His Mate?

Gwen slipped through the back door of her family home, the metal hinges remaining dead silent as she eased the heavy wood shut. She clutched the massive, rain-soaked coat against her chest, wrapping the thick fabric tightly around her shivering frame. The house sat in total darkness, quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to the brutal nightmare she had just barely escaped. She bypassed the creaking floorboards in the narrow hallway, operating purely on raw adrenaline and survival instinct. She was desperate to avoid waking her parents. She could not face them right now, not when she felt like a shattered version of the girl who had left the house hours ago.

Once she reached the small tiled bathroom at the end of the hall, she slipped inside and slid the metal lock into place with a soft, definitive click. Only then did her trembling legs give out. She leaned against the door, sliding down to the cold floor, gasping for air as the terror of the dark alley finally caught up to her.

She let the oversized coat drop to the floor, leaving a dark puddle on the tiles. The moment she stood and stepped into the small shower stall, she cranked the metal handle all the way to the coldest setting. Freezing water blasted from the showerhead, striking her pale skin like a barrage of icy needles. It instantly numbed her exterior, chilling her straight down to her bones, but the freezing downpour did nothing at all to quiet the roaring chaos tearing through her mind.

The phantom sensations of the two savage shifters crawled over her flesh like a creeping disease. She could still feel their calloused, filthy hands gripping her waist, pinning her down against the rough concrete. She felt their hot, foul breath against her neck, suffocating her.

She began to scrub. She used her bare hands, digging her nails deep into her arms, her chest, her thighs. She dragged her fingernails down her flesh over and over again, frantic and desperate, trying to peel away the invisible dirt left behind by her attackers. Red welts rose across her body in angry lines. Then, the delicate skin broke. Thin lines of bright red blood mixed with the freezing water, spiraling down the silver drain at her feet. She scratched obsessively, tearing at herself. She needed to carve out the profound feeling of being violated. The memory of the men forcing her legs apart, positioning themselves between her thighs, played on an endless, sickening loop behind her closed eyelids.

She stood directly under the relentless icy spray for hours. She shivered, she bled, and she sobbed until her throat turned raw and hoarse, feeling broken down to her very core. She had always lived a quiet, careful life, following the rules, keeping her head down. And yet, she had been hunted like prey.

A sharp, impatient knock shattered the tragic isolation of her sanctuary.

"Gwendolyn!" Her mother’s voice pierced through the wooden door, loud and grating. "Are you in there? What on earth is taking so long?"

Gwen flinched, her bloody hands dropping to her sides. She reached up with trembling fingers and turned off the water. "I'll be out soon," she managed to croak. Her voice sounded raspy, broken, barely rising above a pathetic whisper.

Her mother misread the prolonged delay and the hoarse, unsteady tone. The brass doorknob rattled aggressively. "Open this door! Now! I will not have you hiding in there all night!"

Before Gwen could grab a towel to cover her mutilated skin, the lock gave way under a forceful, angry push. Her mother barged into the small room, her face twisted in annoyance and exhaustion. The older woman stopped dead in her tracks. Her sharp gaze swept over Gwen’s pale, shivering body, instantly taking in the ugly, bleeding scratches covering her daughter's arms, legs, and collarbone.

But maternal concern never once touched her mother's eyes. Instead, a sudden surge of blind fury took over her features, twisting her face into a mask of pure rage.

"Are you out of your mind?!" her mother shrieked, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. "Look at what you’ve done to yourself! Tomorrow is the mating ceremony! The most important day of your life, and you purposefully ruin your body like this?!"

Gwen shrunk back against the cold, wet tiles, trying to cross her arms over her exposed chest. "Mom, no, please listen to me—"

"You are throwing a tantrum!" her mother accused, stepping closer, pointing a manicured finger at Gwen's bleeding shoulder. "You never wanted to attend this ceremony, I knew that! But this? Mutilating yourself? This is a disgrace! The shame you are bringing to this family is unimaginable! How am I supposed to face anyone tomorrow? How am I supposed to look the other families in the eye when my daughter looks like a mangled animal?"

Before Gwen could formulate a single word to defend herself, before she could even try to explain the horrific truth of the dark alley, her mother’s hand flew through the air.

*Smack.*

The open palm collided with Gwen's cheek. The sharp, stinging slap rang through the tiny room, echoing like a gunshot. Gwen stood paralyzed in shock, her face burning, her mind blanking. She stared at the woman who was supposed to protect her, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"You deserve that," her mother declared coldly, dropping her hand to her side. "You deserve worse for selfishly destroying your appearance on the eve of the ceremony. It is time to grow up, Gwendolyn. Stop acting like a spoiled child."

Gwen had craved a warm embrace all night. She wanted her mother to hold her, to rock her, to stroke her damp hair and tell her she was safe from the monsters in the dark. Instead, the final, fragile dam holding back her sanity broke.

Tears poured down her cheeks, hot and fast. "I was attacked," Gwen choked out, sobbing uncontrollably. Her chest heaved as the devastating confession spilled from her lips. "I almost got raped."

Her mother froze. The fiery anger instantly melted into pure panic.

"Two shifters dragged me into an alley on my way home," Gwen confessed, her voice shaking as she wrapped her arms around her bleeding torso. "They pinned me to the dirty ground. They were positioning themselves between my legs. They almost did it, mom. A stranger intervened and killed them, but they..."

Instead of rushing forward to pull her traumatized, weeping daughter into a comforting hug, her mother physically recoiled. She took two large steps back, staring at Gwen as if she carried a deadly, contagious plague.

"Did they... did they finish the job?" her mother asked. Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper, her eyes darting away to avoid looking directly at Gwen's body.

"No," Gwen cried, desperation lacing her raw tone. "The stranger saved me just before they could do anything else."

Her mother began to pace the confined space of the bathroom, chewing frantically on her thumbnail. "Oh my god. Oh my god. What if someone finds out? What if anyone saw what happened in that alley?"

Gwen watched in devastating disbelief. Her mother wasn't asking if she was hurt. She wasn't asking if she needed a doctor.

"Do you realize the massive stain this will leave on your reputation?" her mother demanded, stopping her pacing to point a trembling finger at Gwen. "If people hear about this incident, no decent male will ever choose you as a fiancée. The rumors will destroy you! You will spend the rest of your life in shame. You’ll be stripped of any opportunity to find a suitable partner and build a respectable family!"

"I was almost raped!" Gwen screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of the ultimate betrayal. "I almost died!"

"Keep your mouth shut about this attack!" her mother threatened, stepping back into Gwen’s personal space, her eyes wild with social terror. "You cannot breathe a single word of this to anyone. If the truth comes out, you are ruined. Do you understand me? You will put on makeup, you will cover those hideous scratches, and you will smile tomorrow."

The realization hit Gwen harder than the stinging slap had. Her mother cared solely about securing a fiancé and maintaining their pristine social standing. The severe trauma Gwen had just endured meant nothing compared to what the rest of their shifter society would think. The last remaining hopes Gwen held onto burned to ashes, leaving an empty, hollow ache in her chest.

Gwen felt profoundly miserable. She was emotionally abandoned by the one person who should have stood by her. Without another word, she pushed past her mother, her bare, bleeding shoulder brushing against the woman's silk clothes.

She walked into her bedroom and pulled on some heavy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. She crawled under her thick blankets, exhausted down to the marrow of her bones. She turned her back to the open doorway where her mother still stood watching her.

"Leave me alone," Gwen whispered. Her voice was dead, devoid of all life and emotion. "I will attend the ceremony just in time. Don't worry."

She didn't wait for a response. Gwen buried her face deeply into her pillow, listening to the door finally click shut, and silently cried herself to sleep in the dark.

Meanwhile, heavy boots splashed through the deep puddles on the dark, rain-soaked road. The mysterious masked man walked alone through the storm. The icy downpour battered his broad, muscular shoulders, soaking straight through his dark clothing, but he barely registered the biting cold.

The very tips of his fingers still carried the distinct, metallic scent of the rogue shifter's blood. The thick liquid had washed away in the heavy rain, but the phantom smell clung to his skin, a stark reminder of the lives he had just ended. The violent execution he had just unleashed had done nothing to quell the deep, burning rage simmering within his massive chest.

*We should have made it hurt more,* his inner wolf snarled viciously, clawing relentlessly at the edges of his mind. *We should run back and tear those pathetic dogs to pieces. Rip their throats out slowly for daring to touch what is ours.*

Rhydian mentally agreed with the feral beast's violent urges. The rogues deserved a much slower, agonizing death for terrorizing her. But his conscious mind was consumed by a different image.

He saw the terrified, shivering girl he had left behind in the filthy alley. He pictured her delicate, pale skin exposed to the freezing rain, her wide, panicked eyes staring up at him as if he were just another monster waiting to strike.

A deep, visceral yearning twisted sharply in his gut. He had wanted to drop to his knees in that dirty alley. He wanted to gather her small, fragile body tightly against his broad chest. He yearned to gently kiss away the falling tears that streaked her pale cheeks and to wrap his protective warmth around her bleeding wounds until she felt safe again.

But he had forced his muscles to lock in place. He had held himself back.

He knew his beautiful, silver-haired woman was far too frightened after the brutal attack. She had been backed into a corner, hunted and pinned. Any hasty, overwhelming approach from him—any sudden touch or aggressive comfort—would have only pushed her over the precipice. She would have rejected him out of pure terror, fleeing from him just as she had fled from them.

Rhydian stopped dead in his tracks. The heavy rain cascaded down his masked face, dripping from his strong jaw. Slowly, he looked back over his broad shoulder. His intense gaze pierced through the pitch-black darkness of the night, staring down the empty street where she had disappeared.

He stood there for a long moment, letting the cold storm wash over his rigid form. He took a slow, steadying breath, pulling the damp night air deep into his lungs. He consciously pushed down the wistful, growling wolf pacing inside his mind, soothing the beast with a silent, unbreakable vow.

He would get her. But not today.

Tomorrow was the eagerly awaited mating ceremony. The entire society would be gathered under one roof. And it was there, in the bright lights, in front of everyone, that he would rightfully and officially claim her to stand by his side. He would bind her to him in a way that their strict society would fully accept.

His mate.