"And then you… You what? Stutter? Forget? Did you even listen to a word that was said in that meeting room, Leonardo!" His dad said in Spanish, his booming voice growing louder with each word.

  That was definitely not a good sign.

  There had been a pack meeting to discuss building new infrastructure on the eastern land because it was owned by a small group of Elves. Leo had been allowed to join because his dad had figured that getting some “real experience in a professional environment” would be good for him. And sure it was. He got to hear how Alphas from different packs operated and the behind-the-scenes of running the pack — and swearing, a lot of fucking swearing. That was easily the best part.

  But that only happened two percent of the time.

  The rest of the time, it was just so fucking boring. And his zoning out and missing the entire meeting couldn't have been helped.

  So when his dad had asked him a question, of course he didn't know the answer. He had just transformed into a stuttering mess. The stares from all around the room had been seared into his mind like a permanent reminder of his inexperience.

  Leo looked up at his dad from his place on the couch.

  Growing up everyone had always told him that he looked like his dad. They had the same dark, wavy hair —although his dad's hair didn't look like he had been thrown into a tornado— the same smile, the same slightly muscular build. Hell, they even laughed the same apparently. But he never really saw the resemblance.

  His mom was standing right next to his dad. Both their arms were folded over their chests and their faces were plastered with equally disappointed and furious expressions.

  He knew he was in deep shit. They were never both angry at him. It was always one, or the other.

  But never both.

  He looked back down at his shoes, refusing to look into either one of their eyes.

  His fingers found the couch and he began peeling off the already chipping leather from the couch beneath him. It was his abuela's. An old, brown couch that was torn and flaking away in some places from almost 5 decades of use.

  He kept peeling. Remaining silent whenever his parents —mostly his dad— spoke.

  He figured silence was probably the best direction to take. He would just sit here as they took turns pointing out every wrong thing he had ever done up until this moment.

  "—and then on top of that you made us look like idiots. Like fucking fools. How do you think that makes us look huh?" He heard his dad say, pulling him away from his thoughts.

  "Are you even listening right now? Of course you're not." His dad shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply with each exasperated breath.

  He heard footsteps and looked up to see his dad storming off, heavy steps slamming into the floor aggressively.

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  “My Goddess, this child. One day I'm going to strangle him." He heard his dad muttering to himself, his voice gradually fading into the distance.

  The joys of super hearing.

  His mom, who was still standing up with her arms crossed, turned to him with a look of sympathy.

  "You know he doesn't mean that. He is just angry, that's all." His mom said, sitting down beside him.

  He turned to her. "Yeah, I know." He did know. His dad had meant every single word he had said. He wasn't the type of person to say things he didn't mean.

  His mom pulled him into her arms and gave him a tight squeeze. "We may be a little angry. But you know that we still love you, yes?"

  Leo smiled over her shoulder. "A little angry?" He mumbled.

  She smiled and gave him another squeeze before she got up from the couch.

  She turned and gave him another sympathetic smile before she ascended the stairs after his father, leaving him alone downstairs for the night.

  Leo got up and walked up to his room, shutting the door behind him and lying on his bed.

  Now he officially had no distractions. Nothing there to stop his mind from wandering back to it. Back to the thing his mind had been actively avoiding thinking about until that very second.

  Leo had found his mate.

  Ivan Piotrowski was his mate.

  After that incident, Leo had figured that this was a situation that deserved some school skipping, so he had run home in his wolf form to try and get his mind off of things.

  When that didn't work, he went up to his bedroom and paced around the small room for an hour, trying to wrap his head around the entire situation. And now 2 days and a lot of panicking had already passed, and he was staring up at his ceiling, still in disbelief.

  How could this possibly be happening? And to him of all people?

  He was seventeen. He knew that he was going to find his mate eventually, but he had expected that to happen exactly on his eighteenth birthday, like it did for most werewolves. And for him, that was only a few months away.

  Leo swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, walking over to his desk. He wondered whether Ivan could feel the mate bond too, but he doubted it. Ivan would have probably already been here discussing it with him, already trying to figure out ways to break the bond as fast as possible.

  That's what he had been doing for the past few hours, to no avail.

  Being mated to your enemy for the last seventeen years of your life was the shittiest luck in the world.

  He had heard it his whole life — your mate was supposed to be someone who you love with an indescribable depth and with your entire being and soul. Someone who was both your strength and your weakness. Someone who you were compatible with.

  He and Ivan were not compatible. Not by a long shot, and they never would be. It was just too weird.

  The worst part was that he couldn't even tell anyone about it, not Amirah and definitely not his parents.

  He wouldn't dare.

  What would his father think of all of this? Of Ivan? Were Alphas allowed to have male mates? There was no way his dad would ever accept him having a man as a mate. It would ruin his father's entire image.

  And there was no way the pack would accept it either. He would lose his future Alpha position. A title he had spent years fighting for and had sacrificed so much for. He would lose everything.

  He had to fix this. And quickly.

  He rubbed his hands over his face then ran them through his hair. “Fuck.”

  He knew that he had to tell Ivan eventually. The thought made his stomach twist with dread, but it was the only way they could make this work. Ivan had to know.

  But what would he even say?