The Alpha's Second Choice

There were three things Mara Veyne knew with absolute certainty.

Her mother had lied to her for most of her life. Her wolf had exceptionally poor taste in men. And Lucian Vale was about to reject her in front of approximately four hundred people.

The first was unfortunate, the second humiliating, and the third was going to get someone punched.

Mara stood at the edge of Blackthorn’s enormous stone courtyard and watched the man fate had apparently selected for her climb the steps to the ceremonial platform.

Alpha Lucian Vale was thirty-nine years old, six feet four, with black hair, grey eyes and the sort of body that made perfectly intelligent women forget how conversation worked. Built like violence had developed shoulders. According to virtually every unmated woman in the northern territories, he was devastatingly attractive.

Mara conceded the point. She wasn’t blind. She merely wished destiny had supplied her with better judgement.

Around her, conversation slowly faded.

Tonight had been meant as a celebration. Blackthorn had survived a brutal winter, two border attacks and an outbreak of fever in the western villages. Long tables were covered in food, fires burned in iron braziers and wine flowed freely. People had been laughing ten minutes ago.

Then Lucian had summoned the pack.

And Mara’s wolf had howled one magnificent, horrifying word.

Mate.

Mara had nearly dropped her wine.

She had known Lucian for eleven years. She had stitched a knife wound in his side, argued with him about border patrols and called him an arrogant bastard directly to his face on six separate occasions. He had once threatened to throw her out of a strategy meeting. Mara had reminded him that she owned the building.

Their relationship had included trust, irritation, occasional friendship and an impressive number of arguments. Romance had never entered into it.

Apparently the Moon Goddess had a sense of humour.

Lucian reached the centre of the platform. His gaze found Mara immediately and stopped.

Shock and recognition crossed his face, followed so quickly by horror that the tiny flicker of hope Mara hadn’t realised she possessed died on the spot.

Mara’s stomach sank. “Oh, you absolute prick.”

Beside her, her younger brother Rowan choked on his drink. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mara.”

“Shut up.”

Lucian’s Beta stepped forward. Darius looked almost as uncomfortable as Mara felt, and that told her more than she wanted to know.

Lucian had known.

Maybe not for long, but long enough to avoid her during dinner. Long enough to keep twenty feet between them. Long enough for Darius to watch her as if waiting for an explosion.

Embarrassment burned hot beneath her skin.

Then anger rose through it.

Lucian lifted one hand and the courtyard fell silent.

“My father believed the strength of an Alpha came from tradition. He believed our laws were sacred because they were old, and that the Moon Goddess chose our mates because she knew what our packs required.”

Mara folded her arms.

Wonderful. A speech.

Lucian continued. “Perhaps sometimes she does. But an Alpha does not have the luxury of choosing only for himself.”

There it was.

Mara felt Rowan stiffen beside her. Someone behind them whispered her name.

Lucian descended one step. “Mara Veyne.”

Every face turned toward her. She considered leaving. Unfortunately, leaving would look like fleeing. Mara did not flee. She stepped forward instead. “Lucian.”

His jaw tightened.

Good.

“The Moon has chosen you as my mate.”

Gasps moved through the courtyard.

Mara raised one eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

A few nervous laughs answered her. Lucian did not smile. The man treated humour like an invading army.

“But Blackthorn needs more than a mate for its Alpha.”

Mara stared at him.

Behind Lucian stood Celeste Armand. Twenty-six years old, golden-haired, beautiful and the daughter of Alpha Gareth Armand, whose Silver Ridge Pack controlled the eastern mountain passes.

Understanding arrived unpleasantly fast. Lucian wasn’t merely rejecting Mara. He was making a trade. His mate for an alliance.

Mara’s humiliation deepened because she understood the politics immediately. Silver Ridge and Blackthorn had fought over those passes for generations. Hundreds of wolves had died in skirmishes that neither side ever quite called war.

Celeste offered peace. Mara apparently only offered herself.

What surprised her was Celeste’s face. The younger woman looked miserable. Interesting.

Lucian’s voice hardened. “For generations our packs have bled over those mountains. Silver Ridge has offered peace through union. If I accept that alliance, twenty thousand wolves will live without fear of war.”

Approving murmurs rose around them.

Mara understood the argument. Politically, it wasn’t entirely idiotic. Personally, she wanted to kick him off the platform.

“I cannot place my own happiness above the safety of my people.”

Mara blinked, then laughed.

Lucian frowned. “What?”

“You think you’re sacrificing your happiness?”

The courtyard went silent.

“Mara.”

“No, please. Continue.” She gestured toward him. “Tell everyone about your terrible sacrifice.”

His eyes flashed. “This is not easy for me.”

“Lucian, we’ve been mates for approximately twelve minutes.”

Someone snorted.

Mara continued. “You haven’t exactly torn yourself away from a lifetime of marital bliss. If you’re going to humiliate me publicly, at least avoid making yourself the tragic hero.”

Darius looked down, hiding a smile.

Lucian descended the final step until only a few feet separated them.

The bond between them burned.

Mara hated it.

She could feel his wolf’s want, fierce and instinctive. The answering hunger inside her nearly buckled her knees.

So this was what a mate bond felt like.

Wonderful.

Lucian inhaled sharply. His pupils widened.

He felt it too.

For one brief moment the Alpha vanished, leaving only a man staring at the woman his body recognised.

Then Lucian looked toward Celeste.

The Alpha returned.

“I, Lucian Vale, Alpha of Blackthorn, reject Mara Veyne as my fated mate.”

Pain tore through Mara’s chest.

She had expected humiliation. Anger. Maybe sadness.

She had not expected invisible claws ripping through her ribs.

Her wolf screamed.

Mara stumbled, and Rowan caught her elbow.

“Mara.”

She pulled away. “No.”

Blood filled her mouth. She had bitten through the inside of her cheek.

Across from her, Lucian had gone pale.

Good.

Apparently rejection hurt him too. She hoped his testicles fell off.

The formal response came automatically. Ancient words every wolf knew.

I accept your rejection.

Then the bond would begin to break.

Mara looked at Lucian. At Celeste. At the hundreds of people watching her.

Something stirred inside her. It wasn’t her wolf. Heat crawled along her spine. The torches surrounding the courtyard flickered.

Lucian froze.

Mara drew a slow breath. “I don’t.”

His brows drew together. “What?”

“I don’t accept.”

Shock rippled through the crowd.

“Mara, you have to.”

“Apparently not.”

“The rejection cannot be completed unless you accept it.”

“I know.”

His voice dropped. “Then accept.”

Mara smiled. “No.”

The torches flared three feet into the air. Shouts broke out across the courtyard. Darius reached for his sword.

Mara stared at the flames. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I just did.”

The stones beneath her boots trembled. A crack split the ground between her and Lucian. Her wolf stopped howling. Somewhere deep inside Mara, something opened its eyes.

A woman’s voice whispered through her mind.

Ancient. Amused.

Finally.

Mara’s blood went cold.

Images flashed behind her eyes. A black forest. A silver crown. Thousands of wolves kneeling. Blood across snow.

Then Lucian.

On his knees before her.

The vision vanished.

Mara sucked in a breath.

Lucian stepped toward her. “Mara?”

She backed away, but he caught her arm.

The instant his skin touched hers, power exploded through the courtyard. Every torch died. Darkness swallowed them. Then silver light burst from Mara’s body.

Wolves cried out. Several shifted involuntarily. Lucian was thrown backward hard enough to crack stone when he landed.

Mara stared at her hands. Silver markings appeared beneath her skin, curling over her fingers, across her palms and around her wrists. They looked like vines.

No. More like thorns.

An elderly woman pushed through the crowd. Grandmother Elira, Blackthorn’s oldest healer. She stopped when she saw Mara.

All colour drained from her face. “No.”

Mara’s pulse hammered. “That is not a reassuring response.”

Elira approached slowly, staring at the silver markings. Then she looked toward Lucian and started laughing. She actually doubled over.

Lucian climbed painfully to his feet. “What is funny?”

Elira pointed at him. “You.”

His expression darkened. “Explain.”

The old healer wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, Alpha. You arrogant, unfortunate boy.”

“Elira.”

“You didn’t reject a healer.”

Mara looked at the markings climbing her arms. “Technically, I’m not actually a healer.”

Nobody listened. Elira’s amusement vanished. Then she bowed to Mara. A full bow.

Several older wolves gasped.

Lucian went completely still.

Mara stared at her. “Elira.”

The healer lifted her head. Her eyes were shining. “For four hundred years, we’ve waited.”

“For what?”

Elira looked toward Lucian, then nodded at Mara. “For her.”

Silence returned.

Mara’s stomach tightened.

Elira reached toward her hand, then stopped before touching the silver marks.

“The Moonborn bloodline didn’t die.”

Mara frowned. “My mother’s family were herbalists.”

“No.”

Elira smiled faintly. “They were hiding.”

A low growl came from Lucian. “What is a Moonborn?”

Elira turned toward him, and something almost cruel entered her expression.

“The wolves who ruled before Alphas.”

No one moved.

Lucian’s face changed.

Mara had known him for eleven years. She’d seen him furious, injured, exhausted and once so drunk Darius had convinced him a decorative suit of armour had insulted his mother.

She’d almost never seen him uncertain.

Elira turned back to Mara. “A Moonborn does not belong to a pack.”

Mara felt the ancient presence beneath her skin stretch awake.

“Then what does she belong to?”

“Nothing.”

Elira glanced at Lucian, and a wicked smile returned.

“And Alpha?”

“Yes?”

“You may have just rejected the only woman alive who outranks you.”

Mara looked at Lucian.

Lucian looked at Mara.

Her chest still hurt. Four hundred people had just watched him choose a political alliance over her, and no amount of mysterious silver magic was going to erase that.

But as his expression shifted from disbelief to the first hint of alarm, Mara felt one small, deeply petty piece of satisfaction survive the wreckage of the evening.

She smiled.

Well.

Perhaps fate’s judgement wasn’t entirely terrible after all.