The Wrong Mate

CHAPTER 1

My name is Cheyenne, and the thing about secrets is they always feel safest right before they ruin everything.

Corey’s room smells like him. Clean soap, worn cotton, that faint wild note every wolf carries even when they’re trying to live like normal teenagers with homework and curfews. His door is locked, his lights low, and the window is cracked just enough to let the night breathe with us. We’re both almost eighteen now. We waited this long. Goddess, we waited so long it almost feels unreal, like stepping over a line that had been drawn across our lives for years and finally letting our feet land on the other side.

When we finally stop moving, when the quiet settles back into the room, I’m pressed against his chest, my cheek tucked under his chin, listening to his heart slow. My legs feel loose and heavy, my thoughts drifting in that hazy way that makes everything feel softer than it should.

“You good?” he murmurs, fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm, slow and familiar.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “More than good.”

I mean it. Corey isn’t a phase or a rebellion or something I’ll grow out of. He’s been mine since sophomore year. Two years of stolen lunches, late-night phone calls whispered under blankets, sneaking kisses behind the gym, planning a future like it’s the most normal thing in the world. In a pack that treats fate like law, choosing each other feels almost dangerous. Like we’re daring the universe to argue with us.

We decided we’d choose each other as mates when we were both eighteen. No bond snap. No crowd. No spectacle. Just us, standing somewhere quiet, saying yes because we want to. I hold onto that thought now, like it’s an anchor.

The clock on his dresser glows a hateful red.

I groan and push myself up, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve gotta go.”

He exhales, already knowing better than to argue. “Your parents?”

“They’ll notice if I’m gone too long. Mom does those weird middle-of-the-night checks like she’s psychic.” I tug my hoodie on, stretching it over bare skin, already feeling the weight of reality settle back onto my shoulders.

He laughs softly and sits up, pulling on his shirt. “I still don’t get how you do this every time without getting caught.”

“Skill,” I say, tying my shoes. “And fear.”

He walks me to the window, easing it open like it’s a practiced ritual. The night air rushes in, cool against my skin, bringing the scent of pine and damp earth. Before I climb out, I turn back and cup his face, thumb brushing along his jaw.

“I love you,” I say, because it always matters.

His smile is easy. Certain. “I love you too. Be careful.”

I swing my legs out, lower myself down, and disappear into the dark, heart hammering even though I’ve done this a hundred times.

Sneaking back into my house feels harder somehow. Like the walls are watching. I slide my bedroom window open inch by inch, easing myself inside, freezing every time the floor creaks beneath my feet. I pause, listening, holding my breath like that might make me invisible. My heart doesn’t slow until I’m finally under my blankets, staring up at the ceiling, counting the seconds.

No footsteps. No doors opening.

Safe.

The next morning comes too fast. My alarm buzzes, and I fumble for it, groaning into my pillow. Shower. Teeth. I let the water run too hot, steam filling the bathroom as I stand there longer than necessary, trying to rinse the night off my skin without losing the warmth of it. I brush my teeth, stare at my reflection, and pull my hair into a messy ponytail.

Jeans and a hoodie. Normal. I look like any other girl getting ready for classes and gossip and quizzes. No one would guess I spent the night pressed against the boy I plan to choose forever.

Breakfast is quiet. My dad reads the paper. My mom reminds me not to forget my lunch. I nod, grab my bag, and head out the door, the cool morning air snapping me awake the rest of the way.

High school is a blur of lockers slamming and laughter echoing down the halls. Corey meets me between second and third period, fingers brushing mine like it’s an accident. He leans in just enough to murmur something dumb about a quiz, and I roll my eyes, smiling anyway. We don’t flaunt it. The pack doesn’t need reasons to talk.

And then there’s him.

The alpha’s son.

His name doesn’t even deserve the space in my head, but he takes it anyway. He moves through the halls like he owns them, like every girl is just waiting for him to notice. He smirks too much. Stares too long. Talks like the world was built to admire him.

I can’t stand him.

Neither can my friends. We’ve made a game out of rolling our eyes the second he walks by. It’s petty, sure, but it helps. It makes him feel smaller somehow.

Rachel walks beside me at lunch, chattering about a test she forgot to study for, gesturing wildly with her fork. She’s been my best friend since forever. Knows everything about me. Almost everything.

She doesn’t know that I know.

The way her voice shifts when the alpha’s son is nearby. The way she pretends not to look and then absolutely does. The faint flush she tries to hide. She’s got a crush, big and stupid and dangerous, and it sits between us like an unspoken thing.

I never say anything. Some truths aren’t meant to be dragged into the light.

My birthday comes first.

Eighteen feels heavier than I expected. Less cake and balloons, more responsibility and expectation. The pack congratulates me like I’ve crossed some invisible threshold. In our world, eighteen doesn’t just mean adulthood. It means obligation.

The annual mating ball.

Every wolf attends once they turn eighteen. All ranks. All eyes. It’s tradition wrapped in silk and music and pressure. The place where bonds snap and lives change in a single breath.

I dread it from the moment my parents remind me.

“You’ll look beautiful,” my mom says, already scrolling through dresses on her phone.

“I don’t want to go,” I mutter, poking at my dinner.

“You have to,” my dad replies gently, like that makes it easier. “It’s tradition.”

Tradition doesn’t care what you want. I don’t say that out loud.

Corey squeezes my hand when I tell him later, his thumb rubbing slow circles over my knuckles. “It’s one night. We’ll get through it.”

I nod, but my chest feels tight. Because fate has teeth, and I don’t trust it.

The day of the ball arrives anyway. It always does. I shower, shave, moisturize, go through the whole routine like I’m preparing for battle instead of a party. My mom fusses with my hair, curling it just right. The dress she picked is deep blue, soft and flowing, the kind of thing that makes me look older, softer, like someone ready for destiny.

I barely recognize myself in the mirror.

Rachel whistles when she sees me. “You’re going to stop hearts.”

“Please don’t curse me,” I say, tugging nervously at the fabric.

She laughs, linking her arm through mine. She looks stunning too, eyes bright, nerves buzzing under her smile. I wonder if she feels it. That pull. That anticipation.

The pack hall glows with light and music and too many wolves in one place. Chandeliers sparkle overhead. Laughter rises and falls in waves. The air hums with anticipation, with instincts straining against restraint, with something electric that makes my skin prickle.

As we step inside together, heels clicking against polished floors, I feel it.

That shift.

That wrongness.

A voice cuts through the noise, clear and sharp and unmistakable.

“Mate.”

One word. Deep. Certain. It doesn’t ask. It claims.

My blood turns to ice.

I don’t want to turn. I already know. Every instinct in me screams denial, screams no, screams this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

But I do.

The alpha’s son stands across the room, eyes locked on mine like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

And the world tilts.