Eleanor’s hands moved in a blur, draping the veil over my head. She adjusted the delicate layers until they cascaded across my face and shoulders, muting the world to a soft, hazy dream. It was like looking through a dense fog.
"Keep your head down," she whispered, her voice a sharp, urgent hiss. "Don’t speak unless you absolutely have to. If he asks a direct question, just nod or shake your head."
A hard knock rattled the door, which didn't budge. I hadn’t even noticed Eleanor locking it, but the deadbolt was thrown.
The sound made Eleanor go rigid.
"One moment," she called out, her voice tight with a forced calm. "The bride is not yet ready." She spun back to me, her fingers working deftly to tug me from the blue bridesmaid gown. The silk slid down my arms and pooled at my feet. In a single, practiced motion, she lifted the heavy wedding gown, guiding it over my body and fastening the intricate buttons before I could draw a full breath.
The door opened and Alpha Declan stepped inside. My own breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I was sure he could hear it.
"Finally," he said, and the relief in his tone was unmistakable. "Are you ready?"
I could only nod, not trusting myself to speak.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice softening. "I know this is overwhelming, but everything will be fine once the ceremony is over."
If only he knew. Overwhelming didn’t begin to cover it. I was moments away from marrying a man I barely knew, a desperate gambit to save my pack from destruction. I was taking my sister’s place at the altar, praying no one would see through the deception until it was too late to matter.
Eleanor moved to my side, her hand finding mine and squeezing it tightly. "She’s just nervous," she told Alpha Declan. "Wedding day jitters."
"Of course." He offered me his arm. "Shall we?"
"Just a few more minutes," Eleanor cut in smoothly. "I need to perfect her makeup."
Declan studied us, his gaze sharp and assessing. For a sickening moment, my stomach plunged, certain he had unraveled our entire scheme. Then, he simply inclined his head. "Very well. I’ll wait outside."
As he reached the door, Eleanor added, a little too lightly, "Don't worry, Alpha. Your bride isn't going anywhere."
A faint smile touched his lips. "Then all is well," he said, and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
The silence he left in his wake was heavy and suffocating. Eleanor let out a sharp, ragged breath. "See? That was close. Just get through the ceremony. I’ll figure out what to do next."
The moments that followed stretched into an eternity. Eleanor worked on my face with powders and brushes, her hands steady despite the fine lines of worry etched around her eyes. She kept darting glances at the door, as if expecting him to burst back in at any second.
"Remember," she whispered, dabbing a brush beneath my eyes. "Keep your voice soft if you have to speak. Clara’s voice is higher than yours. And for the love of the Moon Mother, keep that veil down."
My throat felt like sand. "What if someone recognizes me? What if my father sees?"
"Your father is too busy playing politics with the other Alphas to look closely," she said, her tone sharp, but her hands were gentle as she adjusted the veil one last time. "Besides, who would ever suspect something like this? You are safe."
She stepped back, giving me a final, critical look. "It’s time. We can’t keep him waiting any longer."
Eleanor opened the door and peered into the hallway. "The coast is clear. Come on."
I followed her through the packhouse corridors, a cold dread coiling in my stomach with each step. The wedding dress rustled around my legs, heavier than any garment I had ever worn. The low hum of voices grew louder as we neared the main hall, where the ceremony was about to begin.
"Head down," Eleanor reminded me one last time. "Let me do the talking."
The large wooden doors to the ceremony hall were closed. Through them, I could hear the expectant murmur of the assembled pack members. Eleanor smoothed the front of my dress and gave my veil a final adjustment.
"Ready?" she asked.
I wasn't. I would never be ready. But I nodded.
Eleanor pushed the doors open. The sudden light and sound were overwhelming. Pack members lined the aisle, their faces turning toward us with expressions of curiosity and excitement. I saw faces I’d known since childhood, and a fresh wave of panic washed over me.
The hall was a vision of white flowers and shimmering silver ribbons. Candles flickered in tall stands, and the sacred scent of burning sage hung in the air. It was beautiful—exactly the wedding Clara had always dreamed of.
At the front of the room, Alpha Declan stood waiting. He was striking in a formal dark suit with silver buttons that caught the candlelight. His dark hair was combed back from his face, and even from this distance, his scent reached me—pine and something wild that made my inner Omega stir.
Beside him stood Elder Una, the pack’s healer and spiritual guide. She was ancient, her silver hair braided with moonstone beads, her eyes the pale, knowing blue of a winter sky. She would perform the ceremony.
Eleanor guided me down the aisle. Each step was a monumental effort, like wading through deep mud. Whispers followed our progress, but I couldn't decipher the words over the blood rushing in my ears.
"Beautiful," someone murmured.
"She looks radiant," another voice sighed.
"Clara always was the prettiest of the sisters," a woman commented, and the words were a small, sharp sting.
We reached the altar. Eleanor squeezed my hand one last time before stepping aside to join the other witnesses. Declan moved closer, offering his arm. I took it, my hand trembling slightly as it rested on the fine wool of his sleeve.
Elder Una smiled at us, her weathered face creasing with genuine joy.
"We gather on these grounds to witness the joining of two souls," she began, her voice clear and resonant, filling the hall. "Alpha Declan of the Stonehaven Pack and Clara of the Blackwood Pack have chosen to bind themselves not just in marriage, but in the sacred bond of chosen mates."
My breath hitched. Chosen mates. This was more than a political alliance. They intended to forge a mate bond artificially—a ritual usually reserved for true, fated pairs.
Elder Una lifted a silver chalice filled with moonwater, the ceremonial liquid blessed under the light of a full moon. She offered it to Declan first.
"Drink, and open your soul to your chosen mate," she instructed.
Declan took a sip and passed the chalice to me. My hands shook as I lifted the veil just enough to bring the cup to my lips. The water was tasteless, but a strange tingle slid down my throat.
Elder Una began chanting in the old language, her words weaving a spell of bonds, souls, and eternity. She produced a length of silver cord and began wrapping it around our joined hands.
"With this binding, your souls reach for each other across the void," she intoned. "What the Moon Mother has not fated, you choose to create through will and love."
The cord grew warm against my skin. Then, something inside my chest fluttered—a frantic, unfamiliar sensation, like a captive bird trying to take flight. I gasped, my gaze snapping up to Declan’s through the screen of the veil. His eyes had gone wide with surprise.
A jolt of impossible recognition shot through me. I knew this feeling.
The mate bond. It was actually forming.
Terror, cold and sharp as ice, pierced through me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was meant to go through the motions, a placeholder in a sham ceremony, not actually bond with him. A chosen mate bond could be broken, but until then, it would tie us together. It would let him sense my emotions, my location… if it grew strong enough, maybe even my thoughts.
"The bond takes hold," Elder Una announced with deep satisfaction. "Now, let the union be sealed with a kiss."
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Declan stepped closer, his hands rising to lift my veil.
"No," I whispered, the word lost in the celebratory noise. I grabbed at the lace, my fingers fumbling to keep it in place.
Declan chuckled. "Still shy? It’s all right."
"She’s been a bundle of nerves all day!" someone called from the crowd, followed by more laughter.
"Clara always was the bashful one," another voice added.
I shot a desperate look toward Eleanor, my eyes finding hers in the crowd. She simply stared back, her expression a mask of placid innocence, as if nothing catastrophic was about to unfold. There was an unnerving stillness to her, a blankness that made my blood run cold.
Declan’s hands were gentle but firm as they found the edges of my veil. "It’s all right," he murmured, his voice for my ears alone. "I’ll be gentle. I won’t hurt you."
His reassurance only fueled my rising panic. I tried to pull back, but his strength was overwhelming. The lace began to lift away from my face.
"Please," I breathed, but my plea was drowned out by the crowd's enthusiastic chants for a kiss.
The veil came up and over my head.
The hall fell utterly silent.
A storm of expressions broke across Declan’s face. First, confusion, which quickly morphed into dawning recognition. That was followed by a darkening fury, a look of profound betrayal.
His voice, when it came, was deadly quiet.
"You are not my bride."
The words echoed in the sudden, ringing stillness. I stood frozen, my face exposed, with nowhere left to hide.
His eyes, so warm and reassuring only moments before, were now as cold and hard as winter stone.
"What is this deception?"