Tristan was inside the Great Hall, enjoying himself with his werewolf friends, when a sharp scent hit the air.
He stiffened, his nostrils flaring. It was faint at first, like a whisper against his instincts, but it grew stronger with each passing second. It wasn’t just any blood. It was rich, ancient, and magnetic.
Tristan's jaw tightened. He scanned the crowd, but the scent didn’t lie in this ocean of dancing bodies and polished masks. He turned and walked out of the ballroom, following the invisible trail that tugged at every primal part of him.
The scent led him outside, through the stone corridors and into the garden behind the Academia. The rose garden glowed under the moonlight, dew shimmering on petals of deep crimson and violet. And there she was.
Valeria.
Cornered.
Earlier, his wolf had growled at the closeness of Valeria to him. He had realized at that moment that Valeria was probably his mate. He had battled the thought of her being his mate all day when she hated him so much. But now, it was clear: she was his mate.
Lucien had her backed against a marble bench, one hand braced beside her head, the other reaching for her arm. She looked furious, eyes glowing red with irritation, but there was a flicker of unease behind that anger.
Tristan didn’t think. He acted.
"Get. Away. From. My. Mate," Tristan snarled, his voice low and lethal.
Lucien stiffened, turning slowly to face him. His lips curled into a mocking smirk.
"Mate?" he scoffed. "She's a vampire. You're a mongrel."
Tristan stepped closer, fists clenched. "And you're a leech who doesn’t know when he's overstayed his welcome."
Lucien’s smirk vanished. "This is none of your business."
"It became my business the moment you laid a finger on her."
Valeria looked between them, wide-eyed. "Tristan..."
Lucien sneered. "She won’t choose you. You're beneath her."
"Say another word," Tristan growled, his voice dropping to a rumble, "and I swear, I’ll rip your throat out right here."
Lucien turned to Valeria as if searching for validation, some last string of superiority.
She met his gaze coldly. "Leave. Now."
His jaw clenched. "You’ll regret this, Valeria. When the time comes, and you need real protection—"
"I can protect myself."
Lucien vanished with a final glare, his footsteps retreating into the darkness, swallowed by the climbing rose trellis.
The garden was silent for a beat. Only the distant hum of music and the rustling of rose leaves filled the air. Valeria turned sharply to Tristan, her eyes blazing.
"What the hell was that?" she hissed. "Mate? Are you out of your damn mind?"
Tristan didn’t flinch. "I said what I said."
"You can’t just declare that! We’re not in some cheesy romance where you sniff me and suddenly we're soul-bound! That's not how this works."
He folded his arms. "And how exactly does it work, Princess?"
"Don’t call me that!"
He stepped closer. "You really don’t feel it? That pull between us. The way your heart jumps when I’m near? The way your blood—"
"My blood has nothing to do with you!"
"It has everything to do with me."
She took a step back, eyes narrowing. "This is insane. You’re delusional. There’s no such thing as mates. That's a myth created by wolves to feel special."
Tristan tilted his head. "Then why are you shaking?"
Valeria scowled and folded her arms over her chest. "I am not shaking."
His gaze dropped to her hand. Blood. A single drop glistened from a prick on her finger, trailing down her pale skin.
Without thinking, without asking, Tristan stepped forward and gently grabbed her hand.
"Hey—"
He brought her hand to his lips and licked the blood. Valeria froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Time seemed to pause.
Tristan kept his eyes on hers, never looking away as his tongue tasted the coppery sweetness of her blood. Something electric surged between them. Her eyes widened. His darkened.
Valeria pulled her hand away, stumbling back a step. "You’re insane. You’re actually insane."
"Say what you want. Deny it all you like. But you felt it too."
"You don’t know what I feel."
"Don’t I?"
Valeria clenched her jaw. "Even if this... connection... or whatever it is exists, I didn’t ask for it. I don't want it. And I sure as hell won’t be some werewolf’s destined partner."
Tristan’s voice softened, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. "You don’t choose the bond, Valeria. It chooses you."
"Spare me the poetic bullshit."
"It’s not poetry. It’s instinct. It’s nature. It’s real."
"It’s a curse, not a gift."
She turned, as if to leave, but he stepped in her path. He spoke quietly, but each word dripped with certainty. "The smell of your blood... it did something to me. The second I caught it, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. And now... after tasting it... there's no other explanation. You’re definitely my mate."