Chapter 1 My name is Soren
Soren
My mother is getting married again.
The priest’s voice rises above the music as he finishes the vows, warm and ceremonial, as if everyone gathered in this ballroom truly believes they are witnessing a love story.
“Before the Moon Goddess and the Elsbridge Pack, I pronounce you mates.”
Applause bursts across the room.
Crystal chandeliers spill white light over marble floors while glasses clink and silk dresses whisper as people lean together to gossip. The scent of wine, roasted pheasant, expensive perfume, and wolf musk thickens the air until it feels difficult to breathe.
Alpha Donovan Dimitri pulls my mother close and kisses her with confident ease.
The crowd cheers.
I watch from the back of the ballroom and tug the sleeves of my hoodie farther over my hands.
This is her fifth wedding.
Most people assume that means something dramatic about love or heartbreak. They picture scandal, impulsive romance, maybe a tragic widow collecting husbands like old photographs.
The truth is far less poetic.
My mother marries to survive.
Her laugh floats across the ballroom, bright and effortless. I have heard that laugh my entire life. It appears whenever she needs to charm powerful men or soften angry ones. It convinces people she belongs beside them.
Tonight it belongs to Alpha Donovan.
He stands tall beside her, dark suit immaculate, shoulders squared with the quiet confidence of a man used to command. The Elsbridge Alpha did not marry my mother for affection.
He married her bloodline.
My mother descends from one of the oldest Beta families still recognized by council law. That heritage brings land claims, political influence, and the kind of legitimacy ambitious Alphas like Donovan prefer to display beside them.
In return, my mother gains something just as valuable.
Protection.
Each of her marriages has worked like that. A contract disguised as romance. A shield that lasts only as long as the alliance remains useful.
When the shield cracks, she moves on.
And I move with her.
A waiter glides past with a tray of caviar toast. I shake my head and step aside, slipping between guests before anyone can stop me for conversation.
Most of them barely notice me anyway.
Which is exactly how I prefer it.
The hoodie helps.
It is oversized and plain enough to pass for terrible fashion, which suits me fine. People assume I dress badly because I am young or careless.
They never guess the real reason.
The fabric hides the faint mark on my shoulder.
More importantly, it hides what I am.
I slip closer to the ballroom wall where the crowd thins. My pulse steadies slightly when I spot the side exit doors. If I reach them, I can breathe again.
Technically I belong here. I am pack registered, legally an adult, and tied to the woman who just became Elsbridge’s new Luna.
None of that changes the truth.
I am an omega.
Not by rank.
By blood.
My father’s line carried a rare recessive trait that suppresses the usual wolf markers until adulthood. It stays quiet, hidden beneath stronger bloodlines, unless someone knows exactly what scent to look for.
My mother spent years trying to bury it.
She believed stronger marriages would dilute the problem.
Unfortunately for her, genetics does not care about ambition.
If the wrong Alpha notices my scent tonight, this elegant wedding reception will turn into something very different.
Footsteps approach behind me.
I shift sideways to avoid them.
Something taps the back of my head.
“Watch where you’re going before you run into me.”
I spin around, irritation already rising.
The response dies in my throat.
He stands half a step behind me, tall enough that the chandelier light frames his shoulders like a crown. His black suit fits perfectly, sharp lines across broad shoulders, the posture of someone accustomed to command.
But it is his eyes that hold me.
Dark.
Focused.
Studying me with unsettling intensity.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.
His nostrils flare.
Then he leans closer and inhales.
Slowly.
The reaction is immediate.
His shoulders stiffen and something flashes across his face. Surprise first, then confusion, followed by a flicker of irritation that looks dangerously close to anger.
“Omega?” he says.
The word carries open disdain.
I straighten slightly.
“Congratulations,” I reply. “You can smell.”
One eyebrow lifts.
Most Alphas are not used to sarcasm from people they outrank.
“The name is Soren,” I add calmly. “Not omega.”
His gaze sharpens.
For a brief moment something changes in his expression, though I cannot quite name it.
“Felix,” he says.
His voice is low and controlled, the kind that fills space without effort.
Felix.
The name settles somewhere in my memory even though I cannot explain why.
“You’re in the way,” he continues.
I step aside.
He walks past without another word.
The moment he disappears into the crowd, the tension in my shoulders loosens.
Strange.
Something about that encounter left my wolf unsettled.
I push the thought away and slip through the side exit before anyone can stop me.
The garden air is cool and clean compared to the ballroom’s heavy scent. Gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I move down the stone path, letting the quiet night settle around me.
Moonlight spills across white roses lining the hedges.
For the first time all evening, I relax.
Then a branch snaps behind me.
I turn quickly.
Felix steps out from the shadow of the arbor.
His hands rest in his pockets, posture calm, but tension radiates from him like heat from a fire.
“You followed me,” I say.
“He’s losing control,” he replies.
His voice sounds different now.
Rougher.
Strained.
His eyes flash gold for a second before shifting back to blue.
I frown. “And you’re telling me that because…?”
He steps closer.
My wolf stirs uneasily.
That is when I notice something strange.
I cannot smell him.
There is no instinct pulling me closer. No sudden awareness that screams mate the way wolves usually describe.
Just silence.
My omega bloodline has always done that. It muffles certain instincts until the bond is claimed.
Felix studies my face carefully.
“Soren,” he says.
My name sounds deliberate in his mouth.
“You smell like—”
He stops.
My stomach tightens.
“Say it,” I tell him quietly. “And I will bite you.”
His gaze darkens.
“Mate.”
The word falls between us like a stone dropped into still water.
Of course.
The Moon Goddess always did enjoy terrible timing.
