Chapter 4

Kassian’s POV

For three years, I’ve lived as Rowan. It’s my identity now, woven into my very skin. The life suits me—it’s the life I was meant for. Cold, heartless, ruthless. I embrace the labels, every last one, because I know I won’t stop until my purpose is fulfilled. Four down, two to go. Almost there, Rowan. Watch me.

Taking on Rowan’s life opened up truths about him I hadn’t expected. He was weak, soft, and too kind. It’s why they tried to kill him in the first place. And there was something else—something darker, buried beneath his polite exterior. Rowan had an obsession, one that festered in secret. His best friend, Lynette. He didn’t just care for her; he was obsessed with her in a way that twisted the meaning of love.

I know what love should look like. This wasn’t love.

Rowan kept tabs on her every move, had hidden cameras, private photos of her in moments she thought were her own. Eating, sleeping—even in the shower. He had mementos of her—scarves, napkins, even her tissues. Her life, dissected and preserved on his walls, her face plastered in his private house like some shrine. If Lynette knew the depths of his fixation, she’d have run far and fast. His “love” was dangerous, a smothering flame that would have burnt her to ash eventually.

Since we were kids, Rowan always had obsessions that flared up and burned out, only for him to latch onto something else. It was a pattern. When he couldn’t control it, he’d turn to me, begging for help. I thought he’d outgrow it, hoped he’d move past this disorder, but the first time I stepped into his private house, saw her images like wallpaper, my hope shattered.

And now, I’m the one living his life, filling in his skin, hoping Lynette will stay away. She doesn’t need to know she was poisoned on his account, that the drink meant to kill him ended up nearly killing her. I want her as far from this as possible. And yet…

“Rowan.” The sound of her voice snaps me back. Anger flares as I lift my head from the computer, my gaze sharp, warning her back for daring to call me by my… brother’s name. She flinches, startled, but it doesn’t stop the reflex from my mouth.

“It’s Mr. Draven to you,” I say coolly. Her mouth drops open, her surprise mirrored in her wide, ocean-green eyes.

She’s standing there, framed by the door—frosty blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, her skin smooth and sun-kissed. She looks… lovely, disarmingly so, and the realization hits me hard, like the feeling of sunlight in a dark room.

Wait. What?

“Since when?” she says, striding forward, confident, curious, and entirely unafraid. Her hips sway slightly, eyes fixed on mine as she drops her bag onto the desk. “Rowan, what has happened to you?”

My mind races. Frosty blonde hair? Ocean-green eyes? She looks so much like—

“Lynette?”

‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’ She’s back!

“Yes, Lynette,” she says, studying me. And before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, a smile spreading across my face, the familiar motions of my brother’s mannerisms stitched into my body.

I move closer and wrap her in my arms. She lets me, doesn’t even hesitate, and her scent washes over me like a wave—fresh flowers, like a meadow in spring, the softness of petals and the salt of the sea. It hits me all at once, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. She holds her breath in the hug, and so do I, something inside me stirring, some locked part of my mind flipping open, flooding my senses.

My wolf, long thought dormant, wakes within me, surging forward with a single, roaring word.

‘Mate.’

No way. I choke down the thought. Mates are practically extinct, just like our race. Werewolves have faded out of existence, and every other supernatural kind along with them. That’s what I thought. And yet…

Rowan and I had always been impossible to tell apart, not by scent, not even by sight. Even our parents struggled. My wolf was the stronger one, the alpha spirit, and Rowan, the older twin, never had the strength for it. He took the family business instead, leaving me the rightful Alpha, though they’d never know it. When I died—almost died—they felt it, the snap of a bond breaking, thinking it was Rowan who’d been lost. Only our mother could truly tell us apart, but she’s gone.

I pull back first, grinning through the shock as if nothing’s changed. “I missed you,” she murmurs, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine.

“Me too.” My voice is steady, but inside, chaos. How is this possible? “How’s your health now?” I hear myself ask, keeping up the pretense.

I have a mate.

My wolf is alive.

My mate was ill, nearly died.

And Rowan… Rowan was obsessed with my mate.

He saw her. ‘Saw her.’ Touched what was never his to touch. Rage coils in my chest, dark and deep. Rowan, you sick bastard!

“The monks said I need to take it easy, or the sickness might return,” she replies. “After six months, I’ll be clear. They’ll be sending me herbs regularly.”

She shouldn’t be here. She has no idea how much everything has changed.

“You should have stayed,” I reply, trying to cover my agitation. “Six more months, and you’d have been fully healed.” My wolf stirs again, a low growl rumbling from within.

‘What does that mean? You don’t want her, mate?’ Fenrir, my wolf, snarls in my mind, his presence so alive it’s almost painful.

I don’t answer him. Lynette is here, right in front of me, the very person Rowan revered, adored, and stalked in secrecy. She’s mine, but she can never know who I really am—not yet, not with Rowan’s obsessions still festering in his house, and certainly not with her already wary of the man I’ve become.

“I was worried about you, Rowan. The news about you worries me.” Her voice is gentle but laced with worry, and it cuts right through my defenses. “What is this about your brother? I thought he was dead.”

‘Tell her! She deserves to know we’re alive!’

‘Quiet, Fenrir.’ My wolf’s impatience claws at the edges of my control. ‘I need to think.’

‘Think about what? She’s our mate!’

“He wasn’t. He never was,” I reply, forcing calm into my voice. I focus on keeping my expression flat, ignoring Fenrir’s insistent growls in my head. 

But I feel the urgency to get away from her before I lose myself. A mate changes everything. I may be ruthless, even cold-blooded, but even I’m not heartless. And my wolf? He’s been waiting for this moment for as long as he’s been alive. Fenrir had almost given up hope, retreating so deep that for years, I thought I’d lost him. He’d lost his strength, our powers—everything. I thought he’d found a way to kill himself, but here he is, roaring to life again for her.

She could change me.

I can feel the weight of her gaze, expectant, needing answers I can’t give. “He was murdered in my house,” I hear myself say. “Died in my arms. Died in my place. I failed him.” My voice carries the truth of Rowan’s last moments, his blood on my hands.

‘Breathe, Kassian. Look on the bright side. She’s here, your strength will come back. You’ll be whole again.’

Most werewolves can’t shift anymore; only a few Alphas retain the power. After the apocalypse, the Moon Goddess pulled back, taking her gifts with her. For most, the wolf remains only as a shadow, a voice in the mind. But my family has always kept our wolves, even now. People claim it’s our royal blood, that we carry some magic capable of keeping the wolf alive. I think we’re just lucky.

Our blood has made us powerful and hated—others have tried to kill us, desperate to claim whatever they believe flows through our veins.

“So, you want to avenge him?” Lynette’s voice pulls me back, and I realize I’ve barely been listening. I answer her almost on reflex, the words coming without thought.

“I intend to be the man I should have been… and so much more.”

My mind barely registers what she’s saying. Mates are as rare as diamonds now; they might as well be a legend. Only a handful have appeared in my lifetime, my cousin’s mate being one of them. But now, I have a mate? A human mate?

Her voice becomes background noise, and I give polite answers, enough to keep her from noticing that my mind is racing. How am I supposed to handle this? How do I protect her without exposing myself? Without getting her killed?

‘We’ll protect her,’ Fenrir growls with possessive intensity.

‘You don’t understand, Fenrir. She’s human. We’ve been apart for years, and it’s going to take time—’

‘Then we’ll try. Mate needs us!’ His response is an order, his voice laced with primal need.

‘You mangy mutt…’ I mutter mentally, even as my pulse races.

Then, as she stands up, her bag slung over her shoulder, she smiles at me, her eyes bright, lips curving in a way that leaves me breathless. I don’t expect her next move. She leans down and kisses my cheek. My entire body goes rigid, my wolf howling within me, but I force myself to react just as Rowan would—contained, controlled.

“So, see you Friday?” she asks, her tone hopeful, eyes sparkling as if the years we’ve spent apart have disappeared. “Maybe we can catch up properly?”

‘Say yes!’ Fenrir urges, almost whining.

“Sure,” I say before I can think, nodding in agreement, my mind a tangle of conflicting urges. “I’ll call you. Goodbye, Lynette. Thanks for visiting.”

As she walks away, I watch the way her hips sway, the natural grace in her step. Her frosty blonde hair falls over her shoulder, her lips as pink as cherry blossoms, eyes like the ocean on a clear day. She’s a vision, and I know I’m as good as lost.

***

<Later That Day>

Lynette Beverly Gold. Age 27. Hollywood actress, model, and artist. First appeared on the screen at eleven, dazzling audiences in her debut role. Since then, she’s starred in numerous films and TV series, even winning awards for her art. A true force, born to shine.

Status: single.

I scroll through her profile, taking in each detail, reading and rereading her accomplishments, the glowing praise from critics, the rumors of a past with Rowan. They say they were dating before she disappeared for treatment, that he might’ve been the reason she left. If only they knew.

I drop the phone and rub my forehead, the weight of my situation sinking in. In a few days, I’ll be meeting her again—a date. Or is it just a friendly meetup? I realize I don’t know. How do I break out of the friend zone when she thinks I’m Rowan? Why would I even pursue her as a love interest, knowing she might truly love my brother?

But the thought gnaws at me: what if, one day, she grows to love me—or worse, loves me only as Rowan?

I am Kassian.

The headache is pounding now, a rhythm that matches my wolf’s restless pacing in my mind, both of us trapped between a longing we can’t claim and a truth we can’t reveal.