The ancient altar felt cold beneath my fingertips, its stone surface worn smooth by centuries of blood bond ceremonies. Moonlight filtered through the circular opening in the temple's domed ceiling, illuminating the silver ceremonial blade that would bind my soul to Mortlock's forever. Or at least, it was supposed to. "Grace, we need to hurry this along." Mortlock's voice cut through the sacred silence like shattered glass. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes flicking toward the temple entrance for the third time in as many minutes. "The elders are waiting, and I have matters to attend to after this." Matters. He meant Isabella. I stared at the blade, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The ceremonial candles flickered around us, their flames dancing in the night breeze, and suddenly everything snapped into focus with a clarity that stole my breath. I'd lived this moment before. The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave, memories flooding back with such intensity I had to grip the altar's edge to stay upright. This wasn't just déjà vu—this was real. I had stood in this exact spot, spoken these exact vows, made this exact mistake. And it had destroyed me. In my previous life, I'd taken the blade with trembling hands. I'd pressed it to my palm and let my blood flow into the ceremonial chalice, binding myself to a man who would never truly be mine. I'd believed that love would come with time, that the sacred bond would make his heart turn toward me eventually. I'd been a fool. "Grace." Mortlock's tone sharpened with impatience. "Take the blade." My fingers hovered over the ornate handle, but I couldn't make myself grasp it. Because I remembered everything now—every painful detail of what came next. Our wedding night, when he'd left me standing alone in the bridal chamber, still wearing my ceremonial gown, to rush to Isabella's side. The hollow ache in my chest as I'd waited hour after hour, the bond newly formed between us allowing me to feel his concern, his tenderness, his devotion—all of it directed at another woman. Isabella. Beautiful, fragile Isabella, who had saved his life when they were children. Who had some mysterious illness that conveniently flared up whenever Mortlock's attention strayed from her for too long. "I need a moment," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling candles. "We don't have a moment." Mortlock moved closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the temple. He was magnificent, I couldn't deny that—tall and powerfully built, with the natural authority of an Alpha who'd led our pack since he was barely twenty. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and in the moonlight, his features could have been carved from marble. But I'd learned the hard way that beauty meant nothing when the heart behind it was closed to you. "Isabella is feeling unwell," he continued, confirming my suspicions. "I promised I'd check on her tonight after the ceremony. So if we could please proceed—" "Of course you did." The words slipped out before I could stop them, bitter and sharp. Mortlock's eyes narrowed. "What was that?" I looked up at him, really looked at him, and saw what I'd been too blinded by hope to see before. He wasn't nervous about our union or excited about our future together. He was irritated. Inconvenienced. Going through the motions of a ceremony that meant everything to me and nothing to him. The blood bond wasn't just a werewolf marriage—it was a soul-deep connection that couldn't be broken except by death. Once formed, we would feel each other's emotions, sense each other's presence, be tied together for the rest of our immortal lives. And I remembered, with devastating clarity, what that bond had felt like. Feeling his love and desire and devotion flowing through the connection between us, but never for me. Always for her. Always for Isabella. It had been torture. A constant reminder that I was bound forever to a man whose heart belonged to someone else. "Grace." Mortlock's hand closed around my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "You're being childish. Every pack member must complete the blood bond when they come of age. It's tradition. It's law." "With their chosen mate," I said softly. "With someone they love." "Love comes with time." His response was automatic, rehearsed. He'd probably said the same thing to himself a hundred times while preparing for this ceremony. "We're compatible. Our union will strengthen both our bloodlines. That's what matters." In my past life, I'd accepted this reasoning. I'd told myself that compatibility and duty were enough, that love would bloom from the bond itself. But I knew better now. "Do you love her?" The question escaped before I could consider the wisdom of asking it. Mortlock went very still. "Who?" "Don't insult me by pretending you don't know." I pulled my wrist from his grasp, stepping back from the altar. "Isabella. Do you love her?" The silence that followed was answer enough. I watched emotions flicker across his face—surprise, guilt, defensiveness—before his expression hardened into the mask of authority he wore so well. "My relationship with Isabella is none of your concern," he said coldly. "She's a childhood friend who requires care due to her condition. Nothing more." "Liar." The word hung between us like a sword. "I see the way you look at her. The way you drop everything when she calls. The way you—" "Enough." His voice carried the weight of an Alpha command, and I felt my wolf instinctively want to submit. But the memories of my past life, of years spent in misery, gave me strength to resist. "We have a duty to our pack. Our families have been planning this union for years. You will take the blade, you will complete the ceremony, and we will fulfill our obligations. That is