His Unwanted Mate, Her Forbidden Magic

mate, but my husband, Mark, saved

hing down when a massive crystal chandelier tore fr

ng second, Mark

ly into the path of splintering debris. He used his ow

for life. When he finally visited, it wasn't with remorse. He stood over my bed and perfo

y was so profound

rst in, his eyes wide with horror as he look

amed. "By the Moon Goddess

pte

cold, each aroma swallowed by the silence of waiting. I smoothed down the front of my simple linen dress for the tenth time, the fabric soft but familiar against my skin, a stark contrast to the

perate, familiar prayer. *He'll see th

ise over the last year knew better. It was a

lit flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that felt like specters of my own loneliness. My wolf, usually a comforting presence cur

iolation of the quiet vigil I'd been keeping. Mark, Alpha of the Veridia pack, my

ath his expensive leather jacket, and his jaw was a hard, unforgiving line. But it was the scent that struck me first, a physical blow that

organ, clenched in my chest. *

than I intended, a mere whisper agains

en meal, the single, hopeful rose. There was no warmth, no apology. Only a profoun

jacket, tossing it onto a chair with a carelessness that spoke volumes.

gain, gesturing to the sad, cooli

air, a gesture of pure exasperation. "Your sentimentality is a

rs preparing, the memories I had been cherishing all day-they were nothing more than a demand on his time, an annoyance in the grander scheme of his life as Alpha. My inner

clink of a bottle. He returned with a beer, twisting the cap off with a flick of his wrist. He took a long swallow

, a perfunctory, hollow excuse. I knew it wa

t I couldn't. I was a coward, terrified of hearing the words that would make this nightmare real. So

*

rand hall of the pack house buzzed with conversation and laughter, the air thick with the smell of wine and roasted meats. Silverware scraped against porcelain, a constant,

her eyes full of a sympathy I couldn't

ourt, her laughter a bright, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. She was beautiful, I couldn't deny it-all slee

d, flaring up with stress or cold. Tonight, it was excruciating. I gasped, my hand flying to the spot, my knuckles pressing hard into the ache. I tried to b

my voice a strained whisper. "Ma

y on Isabella, who had just dramatically recounted some trivial socia

at way," Isabella declared, her voice carr

ng with a concern I hadn't seen directed at me in years. His voice was a low, sooth

eclaration, a clear and brutal prioritization. I was secondary. I was nothing. The pain in my back was a dull fire, but the pain in my heart was a raging in

a quiet scrape that went unnoticed by my mate, I stood on trembling legs. I walked out of the grand hall, my h

*

rchment. This was where I was more than just Mark's neglected mate. Here, I was myself. Jars of shimmering dusts and rare crystals lined

brute strength and pack politics, I had an affinity for the elements, a

low copper bowl. I closed my eyes, shutting out the image of Mark comforting Isabella. I focused on the cold, emp

my pain. A single, perfect snowflake materialized in the air above my palms, spinning gently before melting into nothing. I

my workbench, a device used for secure, long-distance communication. I rarely r

tigious, neutral organization that oversaw all magical disciplines. My

n, stark and unbelievable in

the Veri

nvited to compete in the Celestial Conclave, to be held on the full moon one month from t

werful practitioners from every territory. It was a legend, a dream. A place where

n an invitation. It was an escape. A chance. A life that was entirely my own, a

mile touched my lips. It was a small, fragile thing, but it w