Chapter 1: My First Mate

Mikalya’s P.O.V

The phone rang twice before she picked up, her voice carrying that familiar edge of curiosity and impatience.

"Maa? Everything okay?" Aya asked, and I felt the hesitation pooling at the back of my throat. For a moment, I nearly hung up, but I couldn't. Not when I knew that there was no backing out from this.

"Hey, sweetheart," I started, trying to sound casual, even though my heart was pounding. "I... I need to tell you something important.”

“Go ahead,” she said, her tone light. “I’m all ears.”

“Your father wants to see you.”

Silence. Not even the sound of her breathing came through the line, and for a second, I wondered if the call had dropped. Then, her voice sliced through the stillness, sharp and incredulous.

“Wha-my father?”  She asked, her tone rising. "“Like the guy who is actually responsible for my birth? Your first mate?”

My first mate. The words didn’t even register at first as I found myself nodding, before I realized she couldn’t see me. “Yes.”

“Maa…what are you even talking about? My father…he’s been dead for seventeen years!”

"I know, Aya. I know," I said quickly, pressing a hand to my temple as if that could somehow stop the thoughts from spiraling.

"I thought the same thing. I thought he was gone too. But... I don’t know how to explain this, sweetheart. I just—he’s alive. He’s here. And he wants to see you."

"Alive?" she repeated, her voice cracking with disbelief. "You’re joking, right? Please tell me this is some twisted joke."

"I wish it were," I murmured, more to myself than her. My mind replayed the moment I had seen him—Lee Xi Yang, they called him now. The beta of the Desert Warriors pack, the late Alpha Aiden’s right hand. It was him, though. The same face, the same eyes, but different in ways that made my stomach churn.

"Aya, I don’t know how to make sense of this either. I don’t even know where to start."

Her breathing came in sharp bursts now, her shock evident. "How... How is this even possible? You said you watched him plummet to his death in the Jharna…the whole pack did. Are you saying he somehow survived that fall? Or is this some kind of... I don’t even know—witchcraft? What is this?"

"I don’t know, Aya," I said firmly, though the crack in my voice betrayed my own uncertainty. "I saw him plummet, just like everyone else did. I grieved for him. I buried an empty casket to grieve him. But somehow, he’s alive. He lost his memories, but now, he’s regained them, and he wants to see you."

She didn’t respond immediately, and I could picture her pacing, her free hand tugging at her hair like she did whenever she was overwhelmed. Finally, she asked, her voice trembling.

"And you believe him? After all this time, you believe him?"

"I didn’t want to," I admitted, my voice softening. "When I saw him…”

My whole body had... revolted. Like my mind couldn’t reconcile the sight of him with the pain of losing him all those years ago. But it was him. There’s no denying it. I don’t know how, but it’s him, and so does my wolf.

She let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. "Seventeen years, Mom. Seventeen years of believing he was gone, of living with that hole in my life. And now, you’re telling me he’s alive and just wants to see me? What am I even supposed to do with that?"

"I don’t have the answers," I said, my throat tightening. "I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with it myself. But I thought you deserved to know. And... it’s up to you if you want to see him or not. I won’t force you."

*

*

“Firangi?”

That nickname…that endearment that only one person had used in my entire life…the man who had made me the person I was today…was standing in front of me in the flesh, his eyes wide as he took me in.

I had barely held myself together when Rhys stepped in, his commanding presence drawing the attention of the Alphas before I completely lost it. His voice was steady, authoritative, as he addressed them.

"I believe we’re rushing this decision," he said, his words deliberate. "Choosing the new Alphas for the deceased pack is not a light matter. This isn’t just about filling a position; it’s about ensuring the future of the pack. We need proper time to strategize." The murmurs of agreement that followed were like a lifeline for me, and I clung to the sound, grateful that he’d taken control of the situation.

By the time the Alphas had nodded their agreement, Rhys was already leading me away. His hand was firm on my arm, guiding me toward his tent as I stumbled slightly, my legs weak beneath me.

"Breathe, Mink," he murmured, his tone softer now but still steady. "You’re okay. Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all." I could barely manage a nod, too focused on not collapsing in a heap and making a fool of myself in front of all the other Alphas.

Once inside the tent, he guided me to a chair and crouched in front of me. "You’re trembling," he observed, his brow furrowing. "You didn’t eat anything this morning, did you?"

I shook my head, my voice caught in my throat. He sighed, pulling a flask of water from a nearby table and pressing it into my hands.

"Here. Drink. Slowly," he instructed, watching me like a hawk.

"I didn’t mean to—" I started, but he cut me off, shaking his head.

"No excuses, Mikalya. You’re not some indestructible force. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed." His words were gentle, but there was an undercurrent of concern that made my chest tighten. "I don’t want you fainting on me. We’ve got enough to deal with as it is."

I took a small sip of the water, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible. He gave me a small, reassuring smile, but before he could respond, the sound of voices outside the tent caught both our attention.

One of the guards cleared his throat just outside the flap of the tent. "Alpha Rhys, there’s a visitor requesting to see you and Alpha Mikalya," he announced, his tone formal.

Rhys stood immediately, his entire demeanor shifting from caretaker to protector. "Who is it?" he asked, his voice sharper now, the softness from earlier completely gone.

The guard hesitated for a moment before responding. "It’s Lee Xi Yang, sir."

I stiffened at the name, my grip tightening on the flask. Rhys turned to me, his eyes scanning my face. "Do you want me to send him away?" he asked quietly, his tone making it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if I said the word.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "No. Let’s see what he wants." My voice was steadier now, though my heart was still pounding in my chest.

Rhys nodded, his jaw tightening. He turned back to the guard. "Let him in," he ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. Then, he glanced back at me, his gaze softening just enough to let me know he had my back no matter what.

Rhys had just turned toward the entrance of the tent, his shoulders stiff with resolve, when my hand shot out and caught his wrist. He froze, glancing back at me, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Mikalya, what are you doing? I need to—"

"Don’t," I cut him off, my voice carrying enough weight to stop him in his tracks. His eyes searched mine, confusion giving way to concern.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm, the kind that demanded answers without outright pushing for them. He took a step closer, his voice dropping.

"If this is about protecting me, Mikalya, I’m not backing down. You know that."

"It’s not about protecting you," I said quickly, my grip tightening on his wrist. "It’s… complicated."

"You’re going to have to do better than that," he said quietly. "What’s going on? Who is he? You’ve been trembling since you saw him!"

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on me. There was no easy way to say it, no way to sugarcoat the storm that was about to descend on us both.

"It’s him," I finally said, the words tumbling out like a confession. "Abhay."

Rhys blinked, the name hanging between us like a live wire. "Abhay?" he repeated, his voice low and uncertain. Then, his eyes sharpened, and realization dawned. "You mean—"

"My first mate," I finished for him, my voice breaking slightly on the last word. I released his wrist, stepping back as if putting space between us could soften the blow.