ALPHA'S HIDDEN MATE

The wind howled through the Blackwood estate like a restless spirit, sweeping over the stone terraces and ancient oak trees that lined the northern border of the pack lands. Inside the manor, the hearth crackled, its flames dancing in defiance of the chill. Yet no warmth could reach Lucien Blackwood's heart not tonight.

He stood at the window of his study, shoulders rigid, hands clenched behind his back, watching the distant figures arrive on horseback. Another delegation, no doubt. Another empty show of unity between packs. All under the guise of peace... and tradition.

Lucien,came his father's voice from behind him, low and clipped. They're here. Prepare yourself.

Lucien didn't turn. It's not too late to call this off.

Alpha Dorian Blackwood stepped closer, his presence as heavy as the silence that followed. You know better than to challenge what's been decided. The D'Arcy alliance will strengthen our borders. Seraphina is a smart match.

She's not my mate.

Dorian's jaw tightened. And how many Alphas wait for fate to deliver them a convenient love story? You're not a pup dreaming of fairy tales. You're the future of this pack.

Lucien finally turned, his amber eyes burning with restrained fury. I'm still a man. I deserve a choice.

This isn't about what you deserve,Dorian said. It's about what the pack needs.

Lucien's lips thinned, but he said nothing more. He'd fought this battle too many times already, and he was growing tired of the bruises it left on his soul.

Downstairs, the manor came alive with activity maids rushing with linens, guards posting at the gates, and kitchen hands scrambling to prepare a feast that would make the D'Arcy's feel welcome. In the shadows of the servant's quarters, no one noticed the girl scrubbing the stone floors until her fingers bled.

Elara didn't speak. Couldn't, in fact. Not since the fire.

Her memories were a fog half-formed shapes, screams, flashes of silver and blood. The only clear truth was this: she was nothing. A slave. A girl with no name, no history, and no future.

She worked quietly, efficiently, her tattered sleeves soaked and her knees raw. If she did well, the steward might let her eat tonight. If she slipped up, there would be bruises. Again.

A sharp voice echoed down the corridor. Stable hands, to the courtyard!

Elara wiped her hands on her skirts and obeyed, head down, hair covering the faint scar that curved along her jawline. Outside, horses had begun to gather, elegant creatures cloaked in the livery of the D'Arcy pack.

She moved to help, holding the reins of a silver mare as a rider dismounted. Her touch was careful, respectful-the kind that animals trusted. The mare responded with a soft huff, nuzzling her shoulder.

You there,a guard barked. "Eyes down, slave!"

She flinched and lowered her gaze further. But it was too late.

Lucien had seen her.

He'd come out to oversee the arrival and was halfway down the stone steps when his eyes caught the girl near the stables. At first, it was nothing just a figure in the background. But then her scent hit him.

Warm. Familiar. Wild.

His wolf surged inside him so fast he staggered.

Mate.

Lucien froze.

The world tilted, blurred at the edges. He stared at her as if the universe had just punched him in the chest. She was frail, dressed in rags, with dirt on her face and calluses on her hands. But none of it mattered.

His wolf howled with recognition.

Lucien? Seraphina D'Arcy had approached without him noticing, her red dress billowing behind her like spilled wine. She smiled coolly and offered her hand. It's been too long.

Lucien blinked, forcing his eyes away from the slave girl and placing a polite kiss on Seraphina's knuckles. Indeed.

But his thoughts were still at the stables.

Who was she?

That night, the manor was filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of crystal goblets. Seraphina stood beside Lucien at the head of the table, radiant and regal. Everyone whispered how perfect they looked,how strong their union would be.

But Lucien's mind was elsewhere.

He barely tasted the food. Barely heard the toasts. Every heartbeat brought him back to the stables, to her.

Later, when the guests retired and the moon rose high, Lucien slipped away. He moved like a shadow through the manor, down the servants' wing, past the kitchens, until he reached the back courtyard.

She was there. Alone.

Elara was brushing down a mare, her movements slow, tired. She didn't notice him at first,not until he was right behind her.

What's your name?

She jumped, eyes wide, hand pressed to her chest. He saw the panic in her gaze, the way she instinctively looked for a way to flee.

I won't hurt you,he said softly. Please... your name.

She shook her head, then slowly reached into her pocket. From it, she drew a tiny, worn piece of parchment. On it were four letters, scrawled in faded ink:

Elara.

Lucien's heart stilled.

Elara,he whispered, tasting the name like a secret.

She stared at him, something flickering behind her eyes,curiosity, fear... or something older.

Lucien took a step closer. Do you know who you are?

She shook her head again.

I think I do,he murmured, voice thick with something deeper. And I swear to you, I will find out.

Elara didn't move, but for the first time in years, she felt something stir in her chest. Not fear.

Hope.