Thorne's POV
The omega's fear smells like honey and smoke.
I watch her stumble into the elevator, clutching her cheap purse like it can protect her from me. It can't. Nothing can. The doors close on her pale, terrified face, and I feel... nothing.
Good. Emotion is weakness. Father taught me that before they murdered him.
My phone buzzes before I can sit down. Vivienne. Perfect timing.
"Is it done?" Her voice purrs through the speaker.
"She signed." I loosen my tie, suddenly feeling like it's choking me. "Treatment for her brother started ten minutes ago. The omega belongs to me now."
"Us," Vivienne corrects, sharp as a blade. "She belongs to us, darling. Don't forget who planned this whole thing."
I don't forget anything. Especially not that Vivienne's the one who can't give me an heir. But I don't say that. Instead: "Phase one complete. Wedding in seven days."
"And the witch?" Vivienne's voice drops lower. "Rowan confirmed the suppression spell?"
"Tomorrow morning. Right before the ceremony." I pour myself whiskey, neat. The burn feels good. "If she's my mate—and that's a big if—the bond dies before it can form."
"She is your mate, Thorne." Vivienne sounds too certain. "I had her bloodwork analyzed. The markers are unmistakable. Fate picked a pathetic little omega for the great Thorne Corvinus. Isn't that hilarious?"
It's not hilarious. It's inconvenient.
True mates are supposed to be rare, powerful, perfect. Not desperate girls in thrift store dresses who cry over dying brothers. Not omegas I can buy with medical bills.
"The spell will work," I say, more to myself than her. "Rowan's the best witch in North America."
"For what you're paying, he'd better be." Vivienne laughs. "I'll see you tonight? I'm wearing that red thing you like."
"Can't. Council meeting." Lie. I just don't want to see her right now. Don't want to explain why my wolf has been restless since the omega left. "Tomorrow."
I hang up before she can argue.
The whiskey bottle is half empty when my office door slams open. Only one person is stupid enough to enter without knocking.
"Cousin!" Malachi grins like a shark that smells blood. "Heard you bought yourself a breeder. How romantic."
"Get out." I don't look up from my computer.
"Oh, don't be shy." He drops into the chair the omega sat in—Sable, her name is Sable—and props his feet on my desk. "Tell me, does she know she's just an incubator? Or did you romance her first?"
My wolf snarls. Malachi's presence always makes my teeth ache. He's family by blood, but I'd kill him without hesitation if the Pack Council wasn't protecting him.
"My personal life isn't your concern." I meet his gold eyes—too bright, touched by the blood magic he practices in secret. "Leave before I make you."
"Touchy." But he stands. Smart. He knows I'm faster, stronger, meaner. "Just came to offer congratulations. You're finally doing something right—securing the bloodline, keeping the Council happy. Even if you had to buy a nobody omega to do it."
"She's pure bloodline. Good genetics. That's all that matters."
"Sure." Malachi heads for the door, then pauses. "But what happens when you actually see her, Thorne? When she's in your home, carrying your pup, and your wolf starts remembering what mates are supposed to mean?"
"Won't happen. The spell—"
"Spells can break." His smile is poison. "And when yours does, watching you fall for some pathetic omega will be the best entertainment I've had in years. See you at the wedding, cousin."
He leaves. I throw my glass at the closed door. It shatters, whiskey dripping down expensive wood.
My wolf is pacing, agitated. Angry. It's been happening more since I decided on this plan. Like some part of me knows this is wrong.
But wrong doesn't matter. Only survival matters.
I walk to the window, look down at the city I control. Somewhere down there, Sable is probably crying. Regretting. Hating me.
Good. Hate is clean. Hate keeps distance.
Love is what got my parents killed.
I was fifteen when I found them. Father's throat torn out. Mother's body broken. Their love made them weak—distracted, soft, vulnerable. The rival pack struck during their anniversary dinner, and they died holding hands like idiots.
The Council made me Alpha that night. Fifteen years old, covered in my parents' blood, promising to be stronger. Harder. Better.
No weakness. No emotion. No love.
My phone buzzes. Email from the hospital: Patient Finn Morven responding well to treatment. First session complete.
The omega's brother. The leverage that bought me a womb.
My wolf whines. It sounds almost... guilty.
I silence my phone and pour another drink.
Seven days until the wedding. Seven days to prepare for a marriage that means nothing. The omega will live in my house, carry my child, and stay carefully separate from anything that matters. Vivienne will remain my real partner. This is just biology. Just necessity.
My phone rings again. Unknown number. I almost ignore it, then something makes me answer.
"Mr. Corvinus?" Old voice. Familiar. Rowan the witch.
"What?" I snap.
"About tomorrow's spell. The suppression." He sounds... worried. Rowan never sounds worried. "I need to be clear about something."
"Then be clear."
"True mate bonds are powerful, Thorne. More powerful than people understand." He takes a shaky breath. "Suppressing one is like damming a river. The water doesn't disappear. It just builds pressure. And eventually—"
"Eventually nothing. The spell lasts forever. You promised."
"I promised it would work." Long pause. "I didn't promise there wouldn't be consequences."
My blood goes cold. "What consequences?"
"The bond will fight back. Through dreams, through instinct, through your wolf. It'll try to restore itself." Rowan's voice drops to a whisper. "And if you ever truly hurt her—your mate—the suppressed bond could snap back all at once. The pain of everything you did to her while blocked from the bond... it would hit you like a freight train."
"I'm not going to hurt her. This is business."
"You're going to take her virginity without love. Treat her like property. Keep her isolated while you stay with another woman." Rowan sounds ancient. Tired. "That's hurt, Thorne. That's deep, soul-level hurt. And if the spell ever breaks—"
"It won't."
"—you'll feel everything she felt. All at once. It might kill you."
I laugh. It sounds harsh. "Then I'll make sure the spell never breaks. Simple."
"Nothing about fate is simple." Rowan sighs. "I'll perform the spell because you're paying me. But I'm warning you: you're playing with forces you don't understand. True mates exist for a reason."
"True mates are fantasy. This is reality." I hang up.
But my hands are shaking.
I walk to my desk drawer, pull out the file on Sable Morven. Her photo stares up at me—silver eyes wide, white-blonde hair messy, caught mid-laugh at some moment before her life fell apart.
She's beautiful. I noticed that earlier but didn't let myself think it.
My wolf stirs again, wanting something I won't name.
I close the file. Lock it away.
Seven days. Then this omega becomes mine—body, future, freedom. She'll give me an heir, secure my position, and stay neatly contained where emotions can't poison anything.
And if she really is my mate? The spell kills that problem before it starts.
I'm doing the right thing. The smart thing. The strong thing.
So why does my reflection in the window look like my father's ghost?
I'm reaching for my phone to call Vivienne—need to hear her voice, remember why I'm doing this—when it buzzes first.
Security alert. From my building's parking garage.
I pull up the camera feed.
And freeze.
Sable. Standing next to the car that's supposed to take her home. But she's not getting in.
She's talking to someone. A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, golden eyes that glow even through the camera.
Caelan Greystone. Alpha of the West Coast pack. My biggest rival.
What the hell is he doing talking to my omega?
I watch Caelan hand her something—too small to see on camera. She takes it, clutches it like a lifeline. He says something that makes her nod.
Then he touches her face.
My wolf explodes with rage so violent I almost shift right there in my office.
MINE, it roars. OURS. KILL HIM.
But that's impossible. The mate bond doesn't exist yet. The spell hasn't even happened.
Unless...
My phone buzzes again. Text from Rowan: The spell can't suppress what's already awakened. Did you touch her? Skin to skin?
My mind races back. The contract signing. I took the pen from her hand. Our fingers brushed.
Oh God.
Another text from Rowan: If you activated the bond before I could suppress it, we have a problem. A big one.
On the camera feed, Caelan steps back, says something else, then leaves. Sable gets in the car, clutching whatever he gave her.
My future wife. My omega. My—
Mate.
The word burns through my brain like fire.
And somewhere across the city, I'd swear I can feel her heartbeat.