The Fourth Outcome by Mark Twain novel Chapter 1

[Kira’s POV]

The heat hits me like a fever dream during the Feast of Shadows.

It starts as a whisper beneath my skin—a gentle warmth that spreads through my limbs, my chest, pooling low in my belly. Then it ignites. My blood turns to liquid fire, burning through every vein until I’m gasping for air that does nothing to cool me.

The dress clings to my sweat-slicked skin, the silk dragging across my body like phantom fingers. Too tight. Too sensitive.

Every breath, every movement, every brush of fabric feels like a caress I don’t want but desperately, desperately need.

The sacred drums pulse through the clearing—a deep, primal rhythm that matches the frantic beating of my heart. Around me, pack members celebrate with wild abandon, their faces blurring into a sea of teeth and eyes and laughter.

But I can’t focus on any of them. All I can think about is him.

Theron. My mate. My Alpha.

I push through the crowd, my legs unsteady, searching for that familiar broad-shouldered silhouette. He’ll help me. He has to.

The mate bond stretches between us like a gossamer thread—so thin I sometimes wonder if it exists at all, if I imagined the whole thing.

I’ve never even felt our bond properly, fully. Maybe because there’s something wrong me, maybe it’s because I’ve never even shifted before.

But surely he feels this. Surely he knows his mate is burning, breaking, needing.

The grove lies beyond the feast, shrouded in ancient trees. My wolf’s presence stirs inside my mind, whimpering, urging me forward with an insistence that borders on panic.

I stumble toward on shaking legs, my vision swimming. That’s when I hear it.

“Oh, Theron!” a woman’s breathy moan, soft and satisfied. Then his voice—that deep, rumbling growl I know better than my own heartbeat. “Slow down, will you? Oh, yes…”

My feet stop moving. My lungs stop working.

I shouldn’t look. Every instinct I have screams at me to turn back, to walk away. To preserve whatever fragile hope I’ve been clinging to. But my body doesn’t listen.

Step by agonizing step, I move forward until I reach the gap in the trees.

And I see them.

Theron has Celeste pressed against the oldest oak. Her legs are wrapped around his bare waist, her gown bunched up around her hips. Her head is thrown back in ecstasy, auburn hair cascading down as he moves against her. Into her.

His hand tangles in those silken strands the way I’ve dreamed he’d touch me again. His mouth is on her throat, claiming her in the way that matters most.

The world tilted sideways, and I felt sick to my stomach.

When Theron’s eyes meet mine over her shoulder, time stops. My heart stops. Everything stops.

For one suspended heartbeat, we just stare at each other. I wait for shock to cross his face. For guilt. For something—anything—that says this matters. That I matter.

Instead, his gaze hardens like stone.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down, and just start moving faster and harder into her.

And I just ran.

My wolf howls inside my skull—a sound of such anguish that my vision blurs with tears. I can hear her, talk to her, but I can’t shift. Can’t transform into something strong and fast enough to escape this nightmare.

I’m trapped in this weak, human body while my heart shatters into pieces too small to ever put back together.

The feast comes back into focus around me, but everything’s changed. Or maybe I’m finally seeing it clearly. Pack members watch me with knowing smirks, their eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

They knew. They all knew.

He pulls her closer, his hand spanning her waist with casual possession, and my wolf screams.

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