Chapter2 I don't want a mate

Silver's POV

I clutched the water bottle Callum had handed me, knuckles white. "I came from Blackwood Ridge," I finally whispered, silver hair falling forward to hide half my face. "It's in Appalachia. A feral pack. Very backward. Very violent."

Rhydian leaned forward slightly. "Keep going."

"They wanted me to complete a Blood Moon ritual with Slade—he's the alpha of Blackwood Ridge, the pack leader." I swallowed hard, the words difficult.

Rhydian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why did he want to bond with you?" A pause, then more quietly: "He wasn't your true mate, was he?"

I blinked, startled that he'd guessed. "I... I don't know for certain. I don't have a wolf, so I can't feel that kind of pull everyone talks about."

My fingers twisted together. "But when the ritual failed, when the Moon Goddess rejected us, Slade was so angry. If we were true mates, it wouldn't have mattered, would it? The bond would've formed anyway."

"Then why insist on the ceremony?"

"He said it was the only way the pack would truly accept me." The memory made my throat tight. "I asked him once—asked if I was his true mate. He wouldn't answer directly. Just said that whether I was or wasn't, he only wanted to be with me forever."

Rhydian's jaw tightened, a flash of dark crimson bleeding through his pupils.

"He forced this on me anyway." My trembling fingers touched the mark, panic rising in my chest. "This... this isn't permanent, is it? Can it be removed?"

Something softened in Rhydian's expression. "No, it's not permanent. Just a temporary mark. A true permanent mark can't succeed without both parties' willing consent. From the look of it, he tried—that despicable, brutish bastard—but failed."

Relief flooded through me so fast I felt dizzy.

He studied me for a moment, something careful in his expression. "Can I ask you something?" When I nodded, he continued, "What do you think about permanent marks? About true mates?"

The question caught me off guard. I looked down at my hands. "I don't like it," I admitted quietly. "Everyone in the pack always talked about how wonderful it is when you meet your true mate—this overwhelming pull, this certainty. But I don't have a wolf to guide me. I can't feel any of that."

My voice grew firmer. "To me, it sounds no different from being forced. I spent twenty years in that pack, having every part of my life decided for me. I ran because I didn't want to live like that anymore."

I met his eyes. "If I ever do meet a true mate someday, I hope he never tells me. I don't want a mate. I don't want to be bound by a permanent mark."

Rhydian went very still. Something shifted in his posture—a tension I couldn't quite read—before he seemed to collect himself.

"I understand," he said quietly. There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. "The temporary mark, though—it will still allow him to track your location once he gets close enough to Manhattan. Have you thought about how you'll handle that?"

"No." My hands shook. "He'll find me. He'll—I can't—"

"I can help you suppress it." His hand hovered near mine, waiting. When I didn't pull away, his fingers brushed over mine—brief, careful.

"My scent is strong enough to mask what he left behind." He paused. "I have a private residence with specialized wards that can block the mark's signal completely. You'd be safe there. Would you consider staying until I can remove it entirely?"

Stay in a stranger's home? Let another powerful Alpha decide where I can go?

The familiar weight settled on my chest—the same suffocation I'd felt in Blackwood Ridge.

I pulled my hand back gently. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, really. But I can't accept that." I tried to smile. "You're a good person, and I don't want Slade's mess dragging you into danger."

"That's not—"

"And I..." I looked away. "I can't just move into a st range Alpha's home. I've seen what an enraged Alpha can do. I need to handle this myself."

Rhydian's expression tightened, but he didn't push. "At least let me give you my number. In case you need help."

I nodded and reached for my phone—the old flip phone I'd brought from Blackwood Ridge.

His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw it. "That's... does that still work?"

"For calls, yes." I smiled a little. "I don't need anything fancy."

"Let me get you a new phone," he said. "That thing looks like it might fall apart."

"No, really. This works fine." I punched in his number carefully, my fingers clumsy on the small buttons. "But thank you."

He watched me struggle with the keypad, a faint smile crossing his face. The expression softened his sharp features, and for a moment I found myself staring—he really was unfairly handsome.

I looked away quickly. "Why are you being so kind to me?" I asked. "You don't even know me."

He hesitated, his expression turning serious. "There aren't many wolves living in human society. When I meet one, I help if I can."

"You're a good person," I said softly.

Something complicated crossed his face. "What will you do now? Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I have a friend in Manhattan," I said quickly. "I'll figure something out. If you could just drop me somewhere in the city center, I'll be fine."

"A friend?" His tone sharpened slightly. "From Blackwood Ridge?"

"Yes. Her name is Nessa. She's—" I smiled despite everything. "She's the only real friend I had there. She got into university here through her own hard work. She's much better off than me."

"Nessa," Rhydian repeated slowly. "And she's from the same pack?"

"She's Slade's sister, actually. But she's nothing like him. She's always been good to me. She'll probably be angry that I ran, since she really wanted Slade and me to work out, but she'd never hurt me."

His voice was very calm, very controlled. "I don't think contacting her is a good idea. Not right now."

I blinked. "What? Why?"

"She's his sister. What if she tells him where you are?"

"She wouldn't—"

"You don't know that." He leaned forward slightly. "You said yourself she wanted you to bond with her brother. What if her loyalty to him is stronger than her friendship with you?"

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it.

"I just..." I twisted my fingers together. "I don't want to believe she'd betray me."

"I'm not saying she would intentionally," Rhydian said more gently. "But Slade could force it out of her. Or manipulate her. You don't want to go back there, do you?"

A shiver ran through me at the thought of being dragged back to Blackwood Ridge.

"Maybe..." I swallowed. "Maybe I'll wait. Until Slade gives up looking for me. Then I'll contact her."

"That's safer," Rhydian agreed. "For both of you. If Slade is as violent as you say, you don't want him taking his anger out on her either."

I hadn't thought of that. The image of Slade hurting Nessa because of me made my stomach turn. "You're right. I'll wait."

"Good." Some of the tension left his shoulders. "And if you need anything—anything at all—call me. Please."

I nodded, clutching my phone. "You're the first friend I've made here. I hope we'll see each other again."

Something warm flickered in his eyes. "I'd like that."

---

The car dropped me off in the heart of Manhattan, and I stood on the sidewalk watching it disappear into traffic, suddenly very alone.

I had twenty-three dollars left. The money I'd stolen from the ritual preparations was gone—spent on the bus ticket, food, and the cheap dress I was wearing.

I needed a job. Fast.

But everywhere I went, the answer was the same.

"Do you have a resume?"

"Can you use a computer?"

"What's your education level?"

I couldn't spell well enough to fill out applications. Couldn't type. Had never finished school in any formal sense. The pack had taught me to cook, clean, submit—nothing that mattered here.

By the time the sun set, I'd been rejected by twelve places.

I found a bench in a small park and sat down. My feet should have been aching after walking for hours, but the shoes Rhydian had given me fit perfectly—comfortable in a way I'd never experienced before.

Around me, the city hummed with life—people heading home from work, couples laughing over dinner, the distant wail of sirens.

I'd been sleeping on the streets for three nights now, curled up in doorways or on benches like this one. But honestly, it wasn't so bad. Back in Blackwood Ridge, I'd slept in the sheep pen more often than not.

At least Manhattan's streets were clean, and no one kicked me awake at dawn to start chores.

Big cities really were better.

Movement caught my eye—a grand hotel across the street, its brass entrance gleaming under soft lights. A sign stood near the door:

DISHWASHER WANTED. INQUIRE WITHIN.

My heart jumped.

Dishwashing. I could do that. I'd spent years washing dishes in Blackwood Ridge.

I stood up, smoothed down my dress, and crossed the street with a surge of hope. Finally—something I could actually do.