Eight Years Of A Fake Mate Bond Chapter 01

Eight Years Of A Fake Mate Bond Chapter 01

From twenty to twenty-eight, Alaric Sterling—Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack—threw a mate ceremony for me every single year. He never marked me, though.

He swore the mate marking’s chain scared him half to death.

That binding tie would choke out our love, he claimed.

We’d wind up just like his folks, their bond shattered, drowning in endless agony.

So I waited eight whole years, letting him take all the time he needed to sort his head out.

Everything fell apart at the eighth mate ceremony.

Alaric wore the standard ritual tuxedo like every year, yet he’d grabbed the wrong one.

The stitching along the collar bore not my name, but Maeve Vance’s.

I stepped forward to demand answers. My sister snagged my arm hard before I could move an inch.

“Riona, it’s eight years in the making. What good’s picking a fight now? Act like you didn’t catch it.”

I stared at her, numb with disbelief.

“You knew all along?”

My sister’s shoulders went rigid. She shot a nervous glance at the crowd filling Silvermoon Hall.

“Not just me. Every single person here knows.”

I stood frozen for ages before I could force words out.

“Why keep staging these ceremonies with me year after year if that’s the truth?”

Her tone turned gentle with pity as she laid it all out for me.

“Maeve’s the one pushing him to do all this. They already shared their true binding mark a long time back. Every gown, ring, and full ceremony Maeve gets for herself? She made Alaric replicate every single one just for you.”

The binding mark I’d begged for eight years already belonged to someone else.

And I was the last fool to find out.

…

I scanned the hall.

Everyone laughed, shoving Alaric and Maeve dead center of the crowd like it was some shared secret joke.

They laughed together and knocked foreheads by accident. Alaric brushed her reddened brow on instinct, and Maeve dropped her chin, blushing softly. Everyone around watched on with smug, teasing smiles.

I tried to watch longer, but my sister dragged me into the dressing room, her voice tight with sympathy.

“Quit staring, Riona. Maeve met Alaric first. They hid it to spare your feelings.”

“We weren’t trying to hurt you. Maeve doesn’t even mind the yearly ceremonies he does with you—why make a scene and embarrass everyone?”

My parents stepped through the doorway a moment later.

“You live in that fancy lakeside mansion. The whole pack sees you as Blackthorn Pack’s future Luna. Maeve and Alaric have done plenty for you.”

The corsages I’d handmade still pinned their chests.

Dad. Mom. My sister.

Their words stung so bad my eyes burned.

My throat locked up. I couldn’t make a single sound through the tears welling up.

My sister lifted a hand to ruffle my hair, like she did when we were kids. I scrambled back, tripping and crashing to the floor.

My parents reached to pull me up. I scrambled shakily to my feet, sprinting out of the dressing room.

I slammed straight into Alaric in the hallway.

He steadied me, clamping a tight hold on my shaking wrists.

“Riona, what’s wrong?”

I tilted my chin up to meet his worried gaze, my voice raw and cracked.

“Alaric. Will you mark me tonight?”

He parted his lips to reply, then glanced over his shoulder at Maeve on instinct. Finally, he shook his head.

“Riona, a mark’s just a chain. What we share doesn’t need—”

“I get it.”

I cut him off. Ice shot through every inch of my body.

The mark was never the chain holding him back. I was.

Alaric picked up on my shift. His grip squeezed harder.

His sleeve slipped down his forearm, exposing his wrist.

He’d tattooed my initials there once, promising me.

“This ink’s permanent, just like you’ll always be part of me.”

Now a watch covered the tattoo entirely.

I’d picked that watch out for Maeve myself.

She’d said it was a gift for someone irreplaceable, and I’d genuinely wished her happiness back then.

Alaric caught my stare and yanked his sleeve down fast, fumbling to explain.

I pretended I’d seen nothing. I turned and finished the ceremony, just like the seven years prior.

This time, I didn’t hold my breath hoping to hear those words I’d craved for years. “Tonight, I’m gonna mark you properly.”

When the ceremony wrapped, my parents and sister both visibly relaxed.

Alaric sent his driver to drop me at the lakeside mansion.

Every year post-ceremony, he vanished for a week, claiming he needed alone time to decompress from the ritual’s weight.

I’d believed him. Felt for him. Even thanked him for sharing his fears.

That night, I stumbled on an unhidden social post from Maeve—and realized how ridiculous I’d been this whole time.

Her caption read: Nine mate ceremonies with my person. Love you always, Alaric.

Nine photos, nine separate venues, nine unique gowns, nine different mate rings.

My eight ceremonies were all held in Silvermoon Hall, same gown, same crowd, every single time. It wasn’t that Alaric loved routine.

He couldn’t even be bothered to half-ass it for me.

I shut my eyes and sank against the car seat. Tears dripped down my cheeks and tangled in my hair.

I ripped the mate ring off my finger and hurled it out the open window.

The car pulled up at the mansion gates.

I headed upstairs, passing the back trash bin on the way. A stark flash of white caught my eye.

I walked over. It was the Alpha ritual gown I’d hand-embroidered my own name onto, covered in mold, tossed carelessly on top of garbage.

I tugged a bitter, thin smile and headed up the stairs.

I booted up my laptop, pulled up the Frost Harbor Moonlight Ballet Company resident dancer application, filled out every field, and hit submit.