Page 94 of Wolf’s Fated Bride

“She knows about fated mates.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Blade walks away.

Fated mates don’t exist. It’s a fairy tale. “If she knows, why hasn’t she said anything?”

“For the same reason you didn’t. She thinks it’s make-believe. And if you don’t believe in fairy tales, the moon will reject you. Maybe mark that one instead.” She points at Blade’s back.

I watch him for a bit, then glance at the healer and try to cross my arms over my chest, but I wince when pain from my injured arm signals I should keep it straight. “Then we’re not fated. If she can mark another male, the mating isn’t fated.”

The woman smirks. “Ah, now you believe that you’re marked?”

I show her my palm. “She imprinted on me, not him, didn’t she?”

“You can’t stand the thought of another male having her. This is good. Healthy for your ego. Lean into that. Just know that those who are fated for each other are tested against all odds. Others will get in the way of your mating. It would all be much easier if the alchemists let us keep this part of our history, but they stole our stories. Destroyed the belief in our moon itself.” She sighs. “The world wants you to fail. You’re the villain everyone wants dead. Except for one girl. She wants you to live. If you don’t believe in fated mates, you’ll be just another villain who lost the girl he should’ve kept.”

Chapter 39

Runa

I’ve ridden this train before. When we visited the human city. Back then, the scenery looked different. Ever since the volcano scorched the land separating us from the Fireborns and the Human Alliance, the territory was renamed the Midlands. Outcasts and outlaws live there now. Misfits. I wish I could move to the Midlands.

I wish the Peacebroker would throw me out the window. I would rather he dump me out of a moving train than keep me caged beside his left knee-high boot like some badly behaved dog. Fuck him.

I glare and growl at him.

A Shackler zaps me with a Taser.

I yelp and show them my wolf teeth, but I don’t growl anymore. They already fried too much of my fur. I lie down and cover my muzzle with my paws so I don’t inhale the stench of burning fur.

“I would let you out of the cage, but I’m afraid you might bite me,” the Peacebroker says, amused.

A growl rises, but I squash it. His days are numbered. I’ll rip out his throat if it’s the last thing I do. His men shot at my mother, and I have no idea if she survived. My dad attacked them right after that. While they dragged me out, our pack rushed into the room and hopefully managed to get my sister out of there. I can’t bear the thought of Maren being hurt. Or worse.

A crying wolf is a sad creature. I whine in sorrow.

“What was that?” the Peacebroker asks. When I ignore him, he offers me a piece of seared beef from his plate.

It smells good. I lick the steak, eyeing his fingers. Pretending the bars prevent me from grabbing the steak, I retreat a little. His hand follows. Got you.

I snap my jaws, but he quickly pulls back. My teeth snap on air.

A Taser zaps my side.

I yelp, then growl, biting the cage bars. Let me out so I can tear into you, bitch.

They caged me because they’re afraid I’ll bite them, in which case they’ll knock me out. And I don’t believe they want to do that. They need me. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have taken me. They could’ve killed me by now.

Little do they know, they could’ve avoided the mayhem with my pack. The moment my father or my brother learned that I showed Ash a way out, my dad, if he was feeling merciful, would’ve kicked me out of the pack. I would have been forced into the Midlands.

I imagine I would have traveled to Fireborn territory to beg Ash to let me into his pack. Even if I managed to survive the Midlands, I wouldn’t have ended up on great terms with Ash. He didn’t appreciate being treated as a service male.

Perhaps it’s better I spend some time with the humans in their testing labs or prisons. Who knows where they’re taking me?

I look at the Peacebroker, who sips his red wine from a plastic cup.

My whining gets his attention, and he raises an eyebrow. “Are you ready to behave?”

I nod. Good Moon, I hate him. The synthetic fabric of his uniform, combined with the alchemy on his fingers, smells like he soiled the earth and then poured bleach over it. Soiled earth beneath our paws smells great to a wolf, but alchemy makes me nauseated.