Missing Mate

Cassian

By the time I gave up, the forest felt like a lie.

Ten years of searching, and the pines still smelled the same—earth and rain and the faint metallic tang of magic in the soil. Ten years of crossing borders, attending every gathering, every run, every alliance ceremony, waiting for that one lightning-strike moment.

The moment my mate’s scent would hit and my world would rearrange.

It never came.

I stood on the ridge above the packhouse, the wind tugging at my hair, carrying the layered scents of home—wolves, smoke from the kitchen chimneys, oil from the training grounds. Down below, porch lights winked on one by one, soft golden squares cutting through dusk.

Somewhere, a door slammed. Someone laughed. Life went on, like it always did, whether I found her or not.

“She’s not coming, you know.”

The voice behind me was silk over steel.

I didn’t flinch. Only one wolf in this pack could sneak up on me without my wolf bristling in warning, and that alone should’ve told me something. Instead, I let my eyes close for a beat, then opened them again, watching the valley.

“What do you want, Livia?” I asked.

She came to stand at my shoulder, close enough that I could feel her warmth even through the chill. Livia Arden had the kind of beauty that made people look twice—sleek dark hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes like polished amber. She carried herself like the Luna she wanted to be, even if the pack muttered otherwise.

“I want you to stop looking like someone kicked your favorite puppy off a cliff,” she said lightly. “It’s depressing. You’re supposed to be the intimidating future Alpha, remember?”

“Intimidation is overrated,” I said.

“You say that because you’re good at it even when you’re trying to be nice.”

I huffed out a breath that almost counted as a laugh.

Silence settled between us, the comfortable kind, or at least the practiced kind. Livia visited this ridge more and more lately. Sometimes she found excuses—reports from the patrols, council gossip. Sometimes she brought coffee. Sometimes she brought nothing but herself.

Tonight, I had the feeling she’d come only for the last one.

Below, the training field lights flicked on, illuminating a few wolves finishing drills. They looked up toward the ridge now and then, as if checking that I was still watching. Still here. Still theirs.

“Council met again this morning,” Livia said eventually. “Without you.”

“Noted,” I muttered. “Who called it?”

“Your father,” she said. “Which you would know if you hadn’t left before dawn.”

I rolled my shoulders, damp from the run. My T-shirt clung to my back. I’d shifted before sunrise and run until my lungs burned, chasing scents that weren’t there. Chasing a phantom future.

“What did they decide?” I asked.

“That they’re worried,” she said simply. “The elders think you won’t be ready to take the mantle without a Luna at your side. They’re… circling.”

“Circling,” I repeated. “Like vultures.”

“Like old wolves who think they know best,” she corrected, though her lips curved. “Same thing, really.”

My jaw tightened. I could see it, the way they watched me in meetings, like they were counting down. I’d turned twenty-six last month. Ten years without a mate was rare, not impossible. But rarity made people nervous.

Some thought my mate had died before we ever met. Some thought the Moon had skipped me altogether. A chosen mate would solve everything neatly.

At least for them.

Livia shifted her weight, the brush of her arm a deliberate graze against mine.

“How long are you going to keep doing this?” she asked softly. “Running the borders like you can chase down destiny. Waiting for a scent that never comes. Letting them all think you’re… half of what you should be.”

Her words were precise. Not cruel, but sharp enough to prick.

“Nice to know the council thinks so highly of me,” I said.

“Don’t twist it.” She angled her body toward me. “They respect you. Fear you, even. You’re a good leader, Cassian. You take every patrol, every negotiation, every problem onto your shoulders like you were born to carry it.”

“I was,” I said dryly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

Something in me flinched, old and tired. I looked away, out at the forests I knew better than my own reflection.

“I have the Beta, the Gamma, the whole damn pack,” I said. “I’m not alone.”

“You’re alone where it matters,” she said. “You know that.”

For a heartbeat, my wolf rose in quiet protest. A low, restless stir in the back of my mind, like a paw raking over stone.

I pushed it down.

Livia followed my gaze to the valley. “Do you remember your first Gathering?” she asked. “When you were sixteen?”

Of course I did. I remembered the raw, buzzing anticipation, the way every female wolf I passed made my wolf lean forward, inhale, wait. I remembered the disappointment each time nothing happened. The way it stretched into years.

I nodded once.

“You came back angry,” she continued. “Not because you didn’t find her, but because you thought you’d done something wrong. That you’d failed some… test.”

My mouth flattened. “You were spying on me even back then?”

“Observing,” she corrected. “I pay attention.”

“I’ve noticed,” I murmured.

She smiled, small and satisfied. “My point is, you’ve been punishing yourself for a decade for something that isn’t your fault. Maybe there is no mate. Maybe she died. Maybe the Moon changed her mind.”

“Don’t,” I growled before I could stop myself. The sound slid between us, low and warning.

Livia didn’t flinch. She tilted her head, watching me carefully.

“You worship the idea of her,” she said more gently. “This perfect woman who will walk out of the trees and fix the crack in your chest just by existing. But what if that’s all it is, Cassian? An idea?”

The wind cut across the ridge, colder now. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

I thought of the years of searching. The rumors. The pity in some eyes, the mockery in others. The quiet, private ache I carried like an extra rib.

“I feel her,” I said. It sounded childish even to my ears. “Every full moon, it’s… there. Faint, but there. Like she’s just… out of reach.”

Livia’s gaze softened. She took a small step closer, until we were almost touching from shoulder to hip. My wolf paced, uneasy and curious all at once.

“Or maybe,” she said, her voice a low murmur, “what you feel is the part of you that wants not to be alone anymore. That wants to let someone in. It doesn’t have to be her, Cassian. It could be someone real. Someone here.”

Her hand brushed mine. Not an accident, not at all.

I looked down at her. She lifted her chin, amber eyes catching the last of the light.

“You need a Luna,” she said simply. “Your father will step down soon. The pack needs stability. An heir. A female who can deal with the politics, the hosting, the… endless petty dramas so you can focus on keeping everyone alive.”

“You make it sound glamorous,” I said.

She smiled, slow and knowing. “It’s work. It’s responsibility. Most wolves don’t really understand what the Luna does. They think it’s titles and dresses. It’s not. It’s managing the pack’s heart so the Alpha can manage its teeth.”

I blinked, surprised by the truth in that.

Livia had a point. She usually did. That was part of her power—she packaged ambition in reason.

“And you think you’re suited for that?” I asked, watching her closely.

She held my gaze. “I know I am.”

Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. A female’s laughter rose, then faded. The world kept turning while the space between us tightened.

“The elders don’t agree,” I said.

Livia’s smile thinned briefly, a flash of irritation gone as quickly as it came. “The elders are clinging to old grudges,” she said. “Because my mother wasn’t born here. Because my uncle made stupid decisions fifteen years ago. They forget who’s doing half their work behind the scenes while they grumble about tradition.”

That was true too. I’d seen her smoothing out conflicts, escorting newcomers, delivering messages nobody wanted to carry. She inserted herself where there were gaps and made herself indispensable.

She also made sure people noticed. Or tried to.

Some did. Many didn’t. More than a few openly whispered that she was too calculating, too hungry for the Luna’s chair.

“You care what they think,” I said quietly.

Livia’s jaw flexed. “I care that they’d rather see you alone until they can shove some complacent little doll in your direction,” she said. “Someone they can puppet. You deserve better than that.”

“Like you?” I asked, one brow lifting.

She didn’t look away. “Yes,” she said plainly. “Like me.”

The bluntness of it knocked the air from my lungs for a heartbeat.

We’d circled this conversation before, in smaller, safer words. Hints. Jokes. Tonight, she’d stripped it to the bones.

“Livia—”

“I know you wanted a mate,” she cut in, voice softer now. “A true bond. I know how much it meant to you. But there comes a point where stubbornness turns to self-harm. You keep bleeding for an ideal that might never come, and the pack is watching. They’re waiting. Some are losing faith.”

The words slid under my skin, lodging deep in places I didn’t want to look at.

Losing faith.

I’d caught it in the tightness around some mouths, the way a few younger wolves glanced at me when conversations about mates came up. Not outright doubt. Just… discomfort. Worry.

A leader who couldn’t secure a bond, who couldn’t provide a Luna, who had no heir—that meant uncertainty. Wolves did not thrive on uncertainty.

Livia’s fingers wrapped around mine. This time, she didn’t pretend it was accidental. Her grip was warm, sure.

“What if you chose?” she asked. “What if you decided that your life is more than waiting for a ghost? You could have someone at your side who knows this pack, who can shoulder the work with you. Who wants to.”

I swallowed.

My wolf shifted, pressing against the inside of my skin. There was no lightning. No sudden, blazing recognition. Just a strange, quiet hum. Not right. Not wrong. Something in between.

“The Moon chose for us,” I said, though the conviction in my voice was thinner than I liked. “That’s what we’ve always believed.”

“Maybe the Moon gave you free will,” Livia countered. “Maybe the real choice is yours. Do you really think she’d want her future Alpha wasting his life on longing?”

Longing.

The word tasted bitter. Ten years of it—stretching from my sixteenth birthday to now—had carved grooves into my bones. It had become a habit: scanning every crowd, breathing in every new scent, cataloging and discarding and moving on.

Always moving. Never arriving.

What would it be like to stop? To stand still and let something… someone… settle?

I looked at Livia. At the way she watched me, eyes clear and hungry but also—gods help me—sincere. She wanted this. She wanted me. Not as a man, maybe, but as an Alpha, as a future. As a throne she could sit beside.

But there was something else there too. I wasn’t blind. There was real affection buried under the calculation. She knew me. She’d watched me for years, stood close enough to learn my habits, my tells, the way my temper worked. She’d taken my side in council arguments with a ferocity that had surprised everyone.

Maybe she did care. In her way.

“I wouldn’t be able to give you what a mate bond gives,” I said slowly. “Not completely.”

Livia’s expression didn’t waver. “You’d give me honesty,” she said. “Respect. Partnership. Those matter more to me than some mystical connection that has failed to appear for a decade.”

Her thumb brushed a slow arc across the back of my hand. My heartbeat steadied into something heavy, measured.

“And what would you give me?” I asked.

Her answer was immediate.

“Loyalty,” she said. “Competence. A Luna who will fight for your pack as if it were my own flesh. Someone who can entertain the neighboring Alphas and also tell them to go to hell with a smile. I’ll keep order in your home while you keep it in your territory. I will not embarrass you. I will not flinch from blood.”

She held my gaze. “And I will choose you, Cassian. Every day. Even when you’re distant. Even when you’re stubborn. Even when you’re still grieving an idea.”

There it was again—that subtle twist of the knife. Grieving an idea.

I blew out a slow breath, feeling like the ridge had tilted a few degrees under my feet.

“I’d be giving up,” I said quietly.

“You’d be moving on,” she corrected. “For yourself. For your pack.”

For my pack.

The phrase threaded into every decision I made. This wasn’t just about me and an unnamed girl I’d never met. This was about stability. About the next generation. About presenting a united front to the world beyond our borders.

“If I agreed,” I said, voice rough, “the pack wouldn’t accept you easily.”

Her chin tipped up, defiant. “They don’t have to. Not at first. They’ll learn. I’ll prove myself. I always do.”

“Some think you’re… ambitious,” I said.

She laughed softly. “That’s because I am. And because ambitious looks uglier on a woman than on a man to most of them. Do you care?”

I thought about that. Really thought.

Ambition in itself wasn’t a flaw. Without it, we’d have no expansion, no alliances, no progress. It was where it pointed that mattered.

Did hers point at me? At the pack? At power for its own sake?

Probably all three, if I was honest. But then, power and responsibility were intertwined in our world. Wanting one meant claiming the other.

“I care that whoever stands beside me cares about the pack,” I said. “Not just the title.”

Livia’s hands tightened around mine. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” she said. “You know what I’ve done. Who I’ve helped. Ask them. Ask the mothers whose pups I’ve watched so they could rest. The elders whose medicines I’ve fetched. The patrols I’ve patched up and sent back out. I don’t want the Luna title for the jewelry, Cassian. I want it because I’m already doing half the work.”

That, too, was hard to argue with.

The protests in my chest faltered. They didn’t vanish, but they grew… quieter. Tired. Ten years of holding onto a promise that never materialized weighed heavy.

Maybe this was what compromise looked like. Not surrender. Just… choosing a different path.

I turned my hand, lacing my fingers with hers. My wolf whined, low and uncertain, then settled into a watchful crouch.

“This wouldn’t be like a real bond,” I said. “There would be boundaries. Honesty. No lies. If I take you as my chosen mate, I won’t pretend you’re something you’re not. Or that you’re someone else.”

Livia nodded once. “I don’t want to be someone else,” she said. “I just want to be yours.”

Something in my chest flickered. Not the blazing blue flame I’d always imagined, but a small, steady spark.

“Cassian?” she asked, voice almost a whisper now. “Let me help you. Let me stand with you. Stop punishing yourself for a fairy tale.”

The word twisted, carrying equal measures of comfort and accusation.

A fairy tale.

Maybe that was all the mate bond had become for me—a story I clung to because the alternative meant facing this: hard choices, imperfect matches, the risk of disappointing myself and everyone else.

I looked down at our joined hands. At the valley. At the life waiting below.

Slowly, deliberately, I nodded.

“All right,” I said. “We try it your way.”

Livia’s breath left her in a rush. For a heartbeat, her composure slipped, and I saw raw triumph flash across her face before she smoothed it into something softer.

“You won’t regret it,” she said.

My wolf shifted again, unsettled. I pushed past the feeling, folding it away with the rest of the doubts I didn’t have time for.

“I hope not,” I murmured.

I drew her closer, more for the symbolism than the comfort. Her body fit against mine, familiar in a way that came from years of proximity, not destiny.

Below us, the last of the daylight bled away, and the packhouse lights shone brighter.

Ten years of searching, and on a windless ridge overlooking everything I was sworn to protect, I let go of the idea of her.

Not all of it. Not the ache. But enough.

Enough to make room for the woman beside me.

Enough to stop running.

Far away, out beyond the borders I’d worn thin with my searching, something shifted. A thread pulled taut, humming with distant, startled awareness.

I didn’t feel it.

Not yet.