Chapter 17 Mates theology
Ruel’s POV
A heavy book slips from the top shelf and crashes onto the red rug, its dull thud stirring a cloud of dust that briefly swallows the blue cover.
I crouch, pick it up and check the spine… Pack Laws of the Third Moon…
Without reading further, I shove it back where it came from.
Outside the window, Elric’s voice floats through the cold morning air. “Pull up! And stop shaking like you’ve got noodles for arms!” The distant groan of warriors and guards alike echoes from a distance.
He’s doing a good job, better than I would. At least they are sure to be done before getting a permanent tan.
I turn away from the noise and scan the shelves again. I need the right book, anything that explains why my wolf seems desperate to run me mad. Today is worse than yesterday.
I can’t go an hour without hearing her name whispered through my bones, like Krist needs Ira’s existence to draw every breath. And it’s starting to affect me more than I want to acknowledge.
“Blood Oaths… Omega Rites… Stray Bonds…” My hand trails across each title until tiny golden letters catch the light.
Mate Theology: Bonds and Fate.
I pull it down and drop into the chair by the window. Sunlight spills over the pages, causing my eyes to briefly get distracted by the tiny dust particles dancing above the book.
I flip it open and for a moment I see her eyes again. Blue, startled, and yet impossibly soft underneath the fear. I force the memory down and flip past illustrations of werewolves until a section finally catches my attention.
Betas.
The text claims betas rarely get fated mates, and if they do, it’s usually with other betas. Rarely do they get fated to omegas.
The goddess “reserves” omegas for alphas. I narrow my eyes, suddenly unsure and wishing I'd listened better in every bond class.
I’m a beta. Ira is my mate. She doesn't fit into any of these categories. If she were a beta, I should feel it through the bond but I don’t. If she’s an omega, we’re still a rarity.
Just as I begin to process that, another line freezes me.
Betas cannot reject a fated mate without their mate's mutual consent.
I reread it three times, each one worse than the last. How am I supposed to ask her to break a bond she can’t even feel? How do I even begin that conversation? There’s nothing in the world more ridiculous than needing permission from someone who has no idea the bond exists.
I turn the page with more force than necessary.
The Bonding of Alphas.
The heading alone tightens something in my chest. Only alphas enter into rut. Only alphas respond to a mate’s scent with immediate destabilization. Only alphas lose themselves if the bond isn’t completed in time.
My eyes track down the symptoms.
Unrest when separated from their mate.
Feverish tension a week after contact.
Inability to focus, emotional volatility, an escalating hunger that overrides reason.
And finally, the loss of control.
The wolf takes over.
Claiming the mate by force to keep the alpha from fracturing.
The only prevention: mark the mate within a week or break the bond early.
A breath leaks out of me, long and heavy.
“This doesn’t concern me,” I mutter. “I’m a strong beta. That’s all this is.”
If I were alpha, I’d have a pack. A throne. A name that mattered. Not a ruined memory, an abandoned base, and scraps of truth fed to me by Andre.
But then,
Ira’s name flutters inside my ears. When she’s near, my wolf is steady; when she’s gone, he claws against my ribs. This is not how a beta behaves… not according to any book I’ve ever read.
I shove the stupid thought back down, return the theology book, and kneel to pull a plain one from the lowest shelf.
Strays, Hybrids, and the Moonless.
This one smells bad. I flip it open and read.
Strays might not sense the bond.
Hybrids carry two scents and confuse the link.
Moonless wolves have dormant bonds.
Sempyrs awaken a claim through a kiss.
Witches know their linkers from birth.
The pages feel colder the longer I stare. Ira has no wolf scent. None. I’ve breathed her in more times than I should admit, and all I ever catch is her warmth, something sweet and flowery. No fur. No wildness. Nothing that fits anywhere in the normal categories.
But then there’s her hair, bright red, a strange color of dye to choose. Only someone desperate would do that to themselves.
My stomach knots.
Sempyrs drain life and bind through a kiss, killing slowly with pleasure disguised as devotion. The moon goddess would never pair me with something like that. She wouldn’t be that cruel. She wouldn’t…
There's no way Ira is one. Clearly she's too weak to be one.
Krist stirs, voice low and worried. You need to trust her.
“For what?” I mutter.
Outside, Elric snaps at someone again. David, by the sound of it. And threatens to drill him until he pisses blood. I keep the book back.
None of these classifications help. Sempyr, hybrid, stray, moonless… whatever Ira is, the bond still coils through me like a wire pulled too tight. I can’t force her to feel it, can’t force her to reject it. But I also can’t afford to lose control.
I straighten, exhale once, and push the chair back.
Fine. I’ll keep her close. Close enough that my wolf settles. Close enough that her scent holds him still. Close enough to buy time until I figure out what the goddess wants from us a who exactly she is?
I head for the door, praying the answer comes before anything else tears apart.