Reborn and mated to three

Emilia

I never imagined to be stood up in my own wedding. 

Not just any wedding but the wedding I'd dreamt of having my entire life. 

The hall was fully decorated with dandelions, my favourite flowers; Kystan Morgan and her band of musicians deliver a wonderful serenade that fill the air and my dress had never looked so perfect — a flowing white dress that clung to my bodice before it fell freely from my waist, the diamond-studded lacy material gleaming in the morning light. 

I was perfect.

Except —

My hands were shaking and anxiety clawed at my empty stomach. I wished I had eaten something earlier but Mariah, my chief bridesmaid, had insisted I take nothing but a glass of water so I'd fit perfectly in my dress. 

I inhaled softly to calm my rioting nerves but my blood didn't stop roaring in my veins. 

I was panicking.

And so were they.

He wasn't here yet.

Lorenzo was running late.

Fifteen minutes turned into thirty.

Then an hour.

The music stopped now and the chatter from the congregation dulled into whispers. My bridesmaids all smirk and blush, now looked at each other with unease. Their gaze darted towards the entrance then to me then back again, as if the very sight of me standing here in my full bridal glory would make my husband-to-be show up.

“Where is he?” I muttered under my breath.

“Maybe, he's just delayed.” Mariah whispered, though her voice quivered. “Maybe his carriage broke down on the way here or he had to shift. That happened when my sister wanted to get married. It's normal.”

I nodded like I believed her. Like her words didn't sound desperate like an excuse. Like I hadn't memorized Lorenzo's need for punctuality. Like I hadn't spent every full moon wrapped in his arms and hearing him say “Nothing will ever keep me from you, Emilia.” 

One hour turned to two hours.

The priestess cleared her throat awkwardly and stepped down from the altar. Guests were murmuring now, some even began to leave their seats, others began to pace. Someone, my step mother, gasped when the sky darkened slightly but still, I waited. 

I didn't cry. I wouldn't give them that. I just stood there like a statue, clutching my bouquet that now felt heavier with every passing breath. My heart beat so loud I was sure they all heard it. 

Then the whispers stopped.

Footsteps thundered up the stone path.

Gasps followed. A few screams. And then —

“Alpha Dominic…” someone called out.

I turned slowly, my movement stiff because of my aching feet. 

There he stood, Lorenzo's father, the Alpha of the Moonclaw Pack. But this time, he didn't look like a leader. Instead, he looked like a man who had been to war. 

His cape was soaked in blood. Not splattered, soaked. His hands were stained red. One sleeve of his breeches torn, his shoulder sagging like the weight of the world had broken his very bones. 

Then his blue eyes found mine and everything inside me stopped.

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. “No. No, don't!” 

“I'm sorry,” he rasped, trudging closer. “Emilia, he's … he's gone.” 

“No…” The flower bouquet slipped from my hands and fell to the altar. 

Mariah pressed a soft hand on my shoulders but I moved away. 

“Emilia…” her eyes glistened and I heaved. 

Air. I need air.

“I'm so sorry.” Alpha Dominic's voice trembled and his gaze dropped.

“No…” My knees gave way. The ground rushed up to meet me, but I didn't feel it. I didn't feel the arms that tried to catch me. I didn't hear the wails erupting around me or the panicked shouts from the guests. The only sound I heard was the shattering sound echoing inside my chest. The sound of something breaking. 

Alpha Dominic fell to his knees before me, covered in blood, his voice breaking as he spoke. “It … was rogues. On his way here. They … they ripped him apart. I got there late. I … he fought to the end, Emilia,” he sobbed. “He was trying to get to you.”

I couldn't breathe.

I thrashed at the arms holding me, like I could find Lorenzo. Like he was a few steps away if I reached further. 

“No … please …” I begged no one in particular. “No, he promised me. Lorenzo … promised me he'd come back. He said he would “ 

As I struggled, my veil fell off and my hair tumbled free. 

Everything felt so wrong.

It was my wedding day but people were crying. Mothers were holding their children, covering their mouths in shock. My own father stepped forward but stopped when he saw the dreadful look in my eyes. His hands curled into fists like he didn't know what to do. Like he didn't know how to comfort a girl who had just become a widow before ever becoming a wife. 

Through the blur, I heard her. My stepmother.

“She's cursed,” she said, not even trying to whisper. “First, her mother, now, her mate? Death follows that girl around like a shadow! I'm certain of it!” 

My head whipped towards her, eyes blazing with rage. But before I could speak, before I could scream, another voice tore through the hall like a storm. 

“Who would want my son dead?!” Alpha Dominic's voice cracked like thunder.

Silence spilled into the hall like water, drenching out the voices and whispers.

Then he turned to me, his gaze bloodshot and wild that it made even my soul flinch. 

“Do you know who would do this, Emilia?” He asked. “Do you know anyone who would want Lorenzo dead?” 

He looked at me not as the girl his son loved but as a suspect. A curse. 

When I didn't answer, he barked. “Emilia!” 

He stepped forward but I didn't flinch but I wanted to.

“Do you know anyone who would want Lorenzo dead?” He repeated.

I searched his eyes for a shred of reason, for mercy, for something humane but all I could see was rage and sorrow.

And I — Goddess help me — I don't have an answer.

Because maybe someone did want him dead. 

Maybe that someone wanted me to suffer.

And maybe that someone was in this room.