Chapter 9 He Needs a Mate
DAHLIA
The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen, warm, sweet, and buttery, wrapping around the tiny space like comfort itself. For a fleeting second, everything felt normal again. Almost peaceful. The sizzling pan hummed softly, sunlight streaming through the window and painting golden patches across the table.
The kids were a storm of excitement the moment the first pancake hit the plate. I hadn’t made breakfast like this in weeks, not since the last full moon, when everything had gone sideways again.
“Mom! I want the big one!” Liam yelled, his fork raised like a warrior about to go into battle.
“You always want the big one,” Lily countered, folding her arms. “You never even finish it.”
“I do too!” he protested. “Last time you stole half of mine!”
“Did not!”
I turned from the stove, spatula in hand, and gave them both the look. “Did too,” I added teasingly, and they both froze before bursting into laughter.
Libby, the quiet one, was watching from her seat, her curls bouncing as she swung her legs. “Can I have one with chocolate chips, Mommy?”
I smiled. “Of course, sweetheart.”
She beamed, and my heart melted a little. Moments like this, their laughter, their silly fights, the smell of burnt butter, these were what I lived for. They were my light in the darkness that had been my life since the day I walked away from my mate.
“Okay,” I said, stacking the pancakes high. “But no syrup fights this time.”
Lily smirked. “That was Liam’s fault.”
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
I sighed dramatically. “If syrup lands on the ceiling again, you’re both cleaning it, deal?”
They laughed, and I couldn’t help laughing with them. Their innocence was my peace. For a few moments, I forgot about everything else, the sleepless nights, the rumors, the ache that never fully left.
Then came a knock at the door. Three slow, deliberate taps.
“Stay here,” I said softly, wiping my hands on my apron.
Elder Sam stood in the doorway, his white beard catching the light. His expression was gentle, but there was something behind his eyes, something heavy.
“Good morning,” he greeted, smiling faintly at the children over my shoulder. “I see the little wolves are up early.”
“They never sleep in,” I said, forcing a smile.
He chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “Dahlia, may I have a word?”
“Of course.” I turned to the kids. “Eat your pancakes, and please, please don’t fight over syrup.”
“Okay, Mommy!” they chorused, giggling as I followed Elder Sam into the sitting room.
He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the light spill across the floor. His silence stretched until my nerves began to prickle.
“Elder Sam?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s news from the north,” he said finally, his tone grave.
My chest tightened. “What kind of news?”
“The Lycan King, Dagnoth Draculis, has sent word.” He turned to look at me, his gaze steady. “He’s searching for a mate.”
I blinked, unsure I’d heard him right. “The Lycan King? Dagnoth Draculis?”
He nodded. “Every unbonded female of age is to report to his palace. The seer claims his fated one lives among the wolves. He’s holding a choosing ceremony.”
The words hit like a weight, sinking into me. Dagnoth Draculis, the name that haunted campfire tales. A king feared across realms. The one who turned traitors into ash with a single command.
My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “And what does that have to do with me?”
Elder Sam sighed, his face softening. “You’re unbonded now. You’ve rejected your mate. You need protection for yourself and your pups. The Lycan King’s lands are safe. If he accepts you, no one will ever dare touch you again.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You’re saying I should… go?”
“I’m saying maybe fate isn’t finished with you yet.”
I let out a shaky breath. “You’ve heard the stories, Sam. He’s ruthless. I can’t risk... ”
He raised a hand. “I’ve also heard other stories. Of justice. Of loyalty. Maybe the truth lies somewhere in between.”
When he left, the silence was deafening. I sat on the couch, staring at the floor as the kids’ laughter drifted in from the kitchen. The Lycan King. Protector. Monster. Which one was real?
My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. Zola’s name flashed across the screen.
“Zola,” I said when I answered.
“Girl!” She practically screamed, her voice full of wild excitement. “Tell me it’s true, the Lycan King is looking for a mate?”
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “It’s true. Elder Sam just told me.”
“Oh my goddess, Dahlia! Do you know what this means? You have to go!”
“Go?” I let out a humorless laugh. “To a king who’s rumored to have no mercy? You’ve lost your mind.”
She gasped dramatically. “Lost my mind? No, babes, I’m trying to save yours! You’re unbound, gorgeous, and smart. Imagine if he does choose you.”
“Zola...”
“Listen to me,” she cut in. “You’re not showing up there all sad and heartbroken. We’ll get you a dress, maybe two. You’ll walk into that palace like the goddess you are. Let him see your worth before he even knows your name.”
“Zola, he’s dangerous. He could kill me for looking at him the wrong way.”
“Or fall for you for doing it,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, every powerful man is called ruthless. It’s part of their mystery. Maybe he’s not what they say.”
I wanted to believe her, but fear still lingered. “What if he doesn’t care about my pups? What if he sees them as weakness?”
Zola’s voice softened. “Then you make him see your strength before he ever sees your scars. You’ve survived betrayal, loss, and rejection. You’ve fought harder than most men I know. The Lycan King won’t break you; he'll learn who you are.”
Her confidence almost made me smile. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” she admitted. “But easy things never change fate. You know that.”
When the call ended, I sat there in silence, staring at the half-empty plate of pancakes on the counter. The kids were still laughing, their voices bright and careless.
I looked at them, my reason, my heart, and something inside me hardened. I had faced heartbreak, rejection, and pain for their sake. Maybe facing a ruthless king wouldn’t be any different.
