My Mate Marked His Mistress Instead of Me

He came on a Thursday.

I heard the footsteps before I heard the voice. Heavy, uneven, dragging slightly on the gravel like someone who had walked too far without stopping. The rain had been coming down since noon—steady, cold, the kind that soaks through jackets and turns dirt roads to mud.

I was at the kitchen table with my laptop open. Buster was asleep at my feet, a golden lump of warmth I had only just started to let myself need. When the footsteps stopped outside the door, his ears flicked but he didn't lift his head. That told me something.

Then the voice came.

"Isabella."

Killian.

I went very still. My wolf didn't surge. She didn't snarl. She just waited, the way a predator waits when it knows the threat is already beaten.

He said my name again. Louder this time. Not quite the Alpha tone, but trying for it—his voice cracking at the edges like he'd forgotten how to make it land.

"I know you're in there. Please. Just—just open the door."

I didn't move. I looked at Buster. He yawned and resettled his head on his paws.

Killian knocked. Three times, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to prove he could be patient. "Bella, I need to talk to you. I drove four hours. In the rain. Please."

I stood. I walked to the door. I did not open it.

"You're on neutral territory," I said. My voice came out flat. Clear. "Your Alpha authority doesn't reach here. You should leave."

Silence.

Then: "I'm not here as an Alpha."

"Then you have even less reason to be here."

I heard him take a breath. It shook. "Isabella. I made a mistake. I know that now. I—" His voice broke. Actually broke. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. My wolf won't settle. The bond—"

"There is no bond," I said. "I rejected you. It's done."

"It doesn't have to be." He was talking faster now, the words tumbling over each other. "We can fix this. I'll do the marking ceremony. Tonight. Right now. I'll—"

"Go home, Killian."

"Bella—"

"Go. Home."

I heard him lean against the door. The wood creaked under his weight. For a long moment there was nothing but the rain and his breathing, rough and uneven on the other side of the threshold.

Then the footsteps again. Slow. Retreating.

I waited until I heard the truck engine start, until the sound faded down the road and was swallowed by the rain. Then I sat back down at the table. My hands were steady. My wolf was calm.

Buster lifted his head and looked at me.

"Good boy," I said quietly.

He wagged his tail once and went back to sleep.

---

Ronan came the next afternoon.

I heard his truck before I saw it—the low rumble of the engine, the crunch of gravel. I was on the porch with Buster, throwing a tennis ball he was still figuring out how to retrieve. He'd bring it halfway back, then get distracted by a leaf or a shadow and drop it.

Ronan got out of the truck. He was wearing a dark jacket, sleeves pushed up despite the cold, and he was carrying something.

Not tools this time.

A puppy.

Golden, floppy-eared, squirming in the crook of his arm like it couldn't decide whether to lick his face or launch itself at the ground.

I stared.

Ronan walked up to the porch. He set the puppy down. It immediately tumbled toward Buster, who sniffed it once, then sat down like he'd been personally affronted.

"He needed a home," Ronan said. His voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact. "I thought of you."

I looked at the puppy. Then at Ronan. Then back at the puppy, who had decided Buster's tail was the most interesting thing in the world and was now attempting to wrestle it.

"You thought of me," I repeated.

"Yes."

I crouched. The puppy abandoned Buster's tail and launched itself at me instead, all paws and tongue and unbearable softness. I caught it before it face-planted into the porch boards.

My wolf stirred.

Not the sharp, vigilant awareness she'd had with Killian. Not the hollow ache of the broken bond.

Something else.

Something warm.

She purred.

I froze. I hadn't heard that sound in years. Maybe ever. Not with Killian. Not even before him.

The puppy licked my chin.

I looked up at Ronan. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite name. Not expectant. Not waiting for thanks. Just... present.

"Does he have a name?" I asked.

"Not yet."

I looked at the puppy. He looked back at me with eyes too big for his face and a tail that wouldn't stop wagging.

"Buster," I said. "I'm calling him Buster."

Ronan's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Close.

"Good name," he said.

He stayed for coffee. Then he stayed to help me reinforce the fence line Buster had already figured out how to slip under. Then Cayden showed up for perimeter patrol and Ronan stayed for that too, and somehow it was evening and I was setting three plates on the table instead of one.

Cayden talked. Ronan listened. I fed Buster under the table when I thought no one was looking.

Ronan saw. He didn't say anything. He just refilled my water glass without asking and passed the bread basket before I reached for it.

His scent filled the cabin again. Cedar and pine and cold stone.

My wolf noticed.

I pretended I didn't.