Chapter 4 Mate Arrives At The Worst Time
Sebastian’s POV
"Next candidate, Alpha," the guide’s voice droned through the mind-link.
I didn’t bother responding. Just watched the trembling she-wolf across from me with the same detached interest I’d give a mosquito.
She was crying. Again.
They always cried. Or they put on that calculated smile—the one that said they’d already spent my money in their heads, already imagined themselves as Luna of the Silver Moon Pack, already calculated exactly how much power sleeping in my bed would bring them.
This one was a crier.
"P-please, Alpha Sebastian," she stammered, tears streaming down her carefully made-up face, ruining the expensive cosmetics she’d probably applied specifically for this interview. "I would be honored to serve as your Luna. I’ve trained my whole life for this position. I’m—I’m from a good bloodline, my father is Beta of—"
"Get out."
She flinched as if I’d struck her. "But—"
"Out."
The command in my voice had her scrambling from her chair so fast she nearly tripped over her designer heels. She fled the room with a choked sob, the door slamming behind her.
Silence. Blessed, temporary silence.
I leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers against my temples where a headache was beginning to pulse.
How many candidates had I seen now? Eight? Nine? I’d lost count somewhere between the blonde who’d reeked of desperation and the redhead who’d actually tried to slip me her hotel room key.
This entire charade was beneath me. Degrading. Insulting.
And yet here I was. Again.
*I can’t remember which one this is, but this selection should be for the sixth time, *Ryder supplied unhelpfully.
*Seventh, *I corrected. *This would be number seven.*
My wolf snorted. *Ah yes. Lucky number seven. Maybe this chosen one will last longer than—*
*Don’t.*
I didn’t want to think about the others. Didn’t want to examine too closely what had happened to the six women who’d worn my ring, shared my name, and then... vanished. Died. Disappeared under mysterious circumstances that the media loved to speculate about endlessly.
The Blood Moon Curse, they called it.
As if I’d personally murdered them. As if their deaths hadn’t been carefully arranged by some mysterious force.
The door opened, and my mother swept in without knocking—because of course she did. Mila Simons had never met a boundary she respected when it came to her children.
"Sebastian, darling." She perched on the edge of the sofa, ignoring my growl of irritation. "You’re scowling. You’ll get wrinkles."
"I’m scowling because I’m being forced to participate in this medieval bride market for the seventh time, Mother."
"Oh, don’t be so dramatic." She waved a dismissive hand. "It’s hardly medieval. We’re using very modern interview techniques—"
"You’re parading unmated she-wolves in front of me like livestock at an auction."
"Because you refuse to find a mate on your own!" Her voice sharpened. "Sebastian, you’re Alpha of one of the most powerful packs in North America. You need a Luna. The pack needs stability. Needs an heir. And perhaps..."
Her expression softened. "Perhaps this time, you’ll find your fated mate. Someone who can break this curse—"
"There is no curse," I said flatly. "Just bad luck and worse timing."
"Six wives—"
"Don’t mention it."
She fell silent, but I could feel her disapproval.
My father’s presence joined hers in my mind—Titus Simons, former Alpha, adding his own weighted expectation to the pressure already crushing my chest.
*Your mother is right, son, *his voice rumbled through the mind-link. *This isn’t about romance. It’s about duty. Responsibility. The pack elders are getting restless. They need to see strength, stability. A Luna by your side.*
*Then maybe the pack elders should marry someone themselves,* I shot back.
*Sebastian—*
I severed the link, shutting both parents out. Let them be offended. They’d recover.
They always did.
"One more," I told my mother aloud. "I’ll see one more candidate. Then I’m done for today."
"Actually, darling, there are still twelve—"
"One. More."
She sighed but didn’t argue further, communicating something through the pack link. A moment later, the guide’s voice filtered into my head.
*Next candidate ready, Alpha. Emilia Taylor of the Frostridge Pack.*
Another nobody from some failing pack, probably. Sent here like a sacrificial lamb by a desperate Alpha trying to secure an alliance with the Silver Moon Pack.
I almost felt sorry for her.
The door opened.
And the entire world tilted sideways.
*Mate. Mate. MATE.*
Ryder was going absolutely insane in my head, howling and pacing like a caged animal finally catching the scent of freedom.
*Shut up, *I snarled internally.
I couldn’t believe it.
After all these years, all these failures, all these carefully staged "bride selections" designed to appease my parents and the pack elders—now the universe decided to throw my fated mate in my path?
The irony was almost funny.
I’d stopped believing in fated mates years ago. After Abigail, after the betrayal, after watching love turn into a weapon used to destroy me—I’d written off the whole concept as romantic garbage designed to manipulate desperate wolves.
But the moment Emilia Taylor walked through that door, Ryder had recognized her instantly.
And unlike the beast’s usual bloodthirsty enthusiasm, this time his reaction was different. Protective. Possessive. Reverent.
*She’s perfect. Finally. After all this time—*
*She’s wolfless, *I reminded him coldly.
*So what? She’s OURS.*
That was the problem, wasn’t it? She was ours. My fated mate. The one person in this world who was supposedly designed specifically for me.
But she didn’t seem to recognize me.