020

Maureen Laurent

And in a blink, the night of the Blood Moon arrived.

I sat in front of the massive obsidian mirror while the maids worked around me like a quiet storm—brushing, pinning, powdering, painting. My reflection looked like someone else entirely.

Unreal. Ethereal. Almost frighteningly beautiful.

My silver-white hair had been swept into a high, elegant ponytail, soft tendrils left loose to frame my face. The gown… gods, the gown. Liquid gold silk poured over my body like molten sunlight, embroidered with delicate black thorns and crimson roses that caught the hellfire light with every breath. The train was impossibly long—ten maids had to carry it when I stood, arranging it in perfect waves behind me.

And the crown.

Not the full Luna circlet—not yet—but a breathtaking piece all the same: black gold filigree shaped like intertwined thorns and crescent moons, studded with blood-red rubies that glowed faintly under the torches.

I stared at myself and felt my heart race.

I looked like I belonged here.

I didn’t feel like I did.

The door opened softly. Livia stepped in, her kind eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

She dismissed the maids with a gentle nod, then came to stand behind me, resting her warm hands on my bare shoulders.

“My lady… are you all right?”

I exhaled shakily.

“I’m… overwhelmed,” I confessed, voice small. “Everyone will be watching. Judging. Waiting for me to stumble.”

Livia smiled—that soft, steady smile that always calmed the storm inside me.

“It’s all right, child. You will overcome it. You already have, every day since you arrived.”

She squeezed my shoulders gently.

“You are not the girl in chains anymore. You are the one who made the Devil kneel. Remember that.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.

Trumpets sounded in the distance—deep, resonant, echoing through the fortress.

It was time.

The maids returned, lifting the long train as I stood. The gown flowed like liquid starlight around me, heavy yet weightless. My pale skin glowed against the gold, the bite mark on my shoulder peeking through the off-shoulder neckline like a secret brand.

We moved through the private corridors to the top of the grand staircase.

Music drifted up—sweet, haunting violins weaving through the air.

I paused at the threshold, heart pounding so loud I was sure the entire hall could hear it.

Then the massive doors below swung open.

A herald’s voice boomed, deep and formal:

“Honored guests of the Northern Dominion… presenting Lady Maureen Laurent—Marked Mate and Consort of Alpha Devil Vuk Kael Lasković!”

The spotlight—a beam of pure blood-red light conjured from hellfire—fell on me like a crown.

I took the first step.

The train cascaded down the stairs behind me in golden waves. Every maid held a section perfectly, so it flowed like a river of sunlight.

The hall below came into view.

Hundreds of wolves in masks and finery, crystal chandeliers dripping hellfire light, banners of black and crimson.

And at the foot of the stairs, on a raised dais…

Vuk.

In full formal black, the sweater I made him hidden beneath (I knew it was there), golden eyes locked on me like I was the only person in the world.

His face—gods, his face.

Pride. Awe. Hunger. Love.

All of it, raw and unguarded.

The violins swelled.

Every head turned.

The entire hall rose as one.

And as I descended—slow, steady, heart in my throat—I felt something shift inside me.

Not Luna. Not yet.

But his.

Truly, irrevocably his.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel small under their stares.

I felt seen.

I reached the bottom step.

Vuk was already there—waiting, hand extended.

His golden eyes burned with pride and something deeper, something that made my breath catch.

I placed my hand in his.

Warm. Strong. Home.

Together, we turned to face the hall.

He bowed—deep, regal.

I mirrored him, the long golden train pooling like sunlight around us.

The hall bowed back—hundreds of wolves, masked and unmasked, lords and ladies, all lowering their heads to us.

To me.

The silence broke into thunderous applause and howls that shook the chandeliers.

Vuk straightened, keeping my hand firmly in his, and raised his voice—just enough to carry without effort.

“Tonight,” he said, the words ringing clear and lethal, “you see my marked mate. Maureen Laurent. The one who carries my bite, my heart, and my future. She stands beside me—not behind me. Remember that.”

A pause.

His grip on my hand tightened, possessive.

“Welcome her as you would welcome me. Honor her as you honor me. Because any slight against her… is a slight against me.”

The hall went quiet again.

Then cheers erupted—louder this time, edged with something like fear.

He turned to me, eyes softening only for me.

“Dance with me, little moon.”

The violins shifted—slow, haunting, beautiful.

He pulled me close, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine.

We moved.

And the world narrowed to just us.

His body against mine. His scent—pine, hellfire, warmth. His eyes never leaving my face.

I forgot the crowd.

Forgot the whispers.

There was only him.

We danced until my feet ached and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Then came the feast—toasts, laughter, wolves approaching cautiously to offer respect. Vuk never left my side, his hand always on me—waist, back, fingers laced with mine.

Past midnight, the energy softened.

I slipped away to change—into my second gown: deep crimson silk, shorter train, lighter, easier to move in. Still beautiful, but less overwhelming.

I needed air.

Or the restroom.

Either.

I took a quiet side passage—the one leading to the private facilities away from the main hall.

Almost there.

A figure stepped out from the shadows.

Tall. Broad. Expensive suit rumpled, eyes glassy with too much infernal wine.

High-ranking—I recognized the crest on his cuff. One of the border lords.

He blocked my path, swaying slightly.

“Well… look at the little wolf ” he slurred, voice thick. “All dressed up like you belong.”

I froze.

Tried to step around.

He moved with me, hand shooting out to grab my arm.

“Southern stray, aren’t you? Pretty thing. Wonder if the Devil would notice if I—”

His hands never finished the grab.

One moment they were reaching.

The next—severed.

Clean.

Blood sprayed the stone wall in perfect arcs.

The wolf screamed—a high, broken sound that echoed down the empty passage.

I stumbled back, heart slamming.

Vuk stood where the man had been.

Silent.

Fangs bared.

Both severed hands still in his grip, dripping.

He dropped them like trash.

The screaming wolf collapsed, clutching stumps, blood pooling fast.

Vuk didn’t even look at him.

His eyes were on me—wild, furious, protective.

In one motion, he scooped me up—bridal style, careful of the gown—and carried me away from the blood, away from the screams.

No one saw.

The passage was empty.

Just us.

His heart thundered against my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he growled, voice shaking with rage barely leashed. “Always.”

I buried my face in his neck, arms tight around him.

And believed him.

Completely.