Alexander Moretti

EMMALINE

The car slows down and comes to a halt in front of a grand stone chapel. I don’t know where we are, but the place feels cold. Old. Like it’s soaked in sorrow. Like it knows exactly what’s about to happen to me.

Marco who’s sitting beside me turns his head, his cold eyes boring into mine. “Every Mancini has been married in this very place for the last century,” he says in a low, stern voice. “Make sure you follow all the instructions you’re given. The sooner you learn to give Dante what he wants, the easier your life will be. Got it?”

The blood drains from my face. I stare at him, but I can’t form any words. Not even a nod.

The driver steps out and slams the door shut behind him, the sound echoing like thunder. Marco keeps his stare locked on my face. “Let’s go.” He opens the door and holds out his hand for me to take.

I don’t move. My muscles are frozen. It’s like I’ve been glued to the seat.

“Do I have to walk down the aisle alone?” My voice is weak, barely a whisper. “I’ve never even met the man before…”

He looks me up and down, and for a second, I think I see pity flicker across his face. But it vanishes before I can fully comprehend it. “Just find a way to get through this,” he says. “It’s just one day.”

But the thing is, this isn’t just one day. It’s my whole life.

I force myself to get out of the car, my heels shaky on the cobblestone, as i walk slowly up the stone steps, one hand gripping the iron railing for balance. The big wooden doors creak open, and I’m shoved a monstrous bouquet of blood-red roses.

I step inside.

The hall is massive. Too many faces. Every seat is filled. People stand along the walls, whispering, watching. It’s like they came to witness a public execution and not a wedding. I clutch the bouquet tighter and glance toward the altar.

There he is.

Dante Mancini.

The man I’m supposed to marry today.

He’s not much taller than me. His face is rough, with a scar cutting across his upper lip. The buttons on his black tuxedo strain around his belly. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in years, and maybe he hasn’t.

He glares at me like I’m already disappointing him.

My whole body freezes. His eyes are like knives, sharp and cruel, and they slice right through me. I can’t move. My feet stay rooted to the ground.

A woman standing beside him gestures sharply. She wants me to walk. To get on with it.

I force a step forward.

One step.

Then another.

Dante’s frown deepens the closer I get. He doesn’t look happy.

Well, that makes two of us.

I stare at the marble beneath my feet, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. My heart is pounding so aggressively against my chest it hurts. Every step bringing me closer to the man who’s about to own me.

Forever.

Someone clears their throat, loud and sharp.

My gaze jerks up.

Dante.

His eyes flash with anger. I’m still not close enough. Not moving fast enough.

I swallow hard and take another shaky step.

That’s when it happens.

The air changes as the big doors creak open once more.

It grows still—unnaturally so. The chill sneaks into my skin, into my bones. A strange energy filling the chapel. Dark. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Something is wrong.

Or maybe… someone.

I feel him before I see him.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, alert and restless. Her ears are pricked, her body tense.

Danger, she whispers.

No. Not danger.

Something else.

Something worse.

The scent hits me next.

It’s not unfamiliar. Sharp and rich, like the forest in winter. Clean. Cold. Powerful. There’s something darker beneath it, something primal that makes my stomach twist and my lungs forget how to breathe.

It’s not right, but it feels like home. My fingers tremble, as the scent wraps around me, seductive and cruel, as the presence moves behind me. I don’t turn.

But I don’t have to because I already know.

Footsteps echo. Slow. Heavy. The kind of walk that belongs to someone who owns the ground he walks on. And maybe he does.

The guests move out of the way without being asked. Their backs straighten. Their heads lower. No one dares speak. No one dares move.

He doesn’t need to ask for obedience, because he demands it just by existing.

The scent coils tighter around me, and my wolf scratches at my insides.

Mate.

No. No. No.

That’s not possible.

I dig my nails into my palms. My breath is shallow now.

I will not turn.

I will not meet him.

I will not—

A shadow looms beside me.

The heat of him burns through the thin fabric of my dress. His body so close it’s like a second skin.

Then I hear him.

“Emmaline.”

My name, spoken so softly, yet it slices through me like a knife.

My body betrays me. I turn.

And I see him.

Alexander Moretti.

The man I swore to kill the next time I set my eyes on him.

The man who ruined everything.

The man who murdered my parents five years ago.

The first man I ever loved.

My mate.

He’s taller than I remember. Broader. Dressed in all black, his suit tailored perfectly to his powerful frame. He looks like a shadow—something dark and untouchable.

But it’s his face that steals my breath. He’s still as monstrously beautiful as I remember. More so if possible.

Carved from stone, with harsh lines and sharp edges. A strong jaw. High cheekbones. A face built to intimidate. But it’s his eyes that undo me.

Dark blue. Nearly black.

They’re cold. Hollow.

But behind the void, there’s something else.

Fire. Madness. Obsession.

They don’t flicker with softness. They don’t show regret. They don’t even pretend to care.

They study me. Slowly. Possessively. Drinking me in.

And then, without warning, he moves.

Fast.

So fast I can’t react.

His arm wraps around me, yanking me against his chest. I’m facing forward, his body pressed against my back.

My bouquet falls to the ground.

Gasps ripple through the chapel.

I can’t move. Hell, I can’t think.

His breath grazes my neck.

“Mine,” he growls.

And then—

Pain.

Sharp. Hot. Burning.

His canines sink into my neck.

And everything changes as he claims me as his.