For him, I abandoned my own path and studied pack diplomacy instead. I joined his pack as his Omega liaison just to stay close, to breathe in his pine-and-storm scent every day.
Five years ago, one night, we ended up together—an accident fueled by too much moon wine during the harvest celebration.
When morning came, he said he would take responsibility. He said he would bond with me.
I was overjoyed. I said yes without a second thought.
But what he meant was a secret bond. A contract. An agreement that either of us could walk away the moment we found our true fated mate.
I plummeted from the clouds. Yet even then, I couldn't resist the temptation of being his mate—even if only in secret, even if the bond mark on my shoulder stayed hidden beneath my clothes.
So I signed the blood oath. I played the part. I helped him keep his pack elders satisfied with the appearance of a proper Alpha with a bonded Omega.
After the bonding ceremony, I threw myself into pack work, closing alliance pacts, proving my worth. I thought if I tried hard enough, he would finally see me—not as the little pup he once protected during border skirmishes, but as a female who could stand beside him as a true Luna.