Chapter 14: _ The Wolf Prince’s Mate

Ivar Wulfram [Second Son of the Wolf King]

Following her had been insultingly easy at first.

I’d waited near the rusted iron gates of West Annex, leaning against a stone pillar with my arms crossed, invisible to the entire world.

The magic I’d stolen from Remus’s pompous stepsister was keeping me hidden. It wasn’t perfect; it required constant focus, but to the blind fools walking the thoroughfares of Last Bastion, I was nothing more than a pocket of cold air.

When Elira stepped out of the West Annex dorms, flanked by two girls whom I figured were her roommates, my wolf had let out a restless growl.

I ignored it. The plan was simple. Zev and I needed a pawn to expose the lunatic Raice and this girl was the perfect bait.

As I tailed them down the winding thoroughfares, keeping a disciplined five-step distance, I listened to their chatter.

Her roommates were terrified. The broad-shouldered one—Bren—kept clutching her belt like a paranoid guard, while the snobbish one—Miriel—prattled on about Raice’s royal Fae blood, his high mana output, and how he’d likely turn Elira into a corpse in the sewers before tomorrow’s ball.

A satisfied grin cut across my face as I walked behind them.

Good.

Fear was useful. If they believed Raice was going to butcher her, it meant our scheme was to be flawless. Raice had built a reputation as an untouchable, ice-cold executor. The moment he overreached to deal with Elira, we would strike.

Then Elira turned slightly to look back at the grand spires of the Fae Academy, and the sunlight caught her face.

My steps faltered for a second.

I hadn’t expected her to look like that. Under the pale sky, she was striking. Even wrapped in that oversized, frayed shawl, the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips were impossible to hide.

My wolf shifted again, pressing against my sternum. If she had been a noble, high-mana dragon shifter, she would have been entirely my type. But she was empty. I reached out with my sensory magic, probing her frame, and felt... nothing.

No spark of flame, no trace of shifting core. She was completely dragonless. A commoner from the trenches, dropped into a war zone.

And yet, her scent was suffocating.

It wasn’t perfume. It was the scent of wild lilies... of crushed pine, and a sweeter undertone that made my mouth water. It dragged at my senses, pulling me forward like a leash.

Before I could stop myself, my hand reached out in the crowded thoroughfare. I didn’t mean to do it. It was a pathetic, amateur mistake, but my fingers brushed the loose strands of her hair as a stray draft blew past us.

Elira halted instantly.

She whirled around, her hazel eyes scanning the empty air right where I stood.

"Strange," she muttered, before her friend pulled her along.

I held my breath, forcing the invisibility magic to steady over my skin.

She couldn’t have felt that.

It was a fluke. A coincidence.

They kept moving, following a thumb-sized moth crackling with blue embers. Fae magic. I recognized the pollen trail it left behind.

The lower-born initiates were foolish enough to think a little wood-sprite’s invite meant safety. They were walking deeper into the lower quadrants, straight toward the Sunken Arch—a secluded ruin where upperclassmen regularly settled grudges without Warden interference.

Idiots, I thought, trailing them down the wet stone stairwell. She’s going to get herself killed before Zev and I even get to use her.

We reached the base of the Sunken Arch and I closed the distance, stepping lightly onto the flagstones behind her left shoulder. I

wanted to see how she’d react when her little ’support group’ turned out to be a dead end. I leaned in, barely three inches from her neck, breathing in that infuriating, intoxicating scent of hers.

Suddenly, her head snapped back.

She didn’t just glance around this time. She turned her body, taking a step backward, her eyes sweeping the courtyard until they stopped.

Directly. On. Me.

My blood ran cold. I was completely invisible. There was no light reflection from my end, no shimmer, no scent leak. But her eyes were locked onto my face. She wasn’t looking through me.

She was looking at me.

"Do you feel that?" she asked her friends. "Do you feel like we’re being followed?"

"Elira, you’re jumpy," the snobbish one dismissed her.

"No. This isn’t paranoia." She insisted, taking a step toward me.

A pull tightened between my chest and hers. It was a violent magnetic force that yanked my soul forward, slamming into my ribcage with the force of a battering ram.

MATE.

The voice didn’t come from my mind. It exploded from the deepest, rawest core of my wolf. It roared through my veins like liquid fire, shattering my concentration, burning through my lungs, screaming with an undeniable authority that rattled my teeth.

MATE. FEMALE. MATE.

No.

A burning panic clawed at my throat.

No, no, no!