Page 2 of Mated By Midnight

He clenched his fists, trying to keep control as the primal urge to search for her warred with his rational mind. His entire life had been built on freedom—freedom from commitments, from responsibilities that went beyond the pack. Finding a mate would complicate everything, would pin him down to a life he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Settling down might make him seem more serious, sure. The pack elders were always on his case about that—telling him he needed to prove he was more than just a playboy if he wanted to take on real responsibilities. Having a mate would solidify his place, give him an edge in advancing through the ranks.

But he’d never use a woman like that. Not just for ambition. He couldn’t.

Another breeze blew through the clearing, carrying that intoxicating scent with it, stronger now, sharper. It was calling to him, beckoning him to follow. His wolf growled again, the pull becoming almost unbearable.

He looked over his shoulder as though something were chasing him. And that's when he bumped into someone in front of him. Of course, that's how it would happen. So busy watching his back, Elijah hadn't seen her coming straight for him.

His hands reached out immediately to right the woman he’d nearly knocked over. And then he couldn't let her go.

2

Celine Vance's fingers clutched a cup of honeyed mead as she tried to steel herself for the evening ahead. Though Moonridge was close to her home in the Sequoia Forests, she'd never been to one of their moon festivals. Why would she, though? As the daughter of the Alpha of her pack, she'd always been expected to make a different kind of match than a fated mate bond.

The flickering light from the bonfire sent shadows dancing across the forest clearing, but the warmth from the flames did little to chase away the chill creeping into her chest. The festival was alive with laughter and soft murmurs, with couples twining together under the moonlight. Children darted through the crowd, their wide eyes glowing and carefree as they danced around the fire, their young spirits light and free.

Had she ever been that young? She certainly had never been that carefree. Even at a young age, she was shouldered with responsibility.

She noticed two of the children suddenly stop in the midst of their dancing. Their tiny noses twitched as they caught the scent of something familiar, something primal. Fated mates, already sensing the bond at such a young age.

Celine’s heart squeezed at the sight. There was a bittersweet ache lodged deep in her chest, a longing she hadn’t even realized she harbored. She watched as one of the older boys hesitated, his eyes locking with a girl across the fire, their smiles shy and full of promise. She could almost feel the invisible thread pulling them toward one another, a bond woven by fate itself.

She swallowed, her throat tight, and forced herself to look away.

It wasn’t her lot. It never had been.

Her parents hadn't been fated mates, and yet they had chosen one another. They had built a life, a family, a deep love without the pull of destiny forcing them together. Celine had seen it firsthand—the way they moved together in perfect harmony, the quiet, steady devotion that had anchored them through the years. A chosen bond could be just as strong, just as fulfilling.

She repeated that to herself, letting the words soothe the restless part of her heart that ached for something more. Something from the divine that would never ask a question, that would never raise a doubt. She chided her heart to let it go. Her path was already forged.

Rylan Stone was a powerful Alpha, respected and admired by many. She had heard good things about him, about his leadership and strength. He was a man who took his responsibilities seriously, and he was offering her stability, security in an arranged marriage that would strengthen her pack. It might not be fate, but it would be enough. As the daughter of the smaller Sequoia Pack, she would do her duty to her pack. She would help them expand. And she would support her soon-to-be husband, just as her parents had done.

Celine tipped the cup back to take a healthy gulp of her drink. She waited for more of the sweetness of the mead to cling to her tongue. She sighed when she only got a drop. Her cup didn'trunneth over; it was empty. The flicker of doubt that had been gnawing at her for days remained, no matter how hard she tried to silence it.

She headed back to the drink cart for a refill. As she waited in line, she caught the sight of older couples. They moved in sync, their touches intimate, their smiles soft. Their connection was a palpable thing that filled the space between them.

Celine’s gaze lingered on an elderly man with silver hair, his wrinkled hand resting on the small of his wife’s back as they whispered quietly to each other. Their love was quiet but profound, a testament to the strength of a bond that had weathered time.

She could have that. With Rylan, she could have a life of chosen commitment, one built on mutual respect and care. She could?—

The sudden impact jolted her, snapping her out of her thoughts. Warm liquid splashed across her dress, the sticky sweetness of her refilled mead clinging to her skin.

She waited for theI'm sorry.It didn't come. What did come was a scent so strong and powerful that it made her already wobbly knees weak.

Celine had heard stories of supernaturals meeting their fated mates. Fae said it felt like they were floating. Her witch friends told her they saw sparks. Wolves said the scent was overpowering.

All three happened to Celine in the matter of a moment. Her feet left the ground as someone held her close. She didn't see his face; she saw sparks. She had the overwhelming urge to bury her nose in his neck.

She looked up, and it hit her again—the scent. Warm, wild, and intoxicating, like a storm crashing through the woods, turning the air electric. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A deep, undeniable tug in her chest pulled her towardhim. It wasn’t just attraction. It was the unmistakable pull of the mating bond, the primal connection she had long convinced herself she would never experience.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to the space between them. His eyes—storm-gray and piercing—bore into hers, searching, knowing. His hand was still on her, the heat of his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

Neither of them moved, and in that heartbeat of silence, the truth settled into her bones.

Mate. This man—this stranger—was her fated mate.

“I—” Celine started, her voice shaky, her mind racing to catch up with the sensations flooding her body.

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