How can the dead come back alive

Tristan's POV

The days passed quickly, faster than anyone expected. On the morning of the wedding, Ivy stood in front of the mirror in her gown, turning slightly to admire herself while her father paced behind her.

"You should be happier," he said. "This is your wedding day."

"I just want everything to go perfectly," she told him.

Down the hall, I adjusted my collar in front of my own mirror. Ivy slipped into my room quietly once her father had stepped away, shutting the door behind her and crossing the room to me.

"Is everything ready?" she asked.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a small vial, holding it up to the light. "This is enough to weaken him for hours," I said. "No wolf healing will touch it, no strength will save him. Today is the only day he'll eat and drink freely without a guard tasting it first for him."

Ivy took the vial from my hand and turned it slowly. "And once it's in his system?" she asked.

"Once it's in him, he won't be able to shift, won't be able to fight back," I said. "And that's when we finish it."

Ivy smiled and slipped the vial into the folds of her dress. "Then let's go get married," she said.

The ceremony grounds were full by the time the sun reached its highest point. Alphas from three neighboring packs sat in the front rows, dressed in their finest, whispering amongst themselves about the double wedding. Their whispers grew louder whenever their eyes landed on the man standing near the altar.

Alpha Thorne, my father, stood tall in a black suit that fit him like it had been built around him, his presence alone enough to quiet a room. He did not look like a father marrying off his son. He barely looked older than me. His face carried none of the years he should have carried, his skin unmarked by time, his eyes sharp and unclouded, the kind of eyes that had seen decades pass without a single one leaving its mark on him. He had stopped aging at twenty-five, and no one, not even the oldest elders in the pack, could explain why. Some whispered it was the strength of his wolf. Others whispered it was something darker, something he had done long ago that no one dared ask him about directly. Whatever it was, he stood among his guests looking every bit like my older brother rather than my father, and every pack that had ever crossed him learned quickly that his youth was not a weakness. It was a warning.

Ivy walked down the aisle first, radiant in white, and I waited for her with a practiced smile on my face. The pack elders nodded in approval as she reached me, taking my hand exactly the way a future Luna should.

"Now we wait for Alpha Thorne's bride," Elder Corwin announced.

Everyone turned toward the entrance. Minutes passed. Guests shifted in their seats, whispering to each other. My father did not seem concerned, standing tall with his hands folded in front of him, his eyes fixed steadily on the entrance as though he already knew exactly what was coming.

An hour passed. My collar felt tighter than it had that morning, and I caught myself checking the entrance every few minutes, my patience thinning with every empty second. I had a poisoning to carry out and a pack to inherit, and here I was standing in the sun waiting on some woman I had never even met.

Who is this bride my father is so determined to make an entire wedding wait for, I thought, glancing sideways at Ivy to see if her patience was any better than mine. It clearly wasn't.

Two hours passed. Then a third. Guests grew restless, fanning themselves in the heat, murmuring behind gloved hands. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my jaw tight. Whoever she is, she had better be worth this, I thought. My father had never once in my life let a woman make him wait, and now half the region was sitting here sweating through their finest clothes because of her.

By the third hour, one of the older elders rose from his seat, his patience worn thin.

"Alpha Thorne, forgive me, but this delay is an insult to every pack seated here today," he said. "Perhaps we should consider moving forward without—"

My father turned his head slowly toward the elder, and the temperature of the entire ceremony seemed to drop with the movement. "Leave," he said, his voice calm, almost quiet, which made it far more frightening than if he had shouted.

The elder blinked. "Alpha Thorne, I only meant—"

"If my bride needs twenty-four hours to prepare, then we will wait twenty-four hours," my father said. "No one here will rush her. And if that is a problem for you, you are free to leave."

The elder sat back down without another word, his face pale. No one else spoke of the delay again.

I said nothing, but the irritation sat heavy in my chest. Twenty-four hours, if she asked for it. I had things to do today that could not wait twenty-four hours, and none of them involved standing here in the heat for a bride who could not even show up on time to her own wedding.

Then the sound of an engine reached the crowd.

Every head turned as a black car pulled up along the edge of the ceremony grounds, its tires crunching against the gravel path. The doors of the venue opened.

A figure stepped out of the car, wrapped in a sparkling wedding gown that caught the light with every movement, her steps slow and deliberate as she made her way toward the aisle.

Beside me, I heard Ivy's breath catch in her throat. "It can't be," she whispered.

"Genevieve," I said, barely above a whisper, and I staggered backwards in shock.

Ivy stared at the woman in front of us, frozen.

The crowd fell into stunned silence. Elder Corwin rose halfway from his seat, his mouth opening without any sound coming out. Genevieve's father stood so fast his chair toppled behind him. "Genny?" he breathed.

Genevieve reached the end of the aisle and stopped directly in front of Ivy and me, a small, calm smile spreading across her lips.

"I hope we can get along really well, stepson," she said. "I really have a big surprise for you," she added with a sly smile.

She walked past us without waiting for a response, straight toward my father, who watched her approach with a calm that told everyone present he had known all along. Her hand slipped into his.

Ivy grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my sleeve. "Tristan," she hissed under her breath. "Tristan, breathe. People are watching us."

But I could not hear her, not really. My mind had gone somewhere else entirely, back to that street on the edge of town, back to the gun in my hand, back to the two shots I had fired myself. The bullets should have killed her, no doubt. I had watched her die. I had watched Ivy check for a pulse and find none.

"Tristan, smile," Ivy whispered sharply, her own voice barely holding steady beneath the surface. "Whatever is happening, we cannot let them see us panic."

I forced my lips into a smile, but behind it my thoughts spiraled without mercy, the same question circling louder and louder until it drowned out everything else around me.

How can a dead woman come back alive.