Chapter 3: The Wedding

Mary Ann

The morning of the wedding dawned too bright, too cruel. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in one of Ironclaw’s guest suites, my reflection staring back like a stranger.

The gown was beautiful, ivory lace that flowed over my curves instead of fighting them, with delicate beading along the sweetheart neckline and a soft train that whispered against the floor. It should have made me feel like a Luna. Instead, I felt like a lamb about to be offered as a sacrifice.

My mother fussed with the veil behind me, her fingers trembling as she pinned it into my dark curls. Tears slipped down her cheeks no matter how many times she dabbed at them. “You look stunning, my sweet girl,” she whispered, voice thick. “So strong. So beautiful.”

I turned and pulled her into a hug, her smaller frame shaking against my softer one. “Mom, don’t cry. Please. It’s just a wedding.”

But we both knew it wasn’t. This was goodbye to the life I’d known. She held me tighter, her scent—warm vanilla and pack home, wrapping around me like a final comfort. “I know you’re scared. I wish I could fix this.”

A soft knock sounded at the door. My father stepped in, dressed in his formal Alpha suit, looking every bit the proud leader even though his eyes were heavy. He stopped when he saw me, swallowing hard. “Mary Ann… you’re radiant.”

He came over and took both my hands. “Listen to me. This alliance is necessary, but you are not trapped. If he hurts you, if you’re unhappy in any way, you come home. Pack or no pack, war or no war. You are my daughter first. Always.”

His words cracked something inside me. I nodded, blinking back the burn in my eyes. “I know, Dad. I’ll be okay.” I wasn’t sure I believed it, but saying it helped.

The ride to the neutral ceremonial grounds on Ironclaw territory felt endless. When we arrived, the air hummed with tension. Wolves from both packs filled the space, Moonstone on one side, Ironclaw on the other watching like this was some grand performance.

My heart hammered as I stepped out of the car, the hem of my gown brushing the grass. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, on the delicate white petals scattered along the aisle. I couldn’t look up. Not yet. Not at him.

The ceremony passed in a blur of ancient words and pack traditions. I walked the aisle on my father’s arm, every step heavier than the last. When we reached the front, he squeezed my hand once before letting go. And then there was only Modric.

I kept my gaze lowered, staring at his polished black shoes, the sharp crease of his trousers, the way his hands flexed at his sides. I could feel his presence though tall, commanding, radiating that same overwhelming energy from our Academy days. My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, whining and pacing in a way she never had before.

The officiant began the vows. My voice shook as I repeated the ancient words of binding, promising loyalty, protection, and partnership. Modric’s voice was steady, deep, almost cold as he said them back. Each syllable wrapped around my heart like chains.

Then came the moment I’d dreaded most.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The crowd held its breath. I finally lifted my eyes.

Modric stood there in a tailored black suit that hugged his powerful frame, his dark hair perfectly styled, those piercing gray eyes locked on mine. For a split second, something flickered across his face surprise, maybe recognition but it was gone before I could name it. He hesitated. I did too. My pulse thundered in my ears.

He leaned in slowly, as if fighting every instinct. His breath brushed my cheek, warm and laced with something sharp like whiskey. Then his lips touched the corner of mine, a brief, almost reluctant brush that sent fire racing through my veins.

Our wolves reacted instantly.

Mine surged forward with a joyful howl that echoed in my chest, pushing against my skin like she wanted to break free and claim him right there. A spark bright, electric, undeniable shot through me from the point of contact, spreading heat down my neck, my breasts, pooling low in my belly. My knees weakened. I gasped softly against his mouth.

I felt his wolf answer. His body tensed, a low growl rumbling so faintly only I could hear it. The mate bond snapped into place like a live wire, flooding me with his emotions, anger, confusion, raw want. For one heartbeat, his hand came up to cup my elbow, steadying me as the world tilted.

Then he stepped back sharply, dropping his hand like I’d burned him. His jaw clenched tight, eyes darkening as he stared at me. I saw the denial flash across his face, the way he straightened his shoulders and convinced himself it meant nothing. Just the ceremony. Just the magic of the ritual. Nothing more.

But I knew better. That spark had been real. And it terrified us both.

The crowd erupted in howls and applause, but it sounded distant, muffled. Modric offered me his arm, his touch polite and distant. I took it, my fingers trembling against the hard muscle beneath his sleeve. We turned to face our new packs now and I kept my chin up even as my mind reeled.

The feast followed, long tables laden with food under strings of lights in the fading evening. I sat beside my new husband, picking at my plate while conversations swirled around us. Modric barely spoke, his body rigid next to mine.

Every accidental brush of his leg against my thigh sent that same spark dancing across my skin. My wolf wouldn’t settle, whispering mate, mate, mate with every breath.

I stole a glance at him when he wasn’t looking. The man who had once called me Fat Luna now wore a ring that matched mine. The boy who had shattered my confidence was now bound to me for life. And that kiss, brief as it was had awakened something dangerous between us.