Bound to the Alpha.

I. Haunting.

As I walk through the dense woods towards my family's manor, my mind wanders to tonight's marking celebration. Rumors of Everest Blythe's attendance spark my curiosity. He's not just any Alpha, but one of the most intimidating and feared leaders of the state, with a pack so massive that their reputation precedes them. The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I quicken my pace towards the safety of my home.

They say Everest Blythe is a force to be reckoned with, a wolf with a bloodlust that matches his ambition. And yet, despite his immense power and status, he still hasn't found a mate. I can't help but wonder why that is. Is it because no one is good enough for him, or is it because he's waiting for someone who can match his ruthless and unrelenting ways?

My sisters had fawned over him this morning, but I couldn't focus on that right now. Not when the memory of Reid's public rejection still haunts me. The way he mocked me in front of the whole pack, announcing that he rejected me as his mate. The way he tilted his head towards the rest of the pack as if to say that I was nothing but a runt, unworthy of being his mate.

Though I'm born into his pack, I've never felt like I belonged there. My family is from a modest clan of skin-walkers, and while my parents and sisters all have the ability to shift into wolves, I'm different. My pale hair and light eyes don't resemble theirs, and to compound the issue, I can't even summon my primal form. I've always felt like a mutt, an outcast in my own pack. A ghost.

As I make my way home to the manor, I hear the sounds of my family bustling around, getting ready for the ceremony. My heart sinks a little at the thought of being in the same area as Reid again, but I remind myself that I won't let him get to me.

As I ascend the stairs to my sister's bedroom, a rush of sudden excitement courses through me. The door opens to a spacious and soft room, awash in natural light from the grand window that frames the verdant forest beyond. The walls are adorned in a delicate shade of lilac, casting a soothing ambiance across the space. The air is thick with the scent of freshly picked lavender, infusing the room with a gentle fragrance.

Upon entering the room, I am immediately drawn to the sight of my sisters, huddled around the vanity mirror. Their chatter and the sound of clinking beauty products fills the room. The vanity itself is adorned with an abundance of cosmetics, ranging from a kaleidoscope of lipsticks and blushes to a spectrum of eyeshadow palettes. The hair styling tools are neatly arranged on the side of the vanity, including the Dyson Airwrap, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

A full-length mirror stands in the corner, and I stare at my reflection, the pale strands of my hair falling in unkempt waves around my face. My light eyes, a shade of blue-gray that reminds me of the overcast skies of my home in Oregon, stare back at me from the mirror.

My appearance only emphasizes how different I am from the other wolves in the pack. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest as I continue to be plagued by the night I was rejected by Alpha Reid. I try to summon my wolf yet again, but the energy won't come. It's as if a part of me is missing, and I can't seem to find it no matter how hard I try. The weight of my identity as a mutt feels heavy on my shoulders, and I can't shake the feeling that I don't belong.

I exhale, turning from my reflection. Dwelling on my insecurities won't help; tonight's marking ceremony demands my focus. It's a significant event—perhaps I'll meet my mate, or as usual, shield my sisters from unwelcome advances. Yet, as I sift through the dresses on the rack, my thoughts drift. It won't be Reid. And Everest, the formidable Alpha of the Ghostwalker pack, doesn't seem ready to settle down. Maybe it will be a rogue—a lone skin-walker with noble blue eyes, the same one haunting my dreams for weeks now.

As I sift through the collection of dresses, one in particular catches my eye—a delicate white gown with sheer fixed straps that frame a square neckline, adorned with intricate floral appliqués. The bodice, finely pleated, cinches at the waist before flowing into a softly cascading skirt. The material is light and airy, its subtle sheen capturing the soft light of the room. Running my fingers over the fabric, I appreciate its smooth, silky texture—it feels just right for the night's event, simple yet sophisticated. I can't resist; I take it off the rack and slip it on."Serene, you know, that was Mother's marking dress," Aurora mentions, her tone imbued with a hint of nostalgia.