My Mate Sent Me to Die in Frostpeak

The silver-laced incense burns my lungs with every breath I take, but I don't let myself scream. I won't. Not when Hope is doing this to help me, to fix whatever's broken inside me that makes Travis so violent, so uncontrollable.

"Just a little more, Gemma," Hope murmurs, her voice soft and soothing as she prepares another injection. The pack clinic's dim lighting casts shadows across her face, making her look almost ethereal. "This will stabilize your wolf. Damian will finally be able to mark you properly."

Eight years. Eight years of waiting for that mark, for the completion of our bond. Eight years of watching him pull away every time Travis surfaces, every time my wolf's dominance threatens the careful hierarchy of our pack.

The needle pierces my skin again, and this time I bite down hard on my lip, tasting copper. The herbal mixture feels like liquid fire racing through my veins, and somewhere deep inside, Travis snarls and thrashes against the cage I've built around him.

*Quiet,* I beg my wolf silently. *Please, just let this work.*

Hope's cool hand touches my forehead. "You're doing so well. Damian will be so proud of you."

That thought—Damian being proud—is what keeps me still as she continues the ritual. The ancient pack healing ceremony is supposed to be our last hope, the final solution to the problem that's been tearing us apart. If I can just suppress Travis enough, just become the mate Damian needs me to be...

When it's finally over, I can barely stand. My legs shake as I pull myself upright, and the room spins sickeningly.

"You should rest here," Hope suggests, already tidying up her supplies with practiced efficiency.

But I shake my head. I need to see Damian. Need to tell him it's done, that I've finally fixed myself for him. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Hope. For everything."

The walk back to the Alpha's pack house takes longer than it should. Every step feels like I'm dragging weights, and my skin still burns from the silver incense. But the thought of Damian's relief, maybe even his smile, pushes me forward.

I arrive earlier than expected—the ritual didn't take as long as Hope predicted. The grand hallway stretches before me, familiar and imposing with its dark wood panels and ancestral portraits. Home. Or at least, it's supposed to be.

Then I smell it.

Sweet. Floral. Intoxicating in a way that makes my chest constrict painfully. It's the scent of a fated mate, unmistakable and pure, twining intimately with Damian's heavy earthy musk. The combination is coming from his private study, the room he never lets anyone enter without permission.

My feet move without conscious thought, carrying me down the hallway even as my mind screams at me to turn back, to leave, to not look. But I can't stop. Travis, weakened as he is from the ritual, suddenly surges forward with a vicious snarl that echoes only in my head.

The study door is slightly ajar. Just enough.

I peer through the gap, and my entire world shatters.

Damian has Hope pressed against his desk, his face buried in the curve of her neck. She's tilting her head back, exposing her throat in complete submission, her fingers tangled in his hair. They're scent-marking each other with an intimacy I've never experienced, not once in eight years.

"Two years," Hope whispers, breathless and wanting. "Two years of hiding this. I can't stand it anymore, Damian."

Two years.

The words hit me like physical blows.

"I know," Damian growls against her skin, and the raw need in his voice—I've never heard him sound like that. Not with me. Never with me. "But Gemma's wolf is too unstable. I can't risk rejecting her outright until Travis is dealt with. She's convenient for now, keeps the pack from questioning why I haven't taken a marked mate."

Convenient.

Placeholder.

Unmarked because I was never meant to be marked.

Inside my mind, Travis explodes with a rage so pure and violent that I have to press my hand against the wall to stay upright. My wolf's fury crashes against the weakened barriers the ritual created, and for once, I don't fight him. I let that rage fill me, let it burn away the pathetic, desperate love I've been clinging to.

"The ritual will work," Hope says, and there's something cold in her voice now, something calculating. "She'll be so weak, so submissive. You can reject her cleanly then. No more violent outbursts from Travis to worry about."

She knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.

My best friend. My healer. My betrayer.

I step back from the door on silent feet, my heart pounding so hard I'm surprised they can't hear it. The silver burns in my veins, the ritual's poison still working to suppress everything wild and true inside me.

But Travis is done being suppressed. And so am I.