Chapter 3 – The Wedding Without Vows

The sun was already sinking when Bella Hart stepped through the towering doors of Stormfang Hall.

The hall itself was carved into the mountainside, its arched windows stretching so high they seemed to scrape the clouds. Chandeliers of wrought iron and crystal dripped from the ceiling, lit with hundreds of candles whose flames flickered against stone walls hung with silver-stitched banners of the Stormfang crest—a snarling wolf beneath the crescent moon.

Humans were not meant to walk here as equals. This was the heart of wolf power, the seat of Lucian Blackthorn. Every step Bella took across the polished stone floor echoed too loudly, reminding her that she did not belong.

Her dress felt alien on her body. It was not hers, but one chosen by wolves—white silk heavy with embroidery, fitted too tightly at her waist, the neckline dipping lower than she would have dared. Her chestnut hair, brushed until it shone, had been twisted into an intricate style that tugged at her scalp, silver pins glinting in the light.

She felt like a doll, dressed up for a cruel game.

And the wolves knew it.

The hall was packed with them—men and women in finery, warriors in ceremonial black, all eyes fixed on her as she entered. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, followed by sharp laughter.

“Human,” someone scoffed from the front row.

“Fragile little thing,” another whispered.

“She won’t last a month.”

Bella kept her gaze fixed ahead, her spine rigid. Every instinct screamed to shrink, to hide from the sneers, but she forced herself to stand tall. If she was to be humiliated, then she would endure it with her chin high.

At the far end of the hall stood Lucian.

The Alpha of Stormfang Pack was dressed in black and silver, his presence filling the room even before she reached him. His broad shoulders were set back with pride, his scarred jaw sharp against the candlelight. His silver eyes swept over her as she approached, but they held no warmth, no admiration. Only cold assessment, as if he were watching a transaction being completed.

Her heart hammered painfully in her chest. She had known this would not be a wedding like the stories she read as a girl, but some small, foolish part of her had hoped Lucian might at least treat her with dignity in front of his pack.

That hope withered when his lips curved into a cold smirk.

The officiant, a Stormfang elder with silver hair and a booming voice, began the vows. His words echoed through the hall: the bond of Luna and Alpha, the sacred tie of mate and leader, the union meant to honor the Moon Goddess herself.

Bella’s throat tightened as the elder turned to her. “Isabella Hart, do you vow to stand as Luna to this pack, to obey its Alpha, to honor him with loyalty and devotion?”

Every wolf eye in the room burned into her skin.

Her father was not here—humans were not permitted in Stormfang Hall for ceremonies like this. She stood utterly alone.

Bella swallowed hard, her voice trembling but clear. “I do.”

Laughter rippled through the wolves, mocking her words as if they were a joke.

The elder turned to Lucian. “And Lucian Blackthorn, do you vow to accept this woman as your Luna, to protect and honor her as mate and wife?”

Lucian’s gaze slid over Bella, his expression carved from ice. His silver eyes gleamed with something cruel as he spoke.

“I accept.”

The words carried no affection, no reverence—only finality, like the slamming of a cell door.

The elder raised his hands. “Then by the will of Stormfang Pack and the blessing of the Moon Goddess, I pronounce this bond sealed.”

Tradition called for the Alpha to kiss his bride’s hand, sealing the vows in front of the pack.

Lucian did not move.

He stood as still as stone, his eyes fixed on Bella’s face, daring her to expect tenderness from him. The silence stretched until the wolves chuckled among themselves, the humiliation sharp as a blade cutting into her chest.

Bella lowered her gaze, her face burning. The mockery in the hall swelled, wolves whispering and sneering. Human Luna. Weak Luna. An Alpha’s pity bride.

Her humiliation was complete.

The ceremony ended not with applause, but with laughter.

Lucian offered no arm as they left the hall. He strode ahead, and she followed, her skirts whispering against the stone floor, her cheeks hot with shame.

The packhouse loomed behind the hall, a sprawling fortress of stone and timber, its corridors wide enough for wolves in their shifted forms. Bella trailed after Lucian through dimly lit halls that smelled of pine and smoke, past servants who paused to stare openly at the human who dared to walk beside their Alpha.

Finally, he stopped at a heavy oak door. He pushed it open and stepped aside, his expression unreadable.

Inside was a chamber cold and bare. A narrow bed pressed against one wall, a single chair, a table with a pitcher of water. No warmth, no fire, no comfort. It was not a bridal chamber. It was a cell.

Bella turned to him, her chest aching. “This is where you mean for me to stay?”

Lucian’s silver eyes glinted in the dim light. He stepped closer, his voice low and cutting. “You wanted mercy. This is it.” He leaned down just enough for his words to brush against her ear. “Don’t dream of a husband’s warmth, human. You will not find it here.”

Her breath caught, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream, to weep, to demand why he chose to torment her so. But she forced her chin up instead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her tears.

Lucian straightened, his expression flat, his voice final. “The door locks from the outside. Do not attempt to leave.”

With that, he stepped out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.

Bella stood in the cold silence, her heart pounding, her silk gown heavy as chains against her skin. She sank onto the narrow bed, her hands trembling in her lap.

A Luna, they had called her. A bride. A mate.

But as the lock clicked into place and the darkness closed in, Bella Hart understood the truth.

She was nothing more than a prisoner.