Realized I Was Just His Stand-In Mate

The rain had started an hour after I left Eclipse territory, fat droplets that turned the dirt road into mud and soaked through what remained of my ceremonial dress. The flames had consumed most of the elaborate fabric, leaving me in charred silk that clung to my skin like a second layer of humiliation.

I'd been walking for three hours when I realized I had nowhere to go.

The first indication came when I tried to call a taxi using my phone. "I'm sorry, ma'am," the dispatcher said after I gave my credit card number. "This card has been declined. Do you have another form of payment?"

My hands shook as I hung up and immediately called my bank. The automated system delivered the news with mechanical indifference: all accounts associated with Emelia Quinn had been frozen pending investigation of suspected fraudulent activity.

Damon. Of course.

I tried calling Sarah, my assistant, then Marcus from accounting, then anyone from Eclipse Pack who might help. Each call went straight to voicemail. By the fourth attempt, I understood. Damon had moved fast, probably declaring me a security threat the moment I'd walked away from that altar.

The gray-zone bar materialized through the rain like a neon-lit lifeline. "The Crossroads" flickered in sickly pink letters above a door that had seen better decades. It squatted on the border between Eclipse and Obsidian territories, the kind of place where pack politics didn't matter and nobody asked questions as long as you had money for drinks.

Except I didn't have money.

"Look, honey," the bartender said, eyeing my bedraggled appearance with a mixture of pity and suspicion. "I can't serve you if you can't pay."

I stared at the amber liquid in the bottle behind him, my reflection wavering in its surface. "I can transfer funds from my business account tomorrow morning. I just need—"

"No credit. House rules." He turned away, already dismissing me.

That's when the stranger at the end of the bar spoke up. "Put her drinks on my tab."

I turned to see a middle-aged man with graying temples and kind eyes. He wore the simple clothes of a traveling merchant, nothing that marked him as pack affiliated.

"Thank you," I whispered, sliding onto the barstool beside him.

"Rough night?" he asked as the bartender poured me a double whiskey.

I laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "Rough eight years."

The whiskey burned going down, but it was a clean burn, honest in its harshness. Not like the slow poison of false promises and wasted devotion. I drank steadily, methodically, letting the alcohol blur the edges of my humiliation.

"That's the Eclipse Pack COO," I heard someone whisper from across the bar. "Heard she went crazy at her own bonding ceremony."

"Burned her dress right there at the altar," another voice added. "Alpha Damon's already put out word she's mentally unstable. Stole pack secrets."

The whiskey turned sour in my mouth. Even here, in this no-man's-land between territories, Damon's lies followed me.

"Don't listen to them," the merchant said quietly. "Whatever happened, I'm sure you had your reasons."

I finished my drink and gestured for another. Then another. The rain drummed against the windows, and the bar's few patrons gradually drifted away until only the hardcore drinkers remained. My benefactor eventually left with a gentle pat on my shoulder and a whispered "take care of yourself."

By the time I stumbled outside, the rain had stopped, but the alley behind the bar was slick with mud and standing water. I needed air, needed to think, needed to figure out what came next. But the alcohol had hit harder than expected, and I barely made it three steps before my legs gave out.

That's when they found me.

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

Three figures emerged from the shadows, their scents marking them immediately as rogues—wolves without pack affiliation, living on the fringes of civilized territory. The leader was a scarred brute with yellowed teeth and predatory eyes.

"The famous Emelia Quinn," he sneered, circling me like a shark scenting blood. "Heard you got yourself kicked out of paradise tonight."

I tried to stand, but the whiskey had stolen my coordination. "Stay back."

"Or what?" The second rogue laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the alley walls. "You'll call your Alpha? Oh wait—you don't have an Alpha anymore, do you?"

They moved closer, and I caught the stench of unwashed bodies and stale beer. My wolf stirred weakly, trying to surface through the alcohol haze, but I was too drunk and emotionally drained to shift.

"Pretty little thing like you, all alone in the big bad world," the leader crooned, reaching for my torn dress. "Lucky for you, we're feeling generous tonight. We'll take real good care of you."

His hand closed on my arm, fingers digging into flesh already bruised from my dramatic exit. I tried to pull away, but my movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.

"Don't touch me," I slurred, but even I could hear how pathetic I sounded.

"Nobody's coming to save you, sweetheart," the third rogue said, grabbing my other arm. "Your precious pack thinks you're a traitor. Other packs won't touch you with a ten-foot pole. You're nobody now."

Nobody. The word hit harder than any physical blow because it felt true. I'd built my entire identity around being Eclipse Pack's indispensable COO, Damon's capable mate. Without those roles, what was I?

The leader's grip tightened, and I smelled his rancid breath as he leaned closer. "Time to learn what happens to wolves who forget their place."

That's when the shadows exploded.

A figure emerged from the darkness like death incarnate, moving with fluid, lethal grace. I caught a glimpse of amber eyes blazing with fury before the newcomer's fist connected with the leader's jaw. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the alley.

The rogue flew backward, slamming into the brick wall with enough force to leave a dent. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the mud.

The second attacker lunged forward with a snarl, but the stranger caught his arm mid-swing and twisted. The wet snap of breaking bone was followed by a scream that cut through the night air.

"My arm! You broke my fucking arm!"

The third rogue took one look at his fallen companions and bolted, disappearing into the maze of back alleys with the speed of pure terror.

I blinked up at my savior through the alcohol haze, trying to focus on his face. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and those impossibly intense amber eyes. Something about him seemed familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

"Emelia?" His voice was deep, rough with concern. "Jesus, what did they do to you?"

I tried to answer, but the combination of shock, alcohol, and exhaustion finally overwhelmed me. The world tilted sideways, and I felt strong arms catch me as I fell into darkness.

The last thing I remembered was the scent of pine and leather, and a voice whispering my name like a prayer.