My Mate Sent Me to Die in Frostpeak

The silver-laced incense burns my lungs with every breath I take, but I don't let myself scream. I won't. Not when Hope is doing this to help me, to fix whatever's broken inside me that makes Travis so violent, so uncontrollable.

"Just a little more, Gemma," Hope murmurs, her voice soft and soothing as she prepares another injection. The pack clinic's dim lighting casts shadows across her face, making her look almost ethereal. "This will stabilize your wolf. Damian will finally be able to mark you properly."

Eight years. Eight years of waiting for that mark, for the completion of our bond. Eight years of watching him pull away every time Travis surfaces, every time my wolf's dominance threatens the careful hierarchy of our pack.

The needle pierces my skin again, and this time I bite down hard on my lip, tasting copper. The herbal mixture feels like liquid fire racing through my veins, and somewhere deep inside, Travis snarls and thrashes against the cage I've built around him.

*Quiet,* I beg my wolf silently. *Please, just let this work.*

Hope's cool hand touches my forehead. "You're doing so well. Damian will be so proud of you."

That thought—Damian being proud—is what keeps me still as she continues the ritual. The ancient pack healing ceremony is supposed to be our last hope, the final solution to the problem that's been tearing us apart. If I can just suppress Travis enough, just become the mate Damian needs me to be...

When it's finally over, I can barely stand. My legs shake as I pull myself upright, and the room spins sickeningly.

"You should rest here," Hope suggests, already tidying up her supplies with practiced efficiency.

But I shake my head. I need to see Damian. Need to tell him it's done, that I've finally fixed myself for him. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Hope. For everything."

The walk back to the Alpha's pack house takes longer than it should. Every step feels like I'm dragging weights, and my skin still burns from the silver incense. But the thought of Damian's relief, maybe even his smile, pushes me forward.

I arrive earlier than expected—the ritual didn't take as long as Hope predicted. The grand hallway stretches before me, familiar and imposing with its dark wood panels and ancestral portraits. Home. Or at least, it's supposed to be.

Then I smell it.

Sweet. Floral. Intoxicating in a way that makes my chest constrict painfully. It's the scent of a fated mate, unmistakable and pure, twining intimately with Damian's heavy earthy musk. The combination is coming from his private study, the room he never lets anyone enter without permission.

My feet move without conscious thought, carrying me down the hallway even as my mind screams at me to turn back, to leave, to not look. But I can't stop. Travis, weakened as he is from the ritual, suddenly surges forward with a vicious snarl that echoes only in my head.

The study door is