The Mating Trials Book Two
Dove
Fated mates are wonderful. Unless they are your parents… in a one-bedroom cave.
The soft moan drifts through the thin curtain separating the cave alcoves.
I roll onto my side, pressing my back against the cold cave wall and dragging the furs over my head.
It does nothing to block the intimate, breathy sounds.
The cave carries noise too well, as if the earth itself enjoys reminding you that you’re never truly alone here.
Another reason having fated mate parents is a curse no one talks about. Growing up, all I ever heard was how right it felt. How the bond settled into place like it had always been waiting. How the gods know best and, of course, how the Trials are sacred and flawless.
Tomorrow, I’ll experience it for myself.
For one week each mating season, every eligible unmated wolf journeys to the Ancient Castle to take part in the Mating Trials. This year marks one hundred years of successful pairings. One hundred years of divine blessings. One hundred years of proof that the gods never get it wrong.
A moan comes again, louder this time, followed by a low murmur I refuse to recognize.
I fling the furs aside and sit up. Sleep is a lost cause. My chest is tight with something that isn’t jealousy, but still aches all the same. Anticipation, maybe. But mostly dread tangled with hope.
Wrapping the furs around my shoulders and curvy frame, I slip from my alcove and into the main cavern, bare feet silent against the cool spring earth.
The great cave stretches wide around me, carved by centuries of wolves before me.
Fire pits dot the central gathering space, their embers glowing like dying stars.
Long logs sit abandoned around them, while the soft hum of snoring wolves echoes through the cavern.
The scent of smoke and meat lingers in the air.
Stalactites loom overhead like jagged teeth.
I’ve lived here my entire life, yet tonight the walls feel like they are closing in around me.
I cross the cavern and step outside into the early dawn.
Mist clings to the trees, pale gray light filtering through the forest canopy.
The world is suspended between night and day, between what was and what will be.
In a few hours, we’ll leave for the Trials.
I’ll leave the familiar caves for the Ancient Castle, where the gods blessed the first wolf with the change, and fate is said to be clearest.
A part of me swells with cautious hope. I could find my fated mate by this time next week. The rest of me is drowning in fear. What if my mate is not there? Or worse, what if I choose wrong?
I’ve seen the unsuccessful matches—the ones that return months later, the bond fractured or never really formed at all. They come back quieter, eyes unfocused. Year after year, some chase something that keeps slipping through their fingers.
And then there are my parents. Perfectly matched. A bond so seamless it became the standard everyone else measures fate. Including me.
“What are you doing out here?”
I spin, instinct flaring as my fangs and claws snap into place.
Leif sits perched on a rock overlooking the cave entrance, one knee bent, bow slung across his back.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
The last year has been unfairly kind to him.
Dawn light catches in his brown hair. Being on the Guard and spending his days on watch in the sun has made his hair a few shades lighter, and his skin is tanner than I remember.
Or maybe, I’ve just tried not to remember at all.
The lean boy who used to sneak away with me into the woods has disappeared.
In his place sits a male in his prime. Broad shoulders and strong forearms rest casually on his knees.
A day’s worth of stubble shadows his jaw.
He looks older, stronger, and more rugged than he used to be.
Heat floods through me. My traitorous stomach flips.
Gods, I hate him.
Tonight must be his turn on watch. Of course it is. “Gods, Leif,” I snap, forcing my claws back. “You scared the wolf out of me.”
His mouth twitches, almost a smile. “You shouldn’t sneak around before dawn. Especially not the night before the Trials when everyone is wound up.”
The memory of us tightens in my chest. “Since when are you worried about what I do?” I ask.
He studies me for a beat, dark eyes sharp, unreadable. I remember when I knew all his looks, glances, and sideways smiles. “We leave soon. You should be resting.”
The words are neutral. Guard-like. Yet they sting. The indifference in his voice is what hurts the most. Doesn’t he remember? Or worse … does he remember, and simply not care?
Five years ago, before duty and fate and stupid timing ruined everything—this same morning light, the same damp earth beneath our feet. The way he kissed me like it meant something. Like I meant something. I shove the memory down.
“I’m fine,” I say, wrapping the furs tighter around myself. The pelt isn’t wide enough to cover all my naked curves, but it’s not like Leif hasn’t seen them before. Although he’ll never touch them again. “Do me a favor, don’t worry about me.”
He arches a brow. “You’re standing barefoot at the edge of the forest, wrapped in furs too small, staring into the trees. As a guard, it’s literally my job to worry.”
Same old Leif. Arrogant and infuriatingly noble. And somehow even more handsome than he was last year. I hate that I notice.
Sex doesn’t mean much to werewolves. Bodies are bodies.
Desire is instinct. We live and shift and hunt in the nude.
We let our instincts guide us. But my heart didn’t know better.
Letting Leif touch me—letting him in—meant something to me.
I thought what we had was real. Maybe even permanent.
I thought… maybe the gods had already chosen.
I didn’t account for the fact that he was older. Didn’t account for him entering the Trials a year before me. Didn’t account for the way my world cracked when he returned with a mate at his side.
“I’ll be entering the Trials this season,” I say quietly, lifting my chin.
His gaze sharpens, something flickering there too fast to name. “I know.”
Good. Because I refuse to let him see the fear crawling through my chest. I refuse to let him see that part of me still wonders what would’ve happened if timing hadn’t been cruel.
“This is my season,” I continue, more to myself than him. “I’m going to find my fated mate.”
The words settle between us. I sound more confident than I feel.
Leif says nothing.
I turn away before he can and head back toward the caves, furs trailing behind me like a discarded past.
Whatever the gods have planned for me, I’m ready.
Today, I’ll leave these caves as Dove, the eldest daughter of fated mates. But by next week, I could return as someone’s mate.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, as I disappear back into the cave and leave Leif standing in the dawn, I find myself hoping.
Maybe this season won’t be about what I lost.
Maybe it will be about finally finding something of my own.
THE REST OF BOOK TWO IS COMING SOON.