Twin Wolves, One Mate

Amara's POV

Harsh sunlight stabs through my eyelids as consciousness returns. I bolt upright, disoriented, in an unfamiliar bed with satin sheets that aren't mine. The cool fabric slides against bare skin, making me realize I'm naked beneath the sheets. A constellation of bruises blooms across my chest, each purple mark throbbing in time with my heartbeat. My thighs stick together with dried evidence of what transpired here, a dull ache pulsing where no ache should be.

My dress from last night's Moonlight Ceremony lies crumpled on the floor like discarded dreams. The annual tradition where unmated werewolves from every pack in New Jersey gather under the full moon at Moonlight Grove. A night of hope for most. For me, just another reminder of what I lack.

I rub my temples, trying to piece together fragments of memory. The ceremony. The argument. The strange encounter in the woods.

Being wolfless has always set me apart. When other werewolves turned eighteen and bonded with their inner wolves, I waited. And waited. Nothing came. The pitying glances hurt more than outright cruelty.

Last night, I'd been nursing a glass of blackberry wine, watching couples find each other through scent bonds, when I overheard Diana Wilson—my stepmother and current Luna of the Black Moon Pack—speaking in hushed tones with my stepsister.

"Laila Hayes was never fit to be Luna," Diana had whispered, her voice dripping with disdain. "James needed someone who could actually strengthen the pack, not some weak-blooded woman who produced a defective daughter."

My mother's name in her mouth was like poison. Even with my wolfless status, my hearing remained supernaturally sharp. Every syllable reached me with perfect clarity across the crowded clearing.

Fiona had giggled, twirling her platinum hair. "Amara's pathetic. Twenty-three and still hoping for a wolf to magically appear. Mother, do you think she actually believes someone would want to fuck a barren bitch like her?"

Something snapped inside me. I'd endured their whispers for years, but insulting my mother crossed a line that shouldn't be crossed.

I approached them with measured steps, my voice deceptively calm. "My mother was twice the Luna you'll ever be, Diana. And Fiona, jealousy is an ugly trait."

Fiona's eyes widened. "I'm not jealous of a wolfless freak."

"Apologize for what you said about my mother," I demanded.

Her lips curled into a sneer. "Make me."

So I did—by upending my entire glass of blackberry wine over her cream-colored designer dress. The purple liquid spread like a blooming bruise across the expensive fabric, staining the plunging neckline that had been displaying her cleavage all evening.

Fiona's shriek could have shattered glass. She stormed off toward the woods, cursing my existence. "You'll pay for this, you frigid cunt!"

Diana's eyes flashed amber—the wolf inside her rising. "Amara! You will find your sister and apologize immediately." Her voice carried the unmistakable weight of a Luna's command.

Even without a wolf, I couldn't resist the compulsion. My feet moved against my will, carrying me toward the edge of Moonlight Grove.

"Fiona!" I called, pushing deeper into the trees. The sounds of celebration faded behind me. "Where are you?"

The forest grew darker, moonlight filtering through branches in silver slivers. I strained my ears for any sound of movement, my thin cocktail dress doing nothing to protect against the chill raising goosebumps on my skin.

That's when it hit me—a scent so compelling it made my knees weak. Cedar and rain, with undertones of something wild and electric. Nothing in my twenty-three years had affected me so viscerally. My nipples tightened against the lace of my bra, body responding before my mind could catch up.

I followed it instinctively, drawn like a moth to flame. The scent grew stronger near an ancient oak, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. My pulse thrummed in unexpected places, heat pooling low in my belly.

"Hello?" I whispered, heart hammering against my ribs.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Tall. Powerful. Dangerous. Moonlight caught the hard planes of his chest where his shirt hung open, revealing a tattoo that snaked over defined pectorals.

I couldn't make out his features in the dim light, but I felt his gaze like a physical touch sliding down my body. "Who are you?" My voice trembled despite my attempt to sound confident.

He said nothing. His breathing was heavy, almost labored, as if he was fighting some internal battle. When he stepped closer, the scent intensified until it was all I could process. Cedar. Rain. Power. Mine.

The thought flashed through my mind unbidden. Mine? How could that be possible?

Before I could speak again, he moved with supernatural speed, pulling me against his chest. His strength was overwhelming, his arms like steel bands around me. Hard muscle pressed against my soft curves, his erection evident even through layers of clothing. A whimper escaped my throat—half fear, half something darker.

I opened my mouth to scream, but something strange happened. A presence brushed against my consciousness—foreign yet familiar. The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding together until darkness claimed me.

Now, I sit in this strange room, trying to make sense of what happened. My head throbs, and there's a dull ache between my thighs that tells its own story. I trail fingers over the bite mark on my collarbone, the skin raised and tender. Whoever he was, he'd claimed me with teeth and tongue, though the memories remain frustratingly blurred.

I slide out of bed, wincing as cool air hits sensitive flesh, and gather my clothes. A black suit jacket hangs on the back of a nearby chair—the only evidence he was ever here. I throw it onto the bed in disgust, the musky scent of sex and sandalwood clinging to the fabric. What kind of mate abandons his partner after their first night together?

If he even was my mate. The connection I felt seemed impossible for someone like me.

As I dress, my fingers automatically reach for the obsidian pendant that has hung around my neck since childhood—my mother's final gift to me. Panic floods my system when I realize it's gone, the familiar weight missing from my chest. My hands fly to the bare skin where the chain usually rests, fingertips brushing the fresh love bite beneath my jaw.

I tear the room apart searching for it. Under pillows. Between sheets still damp with sweat. Behind furniture. Nothing.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts my frantic search. I open it to find my father, James Crawford, standing there with Diana, whose expression radiates smug satisfaction.

"Alpha Crawford," Diana says, her voice pitched to carry. "Your daughter has disgraced our pack by spreading her legs for some rutting stranger while everyone searched for her. What will the other packs think?"

My father's face hardens as he takes in my disheveled appearance—the tangled hair, smeared lipstick, and rumpled bed behind me.

"I asked you to find Fiona," Diana continues, her eyes dropping to the bite mark on my neck. "Instead, you play whore in the woods. How... predictable."

"That's not what happened," I protest, crossing my arms over my chest where my dress gapes missing a button. "I was looking for Fiona when I encountered someone in the woods. I think—I think he might be my mate."

Diana's laugh is brittle. "Your mate? Don't be ridiculous. Even if you could attract a mate, no true wolf would bond with damaged goods."

"I felt something," I insist, the ghost of his hands still burning on my hips. "A connection. It was overwhelming."

"Look at yourself," Diana gestures to my exposed throat. "Those marks tell their own story. Did you beg for his teeth? Whimper when he took you?"

My hand flies to the tender spots where his mouth had been. Evidence of passion I couldn't remember. "It wasn't like that."

"Amara," my father finally speaks, his voice heavy with disappointment. "This behavior is unacceptable."

"Dad, please listen. I think I found my mate. I know I don't have a wolf, but other wolfless werewolves have found mates before. It's rare but—"

"Stop." My father raises his hand. "There's something you need to know."

Diana's smile turns triumphant as my father continues.

"When you were born, we consulted Seer Morgana. She performed a divination and delivered a prophecy about you." He pauses, his expression pained. "She said you would never have a wolf... and never have a mate."

The words hit me like physical blows. "That's impossible," I whisper, fingers digging into the fresh bite mark until pain clears my head. "Last night—"

"Was a mistake," Diana interjects. "Perhaps you drank too much and let some stray fuck you against a tree. It happens to desperate girls."

"I know what I felt," I argue, but doubt creeps in. If there was a prophecy...

"The council members are waiting outside," my father says, straightening his shoulders. "This incident must be addressed."

"James," Diana places a hand on his arm, her voice softening to a manipulative purr. "I know this is difficult for you, but we must think of the pack's reputation."

My father's expression shifts from conflicted to resolved. When he speaks again, his voice carries the unmistakable authority of an Alpha.

"Amara Crawford, as your Alpha, I cannot allow your behavior to reflect poorly on our pack."

The words hang in the air between us, and I know whatever comes next will change everything.