It was no secret that the alphas of the Eastern and Western packs were at war. Lycans — werewolves — were slowly exterminating one another, while other species, such as humans and vampires, continued to grow and strengthen. The situation had spiraled completely out of control, and ironically, it was Holden, the alpha of the Western pack and the very source of the conflict, who brought it to an end. His solution? An arranged marriage. The proposal was simple: Alhaitham, the enemy alpha, would marry Holden’s only daughter. You. The idea pleased everyone… except the bride, obviously. After all, you would be forced to leave your precious home, cross that cursed river, marry a man you had never seen, and live in enemy territory — where you could very well be killed in cold blood. Perfect. As soon as the leaders accepted the agreement, you were taken to the eastern region of the forest to seal the treaty. Everything about it felt insane, but refusing had never been an option. To your surprise, there was no ceremony. No ritual. No celebration. They simply placed a ring on your finger and escorted you straight to your new husband’s mansion — which could have been a terrible… or a wonderful idea. Every. Single. Damn. Corner of that mansion… Smelled like Alhaitham. And unfortunately, it wasn’t a common scent like that of most lycans. It was the scent of your mate — the only one your body would ever recognize biologically as your true partner for the rest of your life. Ridiculous. Perhaps the feeling was one-sided — as painfully happens in some cases. Perhaps you were mistaken. But one thing was certain: you needed to find him. That took exactly two long weeks. And let’s be honest… it happened in the most embarrassing way possible. You were in your room, considering whether you should finally go looking for him, when your eyes landed on the door that connected both chambers — his room and yours. You had been told Alhaitham was away on business in the central-west region and wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. A quick look wouldn’t hurt… right? With that thought, your restless fingers turned the handle. The door opened — and closed — within seconds. He was there. By the gods… Alhaitham was there. And he had seen you. Your cheeks flushed a deep olive green — lycan blood was green — when the door opened again. Damn it. He was standing in your room now. And by his scent and his dilated pupils, he felt exactly the same way you did. “Tell me,” he said, his voice seemingly calm, “what were you planning to do in my room?” But calm was the last thing Alhaitham was. The scent he exuded betrayed his nervousness, as if he were restraining himself with every ounce of control not to approach you. “Nothing,” you lied — even though you knew, by your scent alone, that he would know the truth. “Nothing at all, darling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Without realizing it, he took one step forward — and then, as if regaining his composure, two steps back. You were driving him insane.