11. THORNE

Chapter 11

THORNE

Ah, goddess if I could only sleep some more before I have to train with my enforcers.

Sunlight spears through a crack in my silk curtains, splashing across my face. I crack open an eye and then flinch against the brightness.

This is it. The day of the mating ceremony.

Almost like I said it out loud, a cheer erupts from the corner of the room, and my gaze snaps towards the source.

My enforcers, Zane, Viktar, and Bjorn, stand fully healed beside the makeshift bed I've been occupying.

Bjorn's usual stoicism is replaced by a forced grin as he claps me on the back, almost throwing me out of my bed. "Congratulations, Alpha! May your bond be strong and your pups plentiful!"

I glare at him. "I see you're fully healed now."

His grin only widens, and I scoff.

Zane's expression, however, is a mask of barely concealed disappointment. Unlike Bjorn, his loyalty resides not just with me but with our own pack – the Silver Crescent. The one that won't be celebrating this "union" today.

I know the look he's giving me. I understand it well.

Guilt gnaws at me, my persistent wolf growling and nipping at my insides.

This ceremony, a desperate ploy to maintain a sliver of hope amongst the Ember Pack, is a sham.

They don't know it yet, but I do, and even though I pride myself on being a ruthless Alpha, I've not been able to break their hearts all this while.

Elowen, with her kindness and compassion, doesn't deserve to be entangled in this web of deceit. None of them deserve this, but I don't know what else to do.

Viktar clears his throat, his voice tight. "Is everything prepared, Alpha?"

I nod numbly, the image of Elowen walking towards me in that dress of pure white, a vision of beauty adorned in borrowed hopes, flashing before my eyes. "They've been preparing all night." I bite out.

Goddess, all I want to do is enjoy this ceremony, be with my mate, and be happy. But wishes. Wishes.

The celebratory mood in the room feels suffocating. Forced laughter and nervous chatter do little to mask the underlying tension.

Viktar, ever the optimist, throws Bjorn a playful punch. "Come on, brother! Let's show them that the Silver Crescent knows how to celebrate!"

Zane manages a wry smile, but his eyes remain clouded with worry. He knows, as I do that this ceremony is a dance on the edge of a precipice.

I rise from the bed and wave my hands. "Y'all should get out. I need some time alone," I tell them.

With huge grins, they start to file out. Well, all except for Zane. When they all leave, he turns to me. "Alpha, are you really going on with this?"

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. "I don't know."

"But the fated mate…"

"I know. I'm trying. Somehow, Elowen is my mate, too. I feel it, Zane. I don't know what to do."

Zane stares hard at me for a while, and then he bows. "You are my Alpha. I'll support everything you do."

And then he leaves me with my thoughts.

I take my bath and then eye the ceremonial garb hung on my chair.

Without thinking too much, I throw it on and head towards the door.

Each step feels like a stride toward an inevitable betrayal—betrayal of the prophecy, betrayal of Elowen, and, most agonizing of all, betrayal of the love that burns with an intensity I can barely contain.

I can't take it anymore. I need air, need space to breathe, need… Elowen.

Shit, I need Elowen.

The thought of her propels me forward.

Ignoring the surprised glances of the passing warriors, I make my way towards the room for the bride, where I know she is.

As I approach, the sound of soft laughter and excited chatter drifts through the open doorway.

My heart hammers frantically against my ribs.

Taking a deep breath, I push aside the makeshift curtain, stepping into a scene that steals the breath from my lungs.

Elowen stands in the center of the room, sunlight filtering through the window and painting her in a golden glow. She's dressed in a simple gown of woven ivory, the fabric clinging softly to her curves.

But it isn't the gown, nor the way it accentuates her beauty, that takes my breath away. It's the joy radiating from her, a luminescence that eclipses the midday sun.

My mate, that's my mate.

Her hair, usually worn loose and wild, is now braided with intricate loops and adorned with fragrant clips. A shy smile plays on her lips, her eyes sparkling with a nervous excitement that makes my insides clench.

Surrounding her are a gaggle of young Ember pack girls, their faces alight with awe as they fuss over Elowen's gown, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

For a moment, I stand frozen, just watching.

But the weight of the prophecy, a relentless anchor, drags me down, shattering my fragile illusion. Her eyes meet mine, and the joy in them flickers for a moment, replaced by uncertainty that mirrors the turmoil within me.

She walks toward me, and a hesitant smile curves her lips. "Thorne," she breathes, her voice barely a whisper. "You shouldn't be here. We are almost ready for the ceremony."

The reminder snaps me back to reality. Ceremony. I force a smile, the gesture feeling brittle on my face. "I just… needed to see you." I take in a breath. "You look so beautiful."

Elowen's smile falters slightly even as a blush rises to her cheeks, a flicker of concern replacing the joy in her eyes. "Are you alright? You look… troubled, is it… is it about the ceremony? I know it's not traditional, having it here…"

I close the distance between us, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Elowen," The word catches in my throat. "This… this ceremony…" The lie sticks in my mouth, a bitter pill I can't swallow.

Her brow furrows in confusion. "The ceremony? Isn't it a celebration of our…" She trails off, her cheeks flushing a rosy pink. "Our bond, Thorne."

I cup her face in my hands, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the ice gripping my heart. "Elowen," I rasp, my voice thick with emotion. "There's something you need to know. Something I haven't told you."

Her wide eyes search mine. A flicker of fear crosses her features, quickly replaced by a fierce determination. "Tell me, Thorne. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

"Elowen," I rasp, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I can't do this."

The girls around her stop their chatter, their gazes darting between us.

"What is it, Thorne?" she whispers, her hand reaching out to cup my cheek. Her touch, light as a feather, sends a jolt through me, a bittersweet reminder of everything I'm about to lose.

The words lurch out, a monstrous truth cloaked in cruelty. "I can't," I choke. "This… this isn't right."

"What do you mean?" she whispers, her voice trembling.

My hands clench into fists, the lie a serpent coiling in my gut. "There's something… missing," I rasp, the words scraping raw against my throat.

"Missing?" Her frown deepens. "What's missing, Thorne? We can fix it, whatever it is."

"No," I spit, the word laced with a venom that poisons my soul. "It's not that simple."

Her eyes delve into mine, and a desperate plea flickers in their depths. "Then what, Thorne? Tell me!"

But the truth, the truth that she isn't the prophesied mate, the truth that she isn't strong enough to face the coming darkness with me—that truth is a weapon I can't bring myself to wield.

"Is it me?" she whispers.

Shame burns in my gut, a searing fire fueled by my own cowardice. But the lie that protects her from the harsh reality is all I can offer.

The words rip from my throat. "This can't happen, Elowen. There is no bond. You are not my mate."

"But you said—" her expression collapses. "So that's it? I'm… rejected?" The question is raw.

Before I can stop myself, I say. "I hereby reject you, Elowen, as my mate, now and forever."

I need to do the right thing.

A primal growl rips from her lips. It's a sound of pure, agonizing pain, a raw echo of a she-wolf's rejection.

Elowen crumples to the floor, and stays there, her hands fisted, her forehead pressed to the floor.

I try to help her, but then I can only watch, horrified, as a dark, jagged mark spreads across her back—the undeniable mark of a rejected mate.

But then, something impossible happens. As the mark of rejection pulses with a malevolent light, another symbol flickers to life beside it – a radiant golden insignia, the unmistakable mark of the fated mate.

What?

No.

No!

The world seems to tilt on its axis. My breath hitches in my throat. It can't be. The prophecy… has to be wrong. Elowen can't be both.

Agony rips through me, a different kind this time – a soul-crushing regret. I have just rejected my fated mate, the very woman destined to fight at my side.

The weight of my lie, the monstrous truth I'd tried to shield her from, crashes down on me with the force of a collapsing mountain.

Elowen lies there, unmoving, the two conflicting marks blazing on her back like a cruel joke.

The joyous chatter from outside continues, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding within these walls. In that moment, I'm not just a liar and a coward. I'm a fool who has gambled with fate and lost everything.

I have lost everything . And I don't think I can ever get it back.