The Scarred Mate

Bond Against Time

The room went quiet, forks pausing mid-air. Ansel’s eyes locked on mine, sharp and certain, like he thought I was playing some kind of game.

“That’s not possible,” he said, voice low but steady. “My wolf recognized you the moment we met. I felt it. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

I forced a laugh, shaky, brittle. “It’s not possible.”

Otto leaned forward, eyebrows shooting up like I had grown two heads. “A mate? You? Lupa, you don’t even have a boyfriend. How can you suddenly have a mate?”

All eyes swung to me now. My father’s face was set, calm but demanding, the kind of expression that meant he wouldn’t let this slide. “Lupa,” he said slowly, “tell us what’s going on.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my chest tightening like someone was squeezing the air out of me. My mind screamed for escape, but my mouth moved before I could stop it.

“My mate is Nelson.”

The words dropped heavy on the table, louder than any shout. Chairs scraped, someone gasped, but I didn’t stay long enough to see their reactions. I pushed back from the table, almost knocking over my chair, and bolted. My legs carried me out of the dining room before I could even think. I didn’t look back.

I ran straight to the library, the place that I always de-stress. It sat next to the kitchen where the bakers kept their work. I shut the door and leaned my forehead against the cool wood, trying to breathe steady.

“Alina,” I said in my head. I needed her. I needed that shove of strength she gave me when fear made my legs go weak.

Her voice slid into me, low and steady. She had always been there the way a pulse is there. He is your mate, Alina said.

If I accept him, I bind him to whatever is in my chest. He could die young because of me.

The thought hit like ice. I shook my head. I will not do that to him, I told Alina. I had only known Ansel a little while, but knowing him felt like remembering something I had always known. It did not make it easier. It made it worse.

The library door opened and my mother came in without knocking. Her arms opened before she saw my face and I let myself fall into them. She smelled like rosemary and something clean. She held me tight.

“My sweet Lupa,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

I pulled back enough to look at her. “Why did you stop me from telling him the truth?” I demanded. “He is my mate. He deserves to know why I rejected him.”

My mother’s face folded. She sat me down on the couch and cupped my face in both hands. “I know,” she said. “I know you wanted to tell him. It is just not the time.”

“When is the right time then?” I asked. “After I die?”

She flinched. “Don’t say that.” Then the sound broke in her throat and she started to cry.

I could feel my own tears hit my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I said. The pain in my chest was more than the scar. It was a hollow that spread into the rest of me.

She gathered me close and rocked me, gently at first, then harder, like she was trying to shake something loose. “I get it,” she said. “I know you’re scared.”

“Why can’t Ansel just accept my rejection?” I asked into her shoulder. The question came out small.

“Because a connection like that is not something you can deny,” she said. “It does not go away because you want it to. And anyway, this won’t be forever.” She tried to say it like it was a fact that would comfort me, but it sounded thin.

“So I don’t have much time,” I said flatly. “That makes it easier then.”

Her hand rubbed small circles on my back. “How do you feel about him?” she asked.

“Confused,” I admitted. “My heart breaks. I don’t know what to do.”

She let out a breath I could hear shake. “I remember that feeling,” she said. She hugged me again and rocked me side to side. “It is confusing. It is overwhelming. It is all right to feel lost.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” I said. “He’s amazing. Even Alina wants him.”

My mother managed a small, almost strangled laugh. “Of course she does. She senses what you sense. But remember, marking is what seals a bond. You will not hurt him unless you both mark each other.”

I tried to let that comfort me. “Yeah, like that makes me feel any better.”

She pulled back and looked at me properly then, really looked. Her face was patient and tired. “There is something I need to tell you,” she said, and my stomach dropped.

“It’s about your scar,” she said.

“Did the doctor find a cure?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Not yet. But I have a theory about your chest pain. I need to do more research. I will tell you when I know, I promise.”

Before she could say anything else, a loud crash tore through the house. The sound of dishes breaking snapped both of us to the doorway. My mother’s face went hard with annoyance and worry at once.

“I better go deal with that,” she said. Her voice had changed. Business first. Family later. “Once our visitors are gone, I will share everything I find. Until then, do not tell anyone about your illness.”

I watched her hurry out of the library and felt a fresh smallness settle into me. Her warning made my head spin. If there was more she was hiding, then whatever she knew about my scar was worse than even the doctor had said. I pressed my hand to the place on my chest where the scar sat and stared at the pattern on the bookshelf until the room blurred.

Later that night, when I went to my room, I wanted to rest, but instead I stood in front of the mirror. My reflection wasn’t what I saw. All I could picture was Ansel’s face. His eyes, the strength in them, the way his expression burned into me. I lifted my hand to the glass as if I could reach him. The thought pressed hard in my chest: if only I could accept the bond.

A knock on the door pulled me out of it. My heart jumped. I walked over and opened it.

Ansel was standing there.

He didn’t look like the confident man from earlier. His shoulders were lowered, and sadness was clear on his face. He looked as though something heavy had been dragging him down.

“Lupa,” he said. His voice was rough. “I know it’s late, but please let me in. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

I held the door, not moving. Part of me wanted to push him away, but his eyes stayed on me. They were a deep gray, steady and sharp, framed by lashes too long for someone who looked this dangerous. His hair was dark, almost black, and brushed carelessly over his forehead. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, his build strong but not bulky, the kind of strength that carried both control and threat. There was a quiet power about him, and it pulled me in whether I liked it or not.

I caught myself staring at his full lips, wondering how a kiss from him would feel, knowing I could never have it.

“Please,” he said again. “I need to know what happened downstairs. I need to hear it from you.”

My chest ached. The way he looked at me made it impossible to turn him down. My hand lingered on the door before I finally stepped back.

“Come in,” I said quietly.

As soon as he stepped inside, the back of his hand brushed against mine. The contact sent a jolt through me, sharp and electric, before he pulled away and thanked me for letting him in. I closed the door and leaned against it, watching him. No man other than my father or Otto had ever been in my room before.

Ansel turned slowly, taking in every corner. “I didn’t expect this,” he said, his voice even. “This isn’t the kind of room I thought my mate would have.”

I raised a brow. “And what kind of room did you expect?”

“Something more feminine,” he admitted. “Not movie posters and animal bones.”

I sat on the bed, hugging a pillow to my stomach, trying to quiet the flame burning there. “That’s a little chauvinistic, don’t you think?”

His gaze lingered on me, heavy and unflinching. It made me shift where I sat. Then, with the faintest curve of his mouth, he said, “Indeed it is. But I like what I see.”

My pulse skipped.

“I’ve been waiting for my mate for three years,” he continued.

“Three years?” I asked, surprised. “That makes you twenty-one.”

He smiled as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside me. His scent hit me all at once, earthy and rich, and I had to clench the pillow tighter.

“I asked Otto about you,” he said, “and about your so-called mate, Nelson.”

I snapped my head toward him. “You had no right to ask.”

“I have every right,” he said calmly. “You’re my mate.”

“Don’t call me that.” I stood quickly, moving to my desk, needing space. His nearness scrambled my thoughts, and I couldn’t breathe right with him so close.

“Otto agrees that Nelson isn’t your mate,” Ansel pressed.

“Well, Otto knows nothing,” I shot back.

He rose and crossed the room with slow, measured steps. My chest tightened as his presence closed in on me, and I felt my breath shorten.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Please, mate.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Lupa,” he whispered, his tone low and unyielding. “My little dove.” He lifted a hand and cupped my cheek. His palm was warm, and the way he looked into me made my heart ache. Desire rolled off him like heat, and for one dangerous second, I let myself lean into the touch.

It lasted only a moment. Sense rushed back, and I pushed him away, harder than I meant to. “Please,” I said, my voice breaking. “You need to leave.”

Hurt flickered in his eyes.

“I’m mated to Nelson,” I forced out. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly. “And whatever is going on, I can help you.”

“You can’t.” I shook my head.

He moved closer again, his expression fierce. “Then I swear, I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes. I won’t let you carry this alone.”

I backed away, my chest aching, my hands trembling. “No. You need to go. Now. Please.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at me like he was trying to memorize everything about me. Finally, he nodded.

“I’ll leave,” he said, his voice quiet. “But know this, Lupa. I will never give up on you.”

He walked out, and as the door clicked shut behind him, I pressed my forehead against the wood, tears stinging my eyes. My heart had never felt heavier.