The Blood Moon Wedding

Rose's POV

The silk of my wedding dress felt cool against my skin. My mother's dress. The one she wore when she married my father thirty years ago, back when their union was called the strongest alliance the eastern territories had ever seen.

The pack seamstress had altered it to fit me, her hands trembling the whole time. I remembered watching my mother dance in this same dress at pack gatherings, her dark hair loose and wild. She died giving me life. My father never remarried. Everything he had went into me, his only child.

Tonight I would honor that.

"You're shaking, my lady." Lyra tucked a crown of winter jasmine into my hair. "Nervous?"

I met my own eyes in the mirror. "Happy," I said. "I'm happy."

And I was. Ethan had courted me for two years, sending letters and gifts from three days' ride away. He was heir to the Silver Creek Pack. Our marriage would end decades of border fighting between our people. My father had wept when the treaty was signed.

"A worthy match," he'd told me. "Your mother would be proud."

As Lyra fastened the last clasp at my throat, the mirror caught something strange — for a second the ivory of my dress looked red. I blinked and it was gone. A trick of the candlelight, I told myself.

"Almost time," Lyra said. "Everyone's assembled."

Outside the window the moon was rising, low and swollen and red. A Blood Moon. Old legends called it an omen — a night when the line between the living world and the spirit world went thin. I'd always thought that was a story for children.

I know better now.

My father waited at the entrance of the grove, his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders bent under his ceremonial mantle. He looked older than I remembered.

"My Rose." His voice cracked on my name. "You look just like her."

I kissed his cheek. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you too. More than you'll ever know."

We walked the flower-strewn path together. Thousands of wolves from both packs had gathered under the red moon to watch. My father's warriors lined the perimeter, hands resting on their swords. Across from them stood the Silver Creek delegation — just as many, just as armed. The treaty had to hold tonight. Old hatred didn't die that easy.

Then I saw him. Ethan stood at the altar under an arch of oak and ironwood, dressed in Silver Creek's silver and white, his amber eyes catching the torchlight.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was looking at Fiona.

My best friend stood beside him in the same silver and white that marked his inner circle, her hand resting on his arm like she belonged there. I'd thought she was just a guest of honor — the woman who introduced us two years ago.

I thought she was my friend.

"Fiona." Confusion crept into my voice. "Why is she standing so close?"

My father's grip on my arm tightened. "Rose, I wasn't told she'd be part of the ceremony."

Ethan stepped away from the altar and came toward me, his boots crushing rose petals underfoot. The moonlight turned his face the color of rust.

"Ethan," I said, forcing a smile. "Is something wrong—"

"I reject you, Rose."

He said it calm. Quiet. Like he was commenting on the weather.

The crowd gasped. My father staggered, a hand flying to his chest. I just stared at Ethan, waiting for the words to mean something different than what they meant.

"What?"

"I reject you." Louder now, turned to face both packs. "I, Ethan of the Silver Creek Pack, reject Rose of the Eastern Pack as my mate. I choose another."

"Who?" My voice cracked. "Who could you possibly—"

Fiona stepped up and took his hand. Her smile was the cruelest thing I'd ever seen.

"Me," she said. "It was always going to be me, Rose. Did you really think he'd want you? A soft girl who can barely shift? You're nothing. You've always been nothing."

I thought of every hour we'd spent together. Every secret. Every letter from Ethan I'd shown her, every gift I'd described.

She'd been taking notes.

"You planned this," I said. "The introduction. Our friendship. All of it."

"All of it," Fiona said. "And now you get to watch me take everything you love."

She kissed him. His hands went to her waist. The Silver Creek wolves started chanting her name. My father's people stood frozen, confusion turning to horror on every face.

Then Ethan drew his sword.

"Silver Creek," he said. "Attack."

The first blade took my father through the chest.

"Papa!" I lunged for him, but he was already falling, blood soaking the white petals at my feet. His eyes found mine as he went down. His lips moved without sound. I knew what he was saying. Run.

His warriors rushed to defend him and got swallowed by the Silver Creek tide. I watched his sword arm drop. Watched him driven to his knees. Watched six blades find his heart.

"Rose, move!" A hand closed on my arm and yanked me back. Kael, my father's most trusted warrior, blood streaked across his face. "We have to get you out of here."

"My father—"

"Is gone." Kael dragged me through the chaos. "He'd want you alive."

I stumbled after him, my dress tearing on tree roots. Behind us Fiona's voice rose in a scream — high, sharp, and fake. Good. That would buy us seconds.

"Rose!"

The voice came from everywhere at once. I turned and saw the knife in Fiona's hand, saw her lunge.

Kael threw himself in front of me. The blade caught him in the throat.

"No." I grabbed for him as he fell. "Kael, no—"

"Run, little one." Blood in his voice now. "Run and survive."

I ran.

The forest tore at my skin and hair. I didn't know where I was going, only that I had to keep moving. The sounds of the fight faded behind me until all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

I ran until my legs gave out and I collapsed at the base of an old willow tree. The Blood Moon hung overhead, red and indifferent.

No pack. No father. No fiancé. No friend.

But I had breath in my lungs and fire in my blood. Lying there in the dirt, shattered and alone, I made myself a promise.

They would pay. All of them. Fiona. Ethan. Every wolf who stood there and watched my world burn.

They would pay.