Josie
The mirror hated me almost as much as I hated it.
I yanked my hair back for the third time, trying to tame the wild brown curls that refused to lie flat. My hands were shaking. It wasn't nerves—it was dread, heavy and clawing like a stone in my chest.
"Ugh, this is pointless," I muttered, tossing the brush onto the cluttered vanity. "Why even try?"
From my bed, Marcy propped herself up on one elbow and smirked. "Because it's your mate ceremony, Jo. You can't show up looking like you just crawled out of a grave."
"Maybe I did," I said darkly, picking at the hem of my worn black dress. It was the only thing in my closet that didn't scream 'pity donation.'
Marcy rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being realistic."
Tonight wasn't for me. It never was. Every year, the Crescent Fang Pack held a grand celebration for the newest batch of eighteen-year-olds—because at eighteen, the mate bond could snap into place. It was supposed to be the most magical night of a werewolf's life. But not for me.
Not for the omega everyone pretended didn't exist.
Marcy stood, adjusted her sleek silver dress in the mirror, and came to sit beside me. She smelled like confidence and lilacs. Her aura was warm. Alpha blood. Respected blood.
She linked her arm with mine. "You never know. Maybe your mate's out there waiting. Maybe tonight is the start of everything changing."
I gave her a flat look. "You mean like a reverse Cinderella story? I go to the ball, meet my prince, and suddenly the rest of the pack decides I'm worth breathing the same air?"
"Exactly," she said cheerfully. "Except this time the prince might have claws and anger issues."
I snorted, but my smile was weak. "More like the prince runs screaming the second he realizes I'm his mate."
Marcy's teasing faded. "Josie…"
I stood up fast, needing space. "It's fine. I've accepted it. The Moon Goddess made a mistake with me. If I had a mate, he'd have found me already and rejected me before dessert."
The silence stretched between us like a fraying thread.
Marcy, bless her heart, didn't argue. She knew my parents hadn't said a word to me in days. Knew how people looked through me, past me, as if even acknowledging my existence would taint their status. She knew I wasn't allowed to train like the others, that I lived in a drafty attic while my brothers basked in praise for their battle skills and perfect Alpha genes.
I was a mistake. A glitch in the system.
"Let's just get this over with," I said, walking toward the door. My dress clung to me like second skin—too tight in the chest, too loose in the waist. Like it didn't know who it belonged to.
Maybe it didn't.
The pack house's great hall had been transformed into something out of a dream—glowing lanterns floated in the air, enchanted to mimic tiny moons, and shimmering silk banners draped from the high wooden beams. Music pulsed like a heartbeat through the floor. Laughter echoed from every corner.
I clung to the shadows, avoiding the sparkling crowd of hopefuls and their doting parents. Omegas weren't meant to be seen unless they were serving food or cleaning up after the real party.
"Josie!"
Marcy disappeared into a group of giggling she-wolves, waving at me before getting swallowed whole. I hovered near the wall, praying to any goddess listening that no one would notice me.
And for a while, no one did.
Then I turned too fast—trying to avoid a waiter—and crashed headfirst into a wall.
No. Not a wall.
A chest. A very solid, very warm, very male chest.
"Oh my god—I'm sorry, I wasn't looking—" I froze.
The scent hit me first. Smoke and pine and something darker, like the moment before a storm breaks. My head snapped up, and I looked straight into the eyes of Varen Whistle-down.
One of the triplets.
One of the Alphas.
The most dangerous of the three.
His silver eyes widened slightly, locked onto mine like a predator spotting prey. His jaw tensed. His nostrils flared as if he'd caught a whiff of something unexpected.
I took a step back, heart pounding. "I—sorry. I didn't mean to…"
He didn't say a word.
Just stared.
Like he could see inside me.
I turned and ran.
I didn't care if it made me look weak. I was weak. And being near someone like him—someone who mattered—made it feel like the world was tilting sideways.
I found an empty hallway and leaned against the wall, trying to breathe. My palms were slick with sweat. My chest ached.
Stupid, stupid. You couldn't just run into an Alpha like that. Especially him. Varen and his brothers—Thorne and Kiel—were whispered about in the same breath as war and blood and power. No one knew what they were fully capable of, only that they were terrifying together and lethal alone.
I sank to the floor, fingers curling into the hem of my dress.
I just had to make it to midnight. Then I could sneak out.
Then the air shifted.
All around the hall, the lanterns flickered. The room beyond the corridor dimmed as the moon overhead broke through the clouds outside—and turned a shade of unnatural blue.
Gasps echoed.
The music stopped.
I scrambled to my feet and peeked around the corner.
The stage lights illuminated the triplets, standing side by side in matching black suits like they owned the universe. Thorne stood tall and grim. Kiel's expression was unreadable. Varen looked like sin dressed in power.
Then, all three of them raised their heads.
The word that left their mouths was one sound, spoken in unison.
A word that shattered me.
"Mate."
The crowd went dead silent.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't think.
The word repeated in my head, over and over, like a scream stuck behind glass.
No.
No.
No.
This couldn't be happening. Not to me. Not me.
I took a step back, trembling. My heart slammed against my ribs. Eyes were beginning to shift, people turning, murmuring.
I was a ghost again, only now everyone could see me—and they were staring.
And then they moved.
All three of them.
Varen. Kiel. Thorne.
They stepped off the stage, parting the crowd like wolves among sheep.
Walking straight toward me.
I stumbled backward, almost tripping on the hem of my dress. My breath hitched. Panic clawed its way up my throat.
Thorne's eyes glowed gold.
He growled.
One word.
"Bring her to the stage."