Chapter 4 · Moonlit Debt - Chapter 4: Six Months, Fake Mate

Mom wore this thing every day for two years before the crash. Said it was a gift from a friend. I asked her once if it was real silver and she laughed, said it was probably tin and sentiment. But now I'm looking at it under the dim lamp in this storage-room-turned-bedroom, and I'm thinking—what if it wasn't tin? What if the friend wasn't just a friend?

What if Mom knew about all this? The wolves, the packs, the gold eyes?

My chest tightens. I shove the phone under the pillow.

Someone knocks. Two short raps, then the lock clicks open.

Darius steps in, shuts the door behind him. He's changed his shirt—black thermal now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There's a bandage on his left forearm I didn't notice before. His eyes are back to gray, but there's still that edge in the way he looks at me. Like he's deciding something.

"You good?" he says.

I sit up. "Am I allowed to say no?"

"You can say whatever you want."

"Then no. I'm not good. Your guy Kyle thinks I'm a science experiment, half your pack looks like they want to throw me out a window, and you locked me in here like I'm the problem."

He doesn't apologize. Just leans against the door, arms crossed. "You are the problem. You just don't know it yet."

"Great. Love that for me."

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Kyle's protective. He's got his reasons."

"Yeah? What reasons?"

Darius is quiet for a beat. Then he says, "Six years ago, I had a mate. Her name was Elise. She died because I couldn't protect her from the people who wanted her dead. Kyle was there. He saw what it did to me. So when I bring a girl back here who smells like mate bond and won't explain why, yeah—he's gonna push back."

I swallow. My throat's dry. "I'm not your mate."

"I know."

"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?"

He tilts his head. "Like what?"

"Like I'm her."

The air goes still. Darius doesn't move, but something in his face shifts. Colder. "You're not."

"Then what am I?"

He exhales through his nose, pushes off the door. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. Your scent—" He stops himself. Shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You need protection, I need a solution. So here's the deal."

He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, sets it on the bed between us. It's a contract. Handwritten, but clean. I pick it up.

"Six months," Darius says. "You pretend to be my mate in public. You show up to pack events, you stay at my place, you wear something that makes it look real. In return, I clear your debt. Twenty grand to the loan sharks, plus interest. They won't touch you. No one will."

I scan the contract. The terms are straightforward. No physical claim. No actual bond. Just appearances. At the bottom, there's a line for my signature.

"Why?" I say.

"Why what?"

"Why do you need a fake mate?"

Darius sits down on the edge of the bed, far enough that we're not touching. He braces his elbows on his knees, stares at the floor. "Because Vivienne Lake wants to absorb my pack. She's got money, old bloodlines, and a seat at the council table. I've got numbers and territory, but no political weight. If I show up unmated, she'll push harder. She'll say I'm unstable. That I'm still mourning. She'll peel my people away one by one until there's nothing left."

"And if you show up with me?"

"Then I look like I've moved on. Like I'm stable. Like I've got a future." He looks up at me. "It buys me time."

I fold the contract, set it back down. "What's in it for you, really? Because clearing twenty grand and keeping loan sharks off my back sounds generous for a guy who doesn't want a mate."

His jaw tightens. "I need you alive."

"Why?"

"Because if you die, and you're carrying dormant wolf blood—which you are, by the way—then whoever kills you gets to claim they eliminated a potential rival line. And that makes me look weak. Like I couldn't protect my own."

My stomach drops. "I don't have wolf blood."

"Yeah, you do. You just don't know it yet." He stands up, paces to the window. "Your scent's wrong for human. Too much iron, not enough sweat. And the way you moved in that alley when you patched me up—you didn't flinch. Didn't panic. That's not normal."

I stand up too, fists clenched. "My mom was human. I'm human."

"Your mom wore a Lake family crest for two years. You think that's a coincidence?"

I freeze.

Darius turns, eyes locked on mine. "I saw the photo on your phone. The necklace. I know what that symbol means."

My voice comes out flat. "Then tell me."

"It means your mom was connected to the old bloodlines. Maybe she was a servant. Maybe she was a bastard daughter. Maybe she ran. I don't know yet. But Vivienne Lake does. And if she finds out you're still alive—"

"She already knows," I cut in. "She was at the diner. She looked right at me."

Darius goes still. "When?"

"Two days ago. She had people with her. They were sniffing around, talking about South Side mutts. I ducked out the back before they saw me up close."

"Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair. "That means she's already tracking you. She probably knows about the loan sharks. Knows you're desperate."

"So what, I'm bait?"

"No. You're leverage." He crosses back to me, picks up the contract, holds it out. "Sign this. Six months. I keep you alive, you help me keep my pack intact. After that, you're free. You walk away, I pay for you to disappear somewhere she can't reach."

I stare at the paper. My hand's shaking. "What if I say no?"

"Then you go back to your apartment, and the loan sharks show up in forty-eight hours. Or Vivienne's people show up first. Either way, you're dead by the weekend."

I hate that he's right.

I take the contract. There's a pen clipped to the top. I click it open, hesitate.

"One condition," I say.

Darius raises an eyebrow. "You're not in a position to negotiate."

"Yeah, I am. Because if I'm leverage, then you need me cooperative. Not pissed off and looking for an exit."

He almost smiles again. "What do you want?"

I meet his eyes. "Four years ago, my mom died in a car crash. Single-vehicle accident on Lake Shore Drive. The cops said she fell asleep at the wheel. But she didn't. She was a careful driver. Never even got a speeding ticket."

"You think someone ran her off the road."

"I think someone made it look like an accident. And I think it had something to do with that necklace. With Vivienne Lake. With whatever my mom was running from."

Darius is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods, slow. "You want me to find out what really happened."

"Yeah. That's my price."

He takes the contract from my hand, uncaps the pen, writes a new line at the bottom in clean block letters: *Darius Cain agrees to investigate the death of Moira Moray and provide all findings to Isla Moray within six months of contract signing.* He hands it back.

"Deal," he says.

I sign my name. He signs his. The ink's still wet when he folds the paper and tucks it back in his pocket.

"Welcome to the pack," he says. "Fake mate."

"Yeah. Congrats. You just bought six months of my life."

He heads for the door, pauses with his hand on the knob. "One more thing. Starting tomorrow, you're moving into my place. Not here. Somewhere Vivienne's people can see you coming and going. Somewhere that makes it look real."

"Where?"

"Pilsen. I've got a loft above a boxing gym. It's clean. It's secure. And it's got a door that locks from the inside."

"Fantastic. I've always wanted to live over a gym."

He almost laughs. "Get some sleep. We've got a pack meeting tomorrow night. You're gonna meet the rest of them. And you're gonna smile and pretend you're happy to be here."

"I'm a terrible liar."

"Then get better." He opens the door, steps out. "Oh, and Isla?"

I look up.

"Don't leave this room tonight. Some of my people are still deciding if they like you. I'd rather not have to break up a fight before breakfast."

The door closes. The lock clicks.

I sit back down on the bed, stare at my phone. Eleven percent now.

I pull up the photo of Mom's necklace one more time. Zoom in on the crescent and the waves.

Somewhere across the city, Vivienne Lake is probably looking at the same symbol. And she's smiling.

"That royal line should be dead," I imagine her saying. And I wonder if she's talking about Mom.

Or me.