POV Matthias
Three days into marriage and I'm starting to think I've lost my mind.
On paper, everything's perfect. My new wife glides through pack introductions like she was born for this. Which, technically, she was.
Amelia charms the elders with political insights, remembers everyone's names, asks about their grandchildren. Even my most skeptical council members are warming to her.
"Your Luna has excellent instincts," Elder Catherine tells me after Amelia suggests a new patrol rotation that somehow manages to be both more efficient and less taxing on our warriors. "The Moon Goddess chose well."
My wolf rumbles agreement so hard I nearly shift right there in the meeting hall. He hasn't shut up about “mate” topic since the wedding.
That's becoming a problem.
I wake up wrapped around her like she might evaporate. I have to actively stop myself from snarling when other males get too close. Yesterday, I almost ripped Jackson's throat out for making her laugh.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
"Ready for the territory tour?" I ask after the morning meetings wrap up.
Amelia smiles with her usual cocky smile, but something flickers behind her eyes. "Lead the way, Alpha Matthias."
We walk through the pack lands, and I explain everything like the responsible leader I'm supposed to be. Border markers, safe zones, training grounds.
She absorbs it all, asks smart questions, makes observations that remind me why this arrangement made sense politically. But my wolf doesn't give a shit about politics.
He wants me to pin her against the nearest tree, press my body to her till there no space left and just—
"Is that the healing garden?" she asks, effectively derailing my inappropriate thoughts.
"Yeah. Our healer, Sage Helen, maintains it." I watch her examine the medicinal plants with genuine interest. "She'll want to meet you properly soon. Fair warning: she's my mother and will probably interrogate you."
"I look forward to it," she says and it sounds like she means it.
We continue walking, heading toward the forest that borders the pack houses. She seems to relax out here, away from all the eyes and expectations. Her shoulders drop, her smile becomes less practiced.
"It's beautiful," she murmurs, looking around like she's seeing trees for the first time.
"Different from Nightshade territory?"
"Very." Something sad crosses her face. "Freer."
Before I can probe that interesting choice of words, Zack jogs up looking harried.
"Matthias, we've got a situation. Border dispute with the Riverside pack. They're claiming we've been hunting on their land."
Fucking Riverside. "We haven't crossed the border in months."
"I know, but they're insisting. Alpha Braiden wants to call in ten minutes."
I glance at my wife, who waves me off. "Handle your business. I'll explore a bit."
"Don't go far," I say, then follow Zack toward the pack house.
But I keep glancing back, watching her wander toward the pond that sits about fifty yards from the main buildings.
The call with Alpha Braiden is exactly as annoying as expected. While Zack pulls up patrol logs to prove we haven't violated their borders, I position myself where I can see out the window.
My wife—Goddess, that still feels weird to think—is crouched by the nearest to the main pack house pond's edge, looking peaceful and relaxed.
"The scent evidence suggests—" Braiden drones on, but I'm only half listening.
She's trailing her fingers through the tall grass, that same soft smile from earlier playing on her lips. Then she stops, focusing on something near the water's edge.
Amelia shifts, moving carefully like she's stalking something.
"Matthias, are you paying attention?" Braiden snaps.
"Every word," I lie, watching her lean forward slowly.
Then I see it. She's got her hands cupped around something, lifting it gently. When she opens her palms, a small frog sits there, and she's grinning like she just found treasure.
The world stops.
Amelia Bishop is terrified of frogs. Not dislike, not mild aversion. A full-blown phobia.
I once witnessed it by myself. During one of the rainy days, a tiny tree frog had hopped onto the floor near the dining table and she'd literally climbed onto her chair, pale and shaking and screaming.
Another time, she'd nearly hyperventilated when one got into the pack kitchen.
"They're not rational fears, I know," she'd explained later, embarrassed. "Blake used to try to help by showing me 'cute' frogs, my ass. Never worked. Just made me more anxious."
But the woman by the pond is cooing at the frog like it's a puppy.
She examines it carefully, probably identifying the species, then places it gently back near the water. When it hops away, she laughs—bright and delighted and completely fucking wrong.
"—demands a formal apology," Braiden is saying.
"I'll call you back," I say, ending the call before he can protest.
"Matt?" Zack looks concerned. "You okay?"
"Fine. I need to check on something." I'm already moving toward the door. "Send to Alpha Braiden the patrol logs. Tell him to pound sand if he doesn't like them."
I walk outside, forcing my pace to stay casual.
She's still by the pond, now watching dragonflies dance over the water. When she hears me approach, she turns with that perfect smile.
"All sorted?"
"Yeah." I study her face, looking for... what? Signs that she's someone else? Same features, same voice, same everything. "Enjoying the pond?"
"It's peaceful. I saw the most beautiful f—" She catches herself, something flickering across her face. "Dragonfly. And there was a frog, ugh."
Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.
"You sure? Could have sworn I saw you holding it."
Her laugh is nervous. "Must have been the light playing tricks. You know how terrified I am of frogs."
I know how terrified Amelia was of frogs. But you?
You looked like Snow fucking White out there, Disney princess of amphibians.
I now wondered, were there any visual differences between Amelia and her twin sister? Would I be able to tell who is who if they'd be standing together?
A crazy thought hits me, so insane I almost dismiss it immediately. But it won't leave, growing roots in my brain like a poisonous plant.
What if this isn't Amelia? What if her sister Blake didn't die in some "tragic accident"?
What if Amelia did?
It would explain so much…
"You okay?" she asks, touching my arm. "You look… strange."
The contact sends electricity through me, my wolf practically whimpering at her touch and craving for more. That's when I know with absolute certainty: whoever this woman is, she's mine.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just thinking."
She could be Blake Bishop, the wolfless twin. And if I'm right, then she's been thrown to the wolves, literally. Forced to pretend to be her dead sister, marry a stranger, live a lie that could get her killed if discovered.
My wolf snarls at the thought of anyone hurting her.
"We should head back," I say, placing my hand on her lower back. She shivers at the contact. "Dinner will be ready soon."
As we walk back, I make a decision.
I won't confront her, not yet. She's terrified enough, jumping at shadows, constantly checking her performance. If she is really Blake, she needs time to trust me first to open up.
To realize I'm not her enemy.
But what if I'm wrong? If this really is Amelia and grief has just changed her that much? Then watching and waiting hurts nothing, I guess.
My wolf knows the truth, even if my human brain is still catching up. This isn't the woman I agreed to marry. This is someone else entirely.
Someone who might just be my actual mate.