My Husband Died. His Best Friend Became My Mate

Ylva's POV

I had the dream again.

The smell of blood came first—thick enough to feel real, briny and heavy, flooding into my lungs. I was standing somewhere without edges, somewhere I couldn't make out the boundaries of, and the ground beneath my feet was dark red.

I didn't know if it was mud or something else.

Then I saw Soren.

He was on the ground, his tactical jacket torn open, something seeping through his chest, that dark red spreading slowly outward from beneath him.

I tried to run toward him, but my legs wouldn't move—I was nailed in place, forced to watch the color grow and grow.

I heard myself calling his name. No sound came out.

And then I felt it. Something was watching me.

I turned.

A pair of eyes—pale blue, ice-cold. The eyes belonged to a wolf, massive and black, standing motionless in the dark, those eyes the only thing that glowed.

I had never seen those eyes before.

But Briar inside me lurched, like something had grabbed her by the scruff, like something had been lit—frantic, unfamiliar, and underneath it all, a thread of something I couldn't name. Something close to excitement.

Who is that?

I hadn't finished the thought before the dream shattered.

I sat up fast, heart hammering.

The curtains weren't fully drawn. Outside, the sky was still gray, and the first wave of early trainers was already moving through the compound—I could feel them through the pack-link, dim and half-formed, not quite awake but already beginning to gather.

Ironblood's people were always up before dawn.

Ivy had crawled onto the bed at some point without my noticing. She was curled against my leg, and when I moved, she lifted her head, fixed me with those amber eyes, then set her chin back down on my hand.

I leaned against the headboard and worked on slowing my breathing.

Whose eyes were those?

I turned inward, toward Briar. I could feel her clearly—she hadn't settled, pacing back and forth in my chest, light-footed but relentless.

What's wrong? I asked her.

She was quiet for a moment. I don't know how to explain it. Her response came through vague and unsteady.

That black wolf—I don't recognize it. But I just feel like—

Feel like what?

Something big is coming. When she finally answered, her voice was more serious than usual. I can't tell you what. But we need to be careful.

I frowned. Is this about Soren?

She didn't answer directly. She just pressed that restlessness down, slowly, and went quiet.

I turned to look out the window. The compound was taking shape in the early light—low stone buildings, thick walls, a few figures already running laps around the training ground, the long shadows of weapon racks stretching across the dirt.

Everything here was hard. Angular. Nothing like the Greenvine I grew up in.

I had never really gotten used to it.

Mrs. Ashford's residence sat on the western side of the compound's main block—a standalone stone building, thick walls, narrow windows, and pine-resin incense burning in every corridor without fail.

I stood in the center of her hall for nearly three hours.

She had ordered me to hold the warrior’s submission stance—an old Ironblood Pack tradition once used to discipline warriors’ mates before battle.

Knees locked, spine rigid, shoulders squared as if carrying invisible armor, head bowed at the precise angle of respect, and arms locked behind my back with wrists crossed the way a bound captive would stand before an alpha.

The position was meant to test whether an Omega could endure the same physical strain and mental pressure a warrior faced when standing watch for hours in freezing rain or snow, because a Luna who faltered under discomfort would one day falter when her pack marched to war.

The Omega attending Mrs. Ashford never once looked at me. Ivy remained pressed tight against my leg, her small body trembling in shared tension.

Every time my shoulders dipped even slightly, or my locked knees began to shake from the unrelenting burn, Mrs. Ashford’s cold voice sliced through the incense-thick air, forcing me to reset my stance immediately.

When the pain had turned my vision hazy and my legs felt ready to give out beneath me, she finally spoke.

"Again. Shoulders back. A Luna’s strength is measured by how long she can stand like a warrior even when her body screams to break. Your mate leads wolves who bleed for this pack. You will learn to stand for them."

I drew a slow, burning breath, reset my posture with trembling muscles, and forced myself to hold the warrior’s stance once more while she watched in silence.

Only after the third full hour did she lift one dismissive hand.

"Enough. Go home." A brief pause. "And if Soren asks about today, you know what to say."

“I know. I'm here to learn how to be a proper Luna.”

I unlocked my knees. White-hot pain shot through both legs the moment the tension broke. I caught myself before I could collapse, kept my face carefully blank, and walked to the door.

I was barely through it when Mrs. Ashford's voice followed me out, pitched at exactly the level that made pretending not to hear impossible.

"Greenvine stock, through and through. You can teach her all you want, and she'll still smell like dirt." A pause, and then something that wasn't quite a laugh—more like the sound of something deeply, privately offensive.

"That is my son's Fated Mate. Soren could have had anyone in this kingdom, any Alpha's daughter worth having. If he hadn't been so convinced by that bond—if he'd just listened to reason—Ironblood would never have opened its gates to someone like her."

In the corridor, Marta—our pack's Gamma—went rigid. She stepped forward half a pace before she caught herself, jaw tight, eyes bright.

"You're our Luna," she said, voice low and furious. "She has no right to speak about you like that. Even if she was Luna before you—that's too far."

I picked up Ivy and pressed my face into the white fur at the back of her neck. Drew a slow breath. She was warm. Clean. Steady.

"It's fine," I told myself. "It's fine."

All I wanted now was to get home. All I wanted was to see Soren.

Soren and I lived in a separate courtyard on the outer edge of the compound—his idea, his insistence. He'd said the main buildings were too crowded, too much foot traffic. But I knew what he actually meant.

The further we were from Mrs. Ashford's stone building, the more room I had to breathe. Soren had already done more than anyone could have reasonably asked of him. What right did I have to want anything more?

All I could do was be what he needed—a Luna worth having, someone who could hold the pack together without falling apart, someone who could take enough weight off his shoulders that he'd never have to waste a moment worrying about the friction between his mother and his mate.