Page 7 of Mated By Midnight

He wanted to be the best man he could be.

For her.

He watched her closely, noting the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she exhaled. Her eyes softened, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing through them. The connection still thrummed in the air.

"I’m Celine," she said, her voice quieter now, though steady. "Celine Vance. I’m... an artist."

Celine. An artist. Celine, the artist.

A grin tugged at his lips. One of the reasons he hadn't wanted a mate was because he'd seen it happen too often that opposites attracted. He'd assumed he'd have a serious woman. Someone focused on duty and the rigid traditions of pack life. He hadn’t imagined this.

His fated mate was an artist. Creative, expressive, likely filled with lightness. She was pure light as he gazed down at her in the moonlight.

She wouldn't mind that he didn't always take things too seriously. She wouldn't mind that he flirted. Because now he'd only flirt with her. And she'd laugh. He couldn't wait to hear her laugh.

“An artist,” he repeated, almost playfully, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “And here I thought I’d be saddled with someone serious.”

"I am serious." She scowled. "Serious about my art."

When she smiled, there was a brief flash of warmth that did something strange to his chest. It made him feel lighter, moregrounded all at once. But then, as if a shadow had passed over the moon, something shifted inside him.

Vance? The name echoed in his mind. Faint at first. But the warning bells grew louder, more insistent. Celine Vance.

The fog of desire lifted, just enough for the realization to creep in.

Vance.

His mind connected the dots. The image of her smile now overlapped with the cold, sharp reality of what he knew about the Sequoia Pack. The Sequoia Alpha was named Vance. Micah Vance.

And Celine... Celine was the name of the woman who was supposed to marry his Alpha.

The shock hit Elijah like a sledgehammer to the chest. It stole his breath. He stiffened, his muscles tensing beneath his skin as his wolf growled in warning. His heart, which had moments ago been pounding with desire, now pounded with panic. His thoughts crashed together in a frantic mess. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, threatening to crush him.

No. No, no, no.

“Celine... Vance,” he repeated, his voice now edged with disbelief, the warmth from before vanishing in an instant. His mind raced as he replayed the name again, over and over, as if trying to make sense of it.

Celine frowned, confusion flickering across her face. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. His hand was still under her skirt. His fingers were still tangled in the wet heat of her pleasure. Elijah had the urge to straighten out her panties that he'd shoved to the side, almost like he was going to put a half-bitten cookie back in the cookie jar. Instead, he yanked his hand from under her dress.

Then he rolled away from her. As he did, his semi-hard cock sprang to attention. He reached down and shoved that hungry monster back into his pants. He winced at the discomfort. Served him right. He'd just fucked his Alpha's bride.

Elijah hoped to his feet. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything but the one undeniable truth that now loomed over them like a dark storm cloud. He looked down at her lovely face. Part of him wanted to dive back into her. But he couldn't.

She wasn’t just anyone. She was the woman who was supposed to be promised to his Alpha.

This was a disaster.

“I—” He stumbled over his words, his body already moving before his mind could catch up. “I can’t... We can’t?—”

He stepped back, his heart hammering, the air between them thick with confusion and regret. He had to go. Now.

"This never happened."

"Elijah?" she called after him as he began to walk away, the hurt rising in his ears.

He couldn't glance back at her. If he did, he'd go to her. And then… what?

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