In the Nightfall Pack, destiny usually announced itself early.
At sixteen, Alphas felt it—the pull, the burn under the skin, the unmistakable call of their mate. By eighteen, most were bonded. By twenty, settled. By twenty-five?
Twenty-five meant acceptance.
Kael Blackwood stood at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the Nightfall territory, the cold wind biting against his skin, dark hair whipping around his sharp features. He was tall—impossibly so—with the kind of presence that bent the air around him. Broad shoulders. Battle-scarred arms. Eyes the color of a storm just before it broke.
An Alpha in every sense.
Except the one that mattered most.
Mate.
The pack didn't say it to his face—not anymore—but Kael heard it in the silences, felt it in the way elders exchanged looks, sensed it in the cautious respect that always carried an edge of doubt. An Alpha without a mate was considered unstable. Incomplete. A risk.
Kael clenched his jaw.
He had waited nine years longer than tradition demanded. Nine years of waking up alone. Nine years of heat cycles endured in solitude. Nine years of hope clinging stubbornly to his bones.
Because he refused to believe fate had abandoned him.
Behind him rose Blackwood Keep, an ancient stone structure passed down through generations of Alphas who had ruled Nightfall long before other packs even formed alliances. This was not just a pack—it was a dynasty.
And Kael was its heir.
His father, Alpha Rowan Blackwood, was a living legend. Even at fifty-three, Rowan carried the authority of a born ruler. His silver-streaked hair and battle-hardened gaze told stories of wars fought and won. He was ruthless to enemies, fair to his people, and fiercely loyal to his Luna.
Rowan had found his mate at sixteen.
Of course he had.
His mother, Luna Elara Blackwood, was grace wrapped in quiet strength. Where Rowan commanded through power, Elara ruled through presence. Her voice could calm a raging wolf; her disappointment could break the strongest warrior. She was the heart of Nightfall—the steady pulse that kept the pack united.
And Kael was their only son.
Their greatest pride.
Their deepest worry.
Elara never asked him outright why fate had delayed his bond. She simply looked at him sometimes—soft eyes shadowed with concern—and brushed her fingers through his hair the way she had when he was a child.
Rowan, on the other hand, was less gentle.
"An Alpha needs a Luna," he had said more than once. "The pack needs stability."
But even Rowan never suggested forcing a bond.
The Blackwood line had never done that.
Nightfall Pack was one of the oldest and most powerful in the region, founded on bloodlines that traced back centuries. Their wolves were known for their strength, heightened senses, and unwavering loyalty. Other packs either sought their protection—or feared their wrath.
And one day, Kael would lead them all.
If fate allowed it.
He exhaled slowly, resting a hand over his chest where the mating bond was supposed to burn, ache, call.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
What no one knew—what no one could possibly imagine—was the truth written quietly into the threads of destiny itself.
Kael's mate was not missing.
Not lost.
Not dead.
His mate had not even been born yet.
Somewhere in the world, fate was still waiting. Still weaving. Still protecting something fragile and precious from a world that would demand too much, too soon.
And until that day came, Kael Blackwood would wait.
Alpha. Heir. Mateless.
But not without hope.