Crowned by Fate Chapter 112

Leon's POV

I slammed my fist against the control panel, increasing the treadmill's speed to its maximum setting. My feet pounded against the belt, matching the thundering rage in my chest. The hotel's rooftop gym was mercifully empty at this hour, allowing me to vent my frustration without witnesses.

The image of Adrian carrying Skye out of the room—her silver hair cascading over his arm, her face buried against his chest—replayed in my mind like torture. Each time I recalled it, my wolf snarled with possessive fury.

How dare he touch what's ours? my wolf growled.

"Shut up," I muttered between labored breaths. "She's not ours."

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. The mate bond that had sparked to life yesterday proved otherwise.

When my team and I had first arrived at the base of Silvercrest Mountain, my wolf had become inexplicably agitated. A restless energy had surged through my veins as my wolf paced beneath my skin, suddenly alert and eager.

She's here, he'd whispered with uncharacteristic excitement. Our mate is here.

At first, I'd been intrigued. If my mate was qualified to attend the Alpha King election, she must be powerful—either an Alpha herself or at least a high-ranking Beta in a prominent pack. The possibility had been surprisingly appealing. A strong mate would benefit Frostshadow and potentially boost my chances in the election.

I'd rented the entire hotel to ensure my team would have peace and privacy during the competition. I'd planned to settle in, then perhaps explore the town, following my wolf's instincts to locate this mysterious mate.

Instead, I'd walked into the hotel lobby and immediately locked eyes with Skye Anderson.

The girl I'd rejected four years ago stood there, no longer the awkward, chubby-faced teenager who couldn't shift. In her place was a woman with sharp, confident eyes and a lithe, powerful body. Her silver hair, once dull and unremarkable, now gleamed like polished metal under the lobby lights. Her posture spoke of newfound strength and purpose—the bearing of someone who had endured hardship and emerged stronger for it.

My wolf had gone wild at the sight of her, howling inside my mind with primal recognition. It's her! It's her! Our mate!

I'd dismissed the notion immediately. It was impossible. I'd rejected Skye years ago, severing our mate bond permanently. My wolf must be confused, mistaking some residual connection for the real thing.

But then I'd noticed the protective way Adrian stood beside her, the casual intimacy with which he touched her arm, and something dark and possessive had risen within me. The surge of jealousy had been so unexpected, so visceral, that it had momentarily stolen my breath.

Why should I care who touched her? Why should it matter to me at all?

I ran faster now, pushing my body to its limits, trying to outpace these unwelcome thoughts. Sweat poured down my face, soaking through my shirt as my muscles burned with exertion.

After returning to my room yesterday, my wolf had continued to plague me. How could you let our mate leave with another male? he'd demanded, pacing restlessly beneath my skin.

"You're wrong," I'd insisted. "She can't be our mate. I rejected her years ago."

Today, when I'd seen her at the bar with Ethan, that same strange sensation had returned—a pulling in my chest, an inexplicable awareness of her presence that seemed to intensify when she was near. The idea that Skye Anderson might truly be my mate—still, after all this time—seemed like a cosmic joke.

She had her wolf now, had somehow managed to shift despite her late development. She'd even become Beta to that insignificant desert pack. The thought was almost laughable. A pack like Oasisborn probably had such low standards that anyone with a pulse could qualify as Beta.

To settle the matter once and for all, I'd decided on a drastic test. The woman at the bar had been eager enough, practically throwing herself at me. Taking her to my room had been effortless, and she'd certainly been enthusiastic in bed.

But as I'd moved inside her, it was Skye's face that had appeared in my mind—her silver hair spread across my pillows, her forest-green eyes gazing up at me with desire. The unexpected vision had triggered a low growl from deep in my chest.

"Fuck you, Skye," I'd snarled, closing my eyes tightly, trying to banish her image.

The confirmation that she was, indeed, still my mate had left me with a storm of conflicting emotions. My wolf insisted we should reclaim her, especially now that she'd finally managed to shift. But before I could even decide how to approach the situation, Skye had blindsided me with her immediate request for rejection.

The memory of Adrian lifting her into his arms, her body perfectly cradled against his chest, sent another spike of rage through me. I increased my pace yet again, my feet pounding the treadmill with punishing force.

Her scent had changed since I'd last seen her. The faint, almost human smell I remembered had been replaced by something more distinctly werewolf—but layered with Adrian's oceanic scent, as if he'd deliberately marked her as his.

She belongs to us, my wolf insisted. Not him.

"It's just the mate bond," I argued aloud, my voice harsh with exertion. "It's biological, nothing more."

Her late shift only confirmed what I'd always known—she lacked the natural power and talent that defined true Alpha material. A wolf that took so long to emerge was inherently weak, regardless of its unusual coloring.

I would win the Alpha King election. I would prove my superiority over Adrian and every other competitor. And when I stood victorious, crowned as ruler of all North American werewolves, I would reject Skye Anderson a second time—permanently, irrevocably.

I would make her understand once and for all that someone as weak as her belonged with a loser like Adrian. They could build their pathetic little desert pack together while I ruled over the continent.

The treadmill beeped in warning as I pushed it beyond its recommended limits. I ignored it, focusing instead on the burning in my lungs and the ache in my muscles—anything to distract from the persistent tug in my chest pulling me toward a silver-haired woman who should mean nothing to me.

But did mean nothing to me.

Absolutely nothing at all.