Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Mason POV

I can’t believe I acted like that. The way she looked at me when she snapped—like I crossed a line I can’t take back—keeps replaying, sharper every time I think about it. After she stormed out of the cafeteria, Winter glares at me. “Alpha commanding them not to talk to her. I told you not to mess this up, Mason. You’re off to a terrible start,” she says, walking out to find Lyric.

Hunter approaches me. “You’re doing a terrible job of hiding that she’s your mate" he says.

I growl at him. Low and tight in my chest, because I don’t like how right he is. “You’re not helping,” I reply through gritted teeth, trying to keep Kane under control.

“I’ll always tell you like it is, alpha. You need to get your shit together because if you were trying to piss off your mate, you succeeded,” he says, patting my shoulder then walking away.

Mate. The word doesn’t sit the same anymore—it lands heavy, tied to her in a way I can’t separate.

The rest of the day flies by too quickly. Too fast to fix what I already messed up. Too fast to get another chance to talk to her. Kane is pacing in my mind the entire way home.

“What’s wrong with you, mutt?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. I need to see my mate,” he replies, making me feel uneasy. Not just uneasy—on edge, like something’s off and I don’t know how to fix it.

“Hey, where are you? Can we talk?” I link her but get no response. She’s blocked me out.

That hits harder than it should. It shouldn’t matter this much—but it does.

I link Winter. “Hey, where’s Lyric? Is everything okay? Kane’s freaking out,” I say.

“She’s fine. She doesn’t want to talk to you right now. Just give her some space, Mason,” she replies, shutting me out as well.

Shut out again. My jaw tightens as something ugly starts settling under my skin—something that doesn’t feel like patience.

When we arrive at the pack house, my dad links me and asks me to meet him in his office. Beta Donovan Cassidy is also there.

“Good afternoon, beta, alpha,” I greet before sitting down.

“What’s going on, dad?” I ask.

“Well, as you know, son, we have six different packs coming for the ball this weekend—a lot of potential mate bonds to be made. We just heard that the Alpha King and his brothers will be attending, as they are all over 18 and still haven’t found their mates, especially the king, who is 21. Everything has to be perfect. I want you and Hunter to lead the border patrols over the next few days. Make sure all patrols know their rotations and protocols for the week. Have Lucas check with the omegas to ensure all guest suites are prepared as your mother requested,” he says.

His voice keeps going, but I’m not fully here. My mind keeps dragging me back to her—her walking away, her shutting me out like I don’t matter.

“Are you hearing me, son?” he asks.

“Yes, Dad. I understand,” I reply.

“When you find your mate, she’ll make sure all this gets done,” he says.

“Yeah,” I respond, thinking about Lyric. The word mate doesn’t feel like a future thing anymore—it feels present. Immediate. Already messing with everything.

“Did you already find your mate, son?” my dad asks.

“Yes, actually,” I say.

“Oh, is it Summer?” Beta Donovan asks.

“No, sir. It’s actually your other daughter,” I say hesitantly.

Saying it out loud locks it in. Makes it real in a way I can’t walk back.

“Lyric is your mate?” my dad asks, surprised.

“Don’t sound too surprised, Dad,” I reply.

Because I overlooked her too—and that doesn’t sit right anymore.

“I’m sorry, son. Lyric is wonderful and will make a great Luna, but you overlooked her after your 11th birthday, so this is just a surprise,” he says.

“I must say I’m shocked it isn’t Summer, but Lyric will make an excellent mate. She is quiet but smart, calculated, and ruthless in a fight,” Beta Donovan states.

“Congratulations, son. I know you haven’t told her yet, and I also hope you ended things with Summer,” my dad comments.

“I’m working on that,” I mutter.

But I haven’t done anything yet—and I know waiting is only going to make this worse.

“Well, if you don’t want rejection on her 18th birthday, I advise you to work faster,” Beta Donovan says, laughing.

“Yeah, good luck, son. Lyric is a feisty one,” my dad adds, the beta joining in.

I stand and walk away, leaving their laughter behind as I head into the hall. The sound fades, but the pressure in my chest doesn’t.

I go to my room to clear my mind before dinner.

When I step inside, Summer is sprawled across my bed, completely naked, her legs spread wide in blatant invitation.

My body reacts out of habit for a split second—then it drops just as fast, like something in me is rejecting it.

Before today, this sight would have had my cock straining against my pants, but now, after finding my mate, I'm just done with it all.

Because it’s not her—and for the first time, that matters more than anything else.

“Happy birthday, Alpha. I figured I’d give you your present now,” she purrs, sliding off the bed and sauntering toward me with that predatory sway.

“Summer, not now,” I mutter, snatching her hands as she reaches for me. I mean it—but I don’t push hard enough to actually stop it.

She brushes off my protest and drops to her knees, her fingers deftly unbuckling my belt and yanking my pants open. She tugs my boxers down, freeing my cock. I could shove her away—and I damn well should.

The thought is loud. Clear. I still don’t act on it—and that realization sits wrong in my chest.

But she doesn't hesitate, wrapping her lips around my dick and sliding me in and out of her hot mouth with urgent pumps. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the image of my mate into my mind, and my cock stiffens fully against her tongue.

Lyric. Not Summer. It’s Lyric in my head—and it doesn’t switch no matter how hard I try.

She moans around me, the sound vibrating through my shaft and making my balls tighten.

My body reacts—but it feels disconnected, like I’m not fully here.

I can't hold back anymore. My fingers tangle in her hair, gripping the back of her head as I thrust hard into her mouth, forcing her to gag with each deep plunge. Tears well in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, while thick strands of saliva drool from her stretched lips, coating my length as I ram down her throat. “Fuck yes, take my cock down your throat,” I growl, the words ripping out of me.

The words come out rough—but they don’t feel real. Not like they used to.

Her muffled moans send electric jolts straight to my core, the vibrations humming along my dick. I'm teetering on the edge, but before I can explode, I yank myself free from her mouth with a wet pop. I haul her up and slam her body against the wall, hiking her leg and driving my cock into her pussy in one brutal thrust. She cries out, her voice raw and needy. “Fuck, Alpha, yes!”

That sound used to be enough. Now it barely registers.

In my head, it's my mate I'm picturing—her face, her scent—and it fuels the frenzy. I spin her around and pound into her from behind, my claws digging into her hips, drawing thin lines of blood as I hold her in place.

Lyric again. Every time. It won’t stop—and I’m not even trying to make it stop anymore.

One hand snakes up, wrapping around her throat in a firm choke, while I slam deeper, my hips snapping against her ass with punishing force.

Too rough. Too fast. Like I’m trying to force something that isn’t there.

My other hand slips between her thighs, fingers roughly circling her swollen clit, rubbing hard circles that make her buck against me. My stomach coils tight, release building like a storm. I shove her forward onto the bed, forcing her onto all fours, her ass high in the air. I position myself behind her and drive in again, fucking her hard and fast, each thrust burying me to the hilt in her slick heat.

It builds—but it feels off. Like I’m chasing something I’m not getting.

The pressure surges, and as my orgasm hits, I pull out at the last second, stroking my cock furiously. Thick ribbons of cum erupt across her back, splattering hot and sticky over her skin.

Even that doesn’t fix it. Doesn’t settle anything.

“Get out,” I snarl, my voice a guttural command as I storm into the bathroom. I slam the door shut and twist the lock with a click.

The second the door closes, everything crashes back in—louder, heavier, harder to ignore.

Fuck, fuck. What the fuck did I just do?

Because I already know the answer… and I don’t like it.

Because no matter what I just did in that room…

the only person I could think about—every second of it—was Lyric.

And that’s not something I can ignore… or control… no matter how much I try.