My Mate Chose My Sister, But the Alpha Chose Me

On my eighteenth birthday, I packed a bag to run away with the boy I loved.

By midnight, I was wearing my sister's wedding dress.

...

"You're marrying Jacob tonight."

My father said it like he was reading the weather. He didn't even look up from the papers on his desk.

"Alpha John is dead," he went on. "His heart stopped at dinner. Jacob takes the title at dawn, and an Alpha needs a Luna beside him when he does."

"Winnie is his fiancée," I said. "Not me."

"Winnie refuses."

From the couch, my older sister filed her nails. She didn't bother hiding her smile.

"I'm not marrying a cripple who'll be dead before twenty-five," Winnie said. "Sorry, Fi. Somebody has to take one for the family."

"So you pick the daughter with no wolf." My voice cracked on the last word. "The one nobody will miss."

Dad finally raised his eyes. They were flat and tired.

"You're eighteen tonight, Fiona. Your wolf never came. No Alpha will ever claim you. This is the best offer you'll get."

"It's not an offer if I can't say no."

"You can't," he said. "Go get dressed."

I walked out of his office with my hands shaking. I didn't go get dressed.

I went to my room, pulled the duffel bag out from under my bed, and checked it one more time. Two sweaters. The money I'd saved. The silver bracelet Leo gave me last spring.

*We'll leave on your birthday,* he'd promised. *Just you and me. No pack. No rules.*

Leo was the Beta's son, strong and golden, and everyone said he'd lead his own pack someday. He was the only one who never called me broken.

I climbed out my window and ran.

...

His door wasn't locked.

I pushed it open with a grin already on my face. "Leo, we have to go now, they're trying to—"

The words died.

Leo was on the bed, his shirt gone. A girl was straddling him, her dress hanging off one shoulder, her lipstick smeared across his jaw.

She turned her head.

Winnie.

For a second, nobody moved. Then my sister laughed. A bright, happy laugh, like I'd just told her a joke.

"Oh, look," she said. "The bride found us."

I stared at Leo. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

He sat up slowly and reached for his shirt. He didn't rush. He didn't blush.

"It's exactly what it looks like, Fiona."

"We were leaving tonight. You said—"

"I know what I said." He pulled the shirt over his head. "I meant it, back then. I do love you."

"Then *why?*"

His eyes went cold. I'd never seen them like that. Not once.

"Because I'm going to be an Alpha one day," he said. "I can love you. But a future Alpha's Luna can't be a wolfless waste. Be realistic."

Something inside my chest cracked straight down the middle.

Winnie slid off the bed and tugged the collar of his shirt aside. Right there, at the base of his neck, was a fresh bite. Two neat curves, still pink.

A Mate Mark.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Winnie tilted her head. "We've been seeing each other since winter. You really never noticed? Every time he said he was training late, Fi. Every single time."

My bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the floor.

I didn't cry. I thought I would. Instead, a strange, hollow laugh came out of me, and both of them flinched.

"Happy birthday to me," I said.

Then I picked up my bag and walked out.

...

The dress was too long. It had been made for Winnie.

The maids pinned the hem while my stepmother tightened the lace at my back until I could barely breathe. Nobody asked if I was okay. Nobody said anything at all.

By eleven, I was in a black car heading up the hill to the Alpha House.

...

The great hall was packed. Every family in Blue Lake Pack had come, and every face turned when I stepped inside.

The whispers started right away.

"That's the younger one. The one with no wolf."

"A sick Alpha and a broken bride. Moon Goddess, this pack is finished."

"Give it a year. He'll be in the ground, and she'll be nobody's widow."

I kept my chin up and my eyes on the altar. That was when I saw him.

Jacob.

I'd only ever heard stories. The Alpha's son who never ran with the pack. Who coughed through every ceremony. Who, people said, wouldn't live long enough to matter.

He was tall, but too thin. His skin was pale, almost gray under the candlelight. He leaned on a black cane, his knuckles white around the handle.

But his eyes were sharp. Dark and steady. They found me across the room and didn't move.

I reached the altar. A heavyset man in the front row snorted loudly.

"Hey, Jacob," he called. "Think you'll survive the wedding night? Or should we call the healer now?"

Laughter rolled through the crowd.

Jacob turned his head. He didn't raise his voice.

"Gerald Morrow," he said. "Your family owes the Alpha House three years of back tribute. Laugh again, and I'll collect it tonight. In full."

The hall went dead silent.

Gerald's face turned purple. He sat down.

Someone behind me whispered, "Well, *she* can't even shift. What's he protecting her for?"

Jacob's gaze swept toward the voice. The whisperer shut up so fast I heard her teeth click.

Then he leaned toward me, just a little. His breath smelled like mint and something bitter, like medicine.

"Don't look at them," he murmured. "Look at me."

I did. Up close, his eyes were even darker.

"I won't touch you," he said quietly. "I know you didn't choose this. Neither did I. Once I truly hold power here, I'll break the engagement. You'll get your freedom back."

I blinked at him. Of all the things I expected tonight, kindness wasn't one of them.

"Why would you do that for me?"

The corner of his mouth moved. It wasn't quite a smile.

"Because someone should."

Before I could answer, the old priest lifted his staff and struck the stone floor. The sound echoed through the hall.

"By the light of the Moon Goddess," he announced, "we bind these two before the sacred flame."

Behind the altar, a bowl of white fire burned tall and still. It had burned that way for a hundred years, people said. Pure white. Never changing.

"Bride," the priest said. "Step forward. Stand beside your Alpha."

I took one step toward Jacob.

The flame flickered.

I took another.

The fire shuddered, hissed, and then roared upward, higher than the priest's head. The white bled away. In its place, the flame burned a cold, glowing silver-blue, bright as moonlight on ice.

Someone screamed.

The priest stumbled back, his staff clattering to the floor. His face had gone completely white.

"That's impossible," he whispered. "The flame hasn't turned that color in three hundred years."

Beside me, Jacob's grip on his cane tightened. For the first time all night, he looked shaken.

And he was staring at me.