A day before the wedding

A DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING

Finally, I reach Doctor Karl’s house.

I lift my hand to knock, but the door opens before my knuckles touch the wood.

He stops the moment he sees me.

For a heartbeat, he simply stares, as if his mind refuses to process what his eyes are telling him.

“What happened to you, Clary?”

My name in his voice nearly unravels me.

I try to answer, but my throat tightens. Everything I’ve been holding in humiliation, confusion, pain—press against my chest until breathing feels like labor. The room tilts slightly, the edges of my vision dimming.

Before I can steady myself, my knees buckle.

Doctor Karl moves quickly. He catches me with firm, practiced hands and guides me inside without another word. His chamber smells of dried lavender and crushed mint, clean and grounding. He lowers me onto a wooden bench with careful precision, but the shift pulls at the torn skin across my back.

A sharp gasp escapes me.

He steps behind me.

Then he goes still.

The silence changes. It thickens.

“Who did this?” His voice loses its warmth. What remains is controlled anger. “These are not standard lashes. This was deliberate.”

I stare at the wooden beams above, tracing the grain with unfocused eyes. My mouth feels dry.

“Father…he asked Hippy to do it,” I whisper.

The word falls heavy between us.

He doesn’t respond immediately. His hand hovers just above my back, not touching, as if he’s afraid even the slightest contact might cause more harm.

When he finally begins to clean the blood, his hands are steady. Years of practice have taught him precision. Still, I feel the tension in him—the quiet fury beneath his composure. The cloth trembles only once, when he reaches the deepest cut where the wire bit through skin.

“How could he do this to you?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

I swallow.

“He thinks I hate his precious daughter.”

The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.

He exhales slowly. “That is not enough of a reason.”

He presses salve into the wounds. It burns sharply, but it is a clean pain. Nothing like the whip. Nothing like Father’s expression when he gave the order.

********

Today is the day before my marriage to Alpha Damon.

The name alone carries weight, power, and blood.

My wounds have mostly closed now. Doctor Karl made sure of that. Faint silver lines stretch across my back, evidence of what happened, but not enough to draw questions tomorrow.

I cannot heal on my own.

I never could.

I feel human in a house of wolves.

There is still a dull ache in my bones, a lingering weakness beneath the surface. The others recover overnight from injury. I carry mine for days.

The household is restless with preparation. Servants move quickly through the halls, arranging fabrics, polishing silver, delivering messages. My father’s voice echoes commands from below. Every detail matters.

Everything must go as planned.

No one asks how I feel.

My family has barely spoken to me beyond necessity. Their focus is singular: the alliance. The security. The advantage this marriage will bring.

I sit on the edge of my bed and try, again, to force my memories to align.

There are gaps. Wide, unsettling gaps. I remember laughter once—running through the forest with the wind in my hair. But I also remember another place. A life that makes this one feel like a lie.

Then fog.

Then this engagement.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve woken inside someone else’s life.

I press my fingers against my temples as if I can physically push the missing pieces back into place.

Nothing comes.

A tear slips down before I can stop it. Then another. I cover my mouth to quiet the sound, but the grief rises anyway—raw and disorienting. I don’t fully understand what I’ve lost, only that something vital is gone.

The door opens abruptly.

I wipe my face quickly and straighten.

Mother steps inside.

She looks immaculate. Composed. Untouched by the chaos in the house. Her expression, however, is distant—measured, almost indifferent.

She holds out a velvet jewelry box.

“The bracelet is ready,” she says. “You are to wear it at all times. The potion was prepared with your sister’s blood. With it, the Alpha will not notice.”

My heartbeat stumbles.

But I know better than to challenge her directly.

She opens the box.

Inside rests a green bracelet, delicate and elegant. Emerald stones set into fine silver, crafted beautifully. It catches the light and glimmers softly.

It looks harmless.

“It will ensure that Alpha Damon scents you as her.”

The words land slowly.

The daughter he was originally meant to marry.

My pulse begins to pound in my ears.

“He will believe you are the bride he agreed to take,” Mother finishes calmly. “He must not detect the difference.”

A cold wave moves through me.

She removes the bracelet from the box and fastens it around my wrist. The metal is cool at first, then warms gradually against my skin. A faint pulse hums beneath it, subtle but alive.

I look down at it.

“You will not remove it,” Mother says firmly. “If the Alpha scents even the slightest inconsistency, the consequences will fall on all of us.”

“But the day he was in my room… why didn’t he sense that I’m not my sister?” I ask quietly.

Alpha Damon had stood only inches from me. Close enough that I felt the heat of his breath against my skin. Close enough that his presence alone made the air heavier. If wolves are ruled by scent—by instinct, how did he not know?

Mother studies me for a moment, as if measuring how much I deserve to understand.

“Your sister was in your chamber before he arrived,” she says evenly. “Her scent lingered.”

The words settle slowly.

Mother’s gaze sharpens. “Tomorrow will be different.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice slightly, though no one else is present.

“An Alpha’s senses intensify during a binding ritual. His scent, his awareness, his instincts—everything sharpens. Especially when claiming a Luna.”

My fingers curl slightly at my sides.

The implication is clear.

Without the bracelet, he would know.

“That is why this is necessary,” she adds, her eyes flicking briefly to the green band around my wrist. “Once the ritual begins, his wolf will surge. His scent will dominate the air. He will seek confirmation. Recognition. The bride he agreed to take.”

Her voice hardens slightly.

“You must give him no reason to question.”

A quiet chill moves through me.

So tomorrow, under the weight of sacred vows and ancestral witnesses, I will stand before a predator at the height of his power—while pretending to be someone else.

Silence stretches between us.

I let out a slow, heavy breath, trying to steady the unease building in my chest.

Tomorrow I will walk toward Alpha Damon beneath ceremonial banners and watchful eyes. He will stand there powerful and imposing, believing he is claiming the daughter he negotiated for.

He will not know he is taking the weaker one.

The replaceable one.

Mother adjusts the cuff of her sleeve, as if this conversation is finished business.

“Rest,” she says. “Tomorrow will be busy. There will be a human wedding during the day, followed by the ritual among our kind at night.”

“Why do we need a human wedding?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Because we live among them and do business with them,” she explains. “The Alpha is a very influential figure in the human world. To them, he is a powerful man. To us, he is everything.”

She turns and leaves without waiting for a response.

The door closes softly behind her.

I lift my wrist and study the bracelet once more. I can almost imagine I feel something beneath it, a faint resistance inside me, something that does not want to be masked.

If his instincts sharpen tomorrow, or his wolf rises fully during the ritual—will this truly be enough?

Or will he sense the truth beneath the illusion?

I inhale slowly, steadying myself.

Whatever tomorrow brings, I will walk into it alone.

And if Alpha Damon ever discovers that the bride he bound himself to was never the one he chose, then everyone in this household will face the consequences.