alpha Richard Preston of the Silver Moon pack."

"Congratulations," I say flatly. "That doesn't answer my question."

My father makes a warning sound in his throat. "Fate, please."

The second man rises now. He's older, with silver threading through his dark hair and cold eyes that assess me like I'm merchandise. "We're here for you, Miss Preston."

"Preston?" I repeat. "My name is Harlow."

A heavy silence falls over the room. My mother's shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

"Mom?" I turn to her, panic rising in my chest. "What's happening?"

My father steps forward, placing himself between me and the pack representatives. "We were going to tell you when you turned twenty-five," he says quietly. "We had a plan."

"Tell me what?" My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm.

"That you're not our daughter," my mother blurts out, tears streaming down her face. "Not biologically."

The room tilts slightly. I reach for the wall to steady myself. "What are you talking about?"

"You are Fate Preston," the older man states, "daughter of Alpha Richard Preston and Luna Helena Preston of the Silver Moon pack. You were taken from your crib twenty-three years ago and replaced with another infant who died shortly after."

I laugh—a sharp, incredulous sound. "This is insane. Dad, tell them this is insane."

But my father won't meet my eyes. "James was once a Sentinel for the Silver Moon pack," the man continues. "He broke his oath and fled with you during the night of the switch."

"We loved you from the moment we saw you," my mother whispers. "We couldn't give you back."

"Give me back?" I repeat, the words tasting bitter. "Like I'm a borrowed book? A stolen car?"

"The Alpha and Luna have waited long enough," Ethan says. "It's time for you to return to your rightful family."

"And if I refuse?" I challenge.

"Then your parents will face the consequences of kidnapping the Alpha's daughter," the older man replies coldly. "The penalty for such treason is death."

The threat hangs in the air like poison gas. I look at my parents—the only parents I've ever known—and see the truth in their defeated postures. This isn't a negotiation. It's an extraction.

"How long have you known they were coming for me?" I ask my father.

He swallows hard. "They contacted us three days ago."

"Three days," I repeat. "And you didn't think to warn me?"

"We were trying to protect you," my mother pleads.

"By letting me walk into this blindsided?" The betrayal cuts deeper than the revelation itself. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

"Of course we were," my father insists. "When you were ready."

"When I was ready," I echo. "And who decides when that is? You? The people who've lied to me my entire life?"

"Miss Preston," Ethan interrupts, "a car is waiting. You need to pack your essentials. The rest can be sent later."

I turn to him, fury replacing shock. "My name is Harlow. And I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Fate," my father says, his voice breaking. "You have to go."

"Why? Because they'll kill you if I don't?" I gesture wildly at the men. "Let them try. We can run, all of us. We've done it before, apparently."

"We're too old to run," my mother says softly. "And they would find us eventually."

"So you're just giving up? Giving me up?"

"We're trying to save your life," my father snaps. "And ours. The Alpha has been searching for you for twenty-three years. Do you think he'll stop now?"

I look between them, these strangers who raised me, who loved me, who lied to me. Twenty-three years of fabricated history. Twenty-three years of borrowed time.

"Fine," I say finally, ice crystallizing around my heart. "I'll get my things."

Upstairs, in my childhood bedroom, I throw clothes into a suitcase with violent efficiency. Photos, books, mementos—I leave them all. They belong to a life that was never really mine.

My mother appears in the doorway, her face streaked with tears. "Fate, please understand—"

"I understand perfectly," I cut her off. "You stole me. And now you're returning damaged goods."

"That's not fair," she whispers.

"None of this is fair," I reply, zipping my suitcase closed. "But fairness stopped mattering the moment you decided to build my life on lies."

Downstairs, the pack representatives wait by the door. My father stands apart, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his choices.

"I've arranged for your university credits to transfer," he says as I approach. "And I've set aside money for you—"

"Keep it," I interrupt. "I don't want anything from you."

His face crumples. "Fate, please. We love you."

"Love doesn't lie for twenty-three years." I turn to the men in suits. "Let's go."

Outside, the black SUV gleams in the morning sun. A driver holds the rear door open, his face expressionless. I pause on the threshold of my former home, not looking back.

"If I walk through that door," I say quietly, "I'm never coming back. You understand that, right?"

Silence is my only answer.

"That's what I thought." I step outside, the door closing behind me with a finality that echoes in my chest.

The SUV's interior is cool and smells of leather. As we pull away from the curb, I watch the house—my house—recede in the window. The life I knew shrinks to a pinpoint before disappearing around a corner.

"Miss Preston," Ethan says from the seat opposite mine, "your parents are eager to meet you."

"They're not my parents," I reply, staring out the window. "And I'm not eager to meet them."

"You'll adjust," the older man says dismissively. "Blood calls to blood."

I turn to him, a cold smile forming on my lips. "And what does blood say when it's been abandoned for twenty-three years?"

He doesn't answer, and I don't expect him to. Instead, I watch the familiar streets of my neighborhood transform into highways, then into landscapes I've never seen. With each mile, Fate Harlow fades like morning mist, and someone new—someone I don't know or want to be—takes shape in her place.

Fate Preston. Daughter of an Alpha. A stranger to herself.

The irony isn't lost on me that just hours ago, I woke up beside a stranger after a night I can barely remember. Now I'm heading toward a family of strangers after a life I apparently never truly lived.

As the city disappears behind us, I make a silent promise to myself: I may have to go with them, but I don't have to become one of them. Whatever game the Alpha and Luna are playing, I refuse to be just another piece on their board.

They might have claimed my body, but my soul—that remains mine alone.