Chapter 4: may I dance with my wife

Mary Ann

The cheers and howls from the ceremony still echoed in my ears as the reception spilled into the grand clearing behind the ceremonial grounds. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a golden glow over long tables heavy with food and drink. Music played—soft drums and strings that should have felt celebratory. Instead, everything felt hollow.

Modric disappeared almost immediately after the vows.

One moment his arm was tense under my fingers as we walked back down the aisle, the next he was gone, melting into the crowd with a muttered excuse about pack business. I stood there alone near the head table, my beautiful lace gown suddenly feeling too tight, too exposed. My wolf whined inside me, still buzzing from that corner-of-the-lips kiss and the electric spark that had passed between us. But my husband? Nowhere to be seen.

Guests whispered behind my back. I could hear the murmurs even as I pretended not to.

“…plus-size Luna for Ironclaw? Bold choice.”

“Modric must be furious. Poor Velvera…”

“She’s pretty enough, I suppose, but can you imagine her running with the pack?”

I kept my spine straight, forcing a small smile as I sipped from a glass of champagne. My curves filled out the gown in all the ways I usually loved—soft hips, full breasts, the gentle swell of my belly but tonight every glance felt like judgment. I smoothed my hands down the fabric, reminding myself I had survived worse. Still, the loneliness clawed at me. This was supposed to be a celebration of our union, yet here I was, the bride standing by herself while the groom vanished.

I stared at the dancing couples, their laughter floating on the night air, and tried to ignore the ache in my chest. This is your life now, Mary Ann. Get used to it.

A shadow fell across my vision. A hand extended toward me, palm up.

“May I have this dance?”

I looked up. Kylian. Modric’s Beta and best friend since childhood. Tall and broad like most Ironclaw wolves, with warm brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. I remembered him instantly always right there in the background at the Elite Alpha Academy, laughing loudest whenever Modric called me “Fat Luna.” One of the boys who had turned my school years into a nightmare.

My wolf perked up cautiously, but I felt nothing but old pain. I stared at his offered hand like it might bite me.

“I have no reason to like you,” I said bluntly, my voice low but steady. No point in pretending. This was my wedding night, and I was done playing nice.

Kylian didn’t flinch. He lowered his hand slightly but didn’t pull away, his expression softening with something that looked like genuine regret. “I know. And you’re right. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, Luna.”

The title sounded strange coming from him. I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

He stepped a little closer, voice sincere. “We were cruel teenagers. Stupid, arrogant assholes who thought tearing someone down made us stronger. Modric especially… but I laughed right along with him. I’m sorry, Mary Ann. Truly. We hurt you, and you didn’t deserve any of it. None of us were man enough to see how strong and kind you already were back then.”

I searched his face for mockery, but there was none. Just honest remorse. My throat tightened. Years of bottled-up hurt pressed against my eyes, but I refused to cry here in front of everyone.

“You’re beautiful,” he continued quietly. “You always were. The way you carried yourself, the way you never let us fully break you… you deserved so much better than what we gave. I hope this pack treats you right. You deserve to be cherished.”

The words landed soft and unexpected, warming something cold inside me. I hesitated only a second before placing my hand in his. “One dance. And don’t call me beautiful just to be polite.”

He smiled faintly, leading me onto the dance floor. “Not polite. Truth.”

Kylian was a good dancer, confident but gentle, guiding me with a hand at my waist that respected the space I needed. My full figure moved with the music, the skirt of my gown swirling around my legs. For the first time that night, I didn’t feel quite so alone. We didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. My wolf relaxed a fraction, and I let myself breathe.

Then a deep, furious voice cut through the music like a blade.

“May I dance with my wife?”

I turned in Kylian’s arms to find Modric standing there, tall and imposing in his black suit, his gray eyes blazing as he glared at his Beta. His jaw was clenched tight, shoulders rigid with tension. The air between the two men crackled, and I felt that same electric spark from the ceremony flare to life again just from being near him.

My heart stuttered. He had finally returned and he looked anything but happy to see me in another man’s arms.