The Substitute Bride

Rebecca’s POV

​My legs felt weak as the maids helped me stand. The dress suddenly felt too heavy, and the veil suffocated me. Every breath I took smelled like Clara’s perfume instead of mine; it made me feel like I was disappearing inside her skin.

​"Walk slowly, My Lady," one of the maids reminded me gently as they guided me out of the room. I nodded, even though they couldn’t see it beneath the thick veil.

​The hallway outside was filled with noise. Music drifted through the palace halls—low and elegant—while voices echoed everywhere. Guests. Warriors. Nobles from nearby packs. All waiting for Clara. Not me. My heart pounded so violently I thought everyone around me could hear it.

​One step. Then another.

​The maids led me toward the ceremonial hall while my wolf paced frantically inside my head. "This is wrong," Olivia whispered nervously.

​"I know," I whispered back silently. But I kept walking anyway. Because despite the fear... despite the guilt... despite the terrifying uncertainty clawing at my chest... I wanted him.

​The large, decorated doors of the ceremonial hall slowly opened. The sound inside instantly softened. Hundreds of eyes turned toward me. A collective murmur swept through the crowd as I stepped inside beneath the heavy veil. The aisle stretched endlessly ahead of me, covered in white petals and silver candles.

​And at the very end, Enzo stood waiting.

​My breath caught painfully. The maids were right; he looked terrifyingly handsome. He was dressed completely in black, the formal Alpha robes fitting his massive body perfectly. Gold embroidery lined the edges of his jacket, marking the future Alpha of the pack. His dark hair was brushed back neatly, exposing the sharp lines of his face.

​But he looked angry. No… not angry. Tense. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. And he kept looking around—back and forth, back and forth—as if he were seeking someone.

​The moment I stepped into the hall, his body suddenly froze. Completely. Even from this distance, I saw the exact second his wolf reacted. His head snapped upward sharply. His nostrils flared. And his eyes—his eyes locked directly onto me.

​A strange expression crossed his face. Shock. Confusion. Disbelief. His fingers curled slowly into fists at his sides. I nearly stopped walking because the look on his face was not the look of a man seeing Clara. It was the look of a starving wolf catching the scent of blood.

​The guests noticed his attitude. Murmurs spread quietly through the room. Enzo suddenly took one step forward before stopping himself. His throat bobbed hard. I saw him inhale again—longer this time, deeper. And then his entire body went rigid.

​No. No, no, no. He knows.

​Panic exploded inside me. But before I could turn around, the maids gently pushed me forward again. "Keep walking, My Lady," one whispered nervously.

​My legs moved automatically. Enzo wasn't breathing normally anymore; he was staring at me like a man losing a war inside his own head. When I finally reached the altar, I kept my head lowered beneath the veil, too terrified to look directly at him.

​I thought for sure he would know it was me. I waited for him to roar in anger and tear the veil away. But Clara was right—he was fighting his own mind. He sensed me, yet he convinced himself it wasn't real. His wolf recognized mine, but his mind refused to believe it, thinking his desire for me was playing tricks on him on his wedding day.

​My father stepped forward, his face filled with pride as he took my trembling hand and placed it into Enzo’s much larger one. The moment our skin touched, a jolt of electricity shot through my arm. Enzo inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching around mine. Then he shook his head once, almost angrily, as if trying to clear a thick fog from his brain.

​My heart pounded violently beneath my ribs. I was shaking so badly I feared the lace of the dress would rattle. Inside me, Olivia stayed completely silent, hiding herself deep in the shadows of my soul so Enzo’s wolf wouldn’t fully sense her presence.

​The priest stepped forward with a smile. “We are gathered here today before the Moon Goddess to witness the marriage and mate-bond ceremony of Future Alpha Enzo Anthony and Princess Clara Morriston.”

​The crowd clapped, but the sound felt miles away. My stomach twisted. Not Clara. Me. It was me standing beside him.

​As the priest began to read the formal vows, Enzo leaned in. His voice was a rough, tortured whisper meant only for my ears. "Have you seen Rebecca today?"

​My heart fluttered so hard it hurt. He was looking for me. He was worried. “She wasn’t in her room this morning,” he muttered quietly, his jaw tight. “No one has seen her. What if something is wrong?”

​I lowered my head quickly and gave a tiny shake, pretending to answer as Clara would. My chest tightened. Even now, on his wedding day, he was thinking about me.

​The priest continued. “Future Alpha Enzo Anthony, do you take Princess Clara Morriston as your chosen wife and mate?”

​Silence. A long, painful silence. Enzo hesitated, looking at the veil with an expression of pure agony. It felt like the tension rolling off him could incinerate the room. Finally, he spoke.

​“…Yes.”

​It sounded like the hardest word he had ever had to say, like he was forcing his very soul to submit.

​The priest turned to me. I disguised my voice, making it higher and breathy to match my sister's. "I do."

​In our pack tradition, there were no rings. Only blood. A silver tray was brought forward, carrying a ceremonial razor. Enzo took it first and sliced the blade across his thumb. Dark, rich blood welled up instantly. He stretched his hand out to me, and I leaned down—the heavy veil still hiding my face—and wrapped my lips around his bleeding thumb.

​The taste of him hit me like a drug. A violent wave of pleasure crashed through me. I pulled back quickly, dizzy and breathless.

​Then the razor was handed to me. My trembling fingers slipped from the lace glove, and I hissed as the blade cut my skin. I reached toward him. Enzo stared at my hand for a strange second before slowly taking it.

​The moment his mouth closed around my thumb, my knees nearly gave out. It was terrifyingly intimate. His tongue brushed against the cut, and a dangerous shiver rolled through my entire body.

My body felt heavy and tight, I could feel myself getting wet, soaking through my underwear. I couldn't stop it. My head fell back under the veil, and a small, needy moan came out of my mouth.

​The room was quiet, so the sound felt loud.

​Fuck.

​Why did I feel so turned on by something so sacred?

​Enzo suddenly froze. His grip on my wrist tightened—too tight. A low sound rumbled in his chest. His wolf. I felt it instantly: recognition, confusion, and raw need. He pulled back, his breathing heavy and uneven, his eyes dark and clouded.

​“Before the Moon Goddess and the blood exchanged, your souls are now bound as one,” the priest announced. “You may now unveil your wife and mark her as your mate.”

​Enzo’s hands rose toward my veil. They were shaking. My pulse thundered. This was it—the second everything would explode.

​But just as his fingers touched the edge of the fabric, a voice screamed from the back of the hall.

​"STOP!"

​We both turned sharply. The doors were wide open, and there stood Clara, disheveled and bruised, looking as though she had run straight through hell itself.