Chapter 2

Scout’s POV

“Eyes down,” Henley whispered. Her grip on my shoulder was tight. “Don’t say a word. If he talks to you, just nod. Keep it simple.”

A heavy fist struck the wood of the door again. The frame groaned.

“Wait,” Henley called out. Her voice was too loud, a little strained. “She needs another moment.”

She turned to me. Her fingers worked fast, frantic, pulling the blue bridesmaid dress over my head. The fabric pooled around my ankles. I stood there, shivering in my undergarments, until she shoved the heavy white gown over my arms. The silk felt cold and stiff against my skin. She pulled the laces tight until my breath hitched, then smoothed the lace veil over my face. I felt like a porcelain doll someone else was controlling.

Henley swung the door open. My heart slammed against my ribs. I knew he could hear it.

“Finally,” Nixon said. He stood in the hallway, looking impatient. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. It was what Henley told me to do.

“You look beautiful,” he said. His voice dropped, losing that sharp edge. “I know the crowds are a lot. Everything will be fine once this is done.”

He didn't know anything.

Henley stepped between us. She grabbed my hand, squeezing it until my knuckles ached. “Just first-day nerves, Alpha. You know how it is.”

“Of course.” Nixon held out his arm. The gesture was formal, heavy with expectation. “Shall we?”

“Give us a second,” Henley said. She blocked his path. “I need to fix her veil. It’s crooked.”

Nixon looked at us. His eyes were dark and steady. He stared at the lace covering my face for a long time, like he was trying to look through the weave to find the truth. My stomach twisted. I was certain he could smell the sweat or sense the lie radiating off me. Then, he dipped his chin.

“Fine. I will wait outside.”

As he turned, Henley added, “She isn’t going anywhere.”

Nixon glanced back, a thin, ghost of a smile on his lips. “Good.”

The door shut. The silence was loud. Henley exhaled, her face pale.

“He’s suspicious,” I whispered.

“You just have to get to the altar,” she said. She grabbed her kit and dabbed powder under my eyes. She kept glancing at the door. “Keep your voice thin if you have to speak. Simone sounds like a bird. Keep that veil low. Don’t lift it for anyone.”

My throat was bone-dry. “What if they see? What if my father looks at me and sees the truth?”

“Your father is too busy counting his coin to look at your face. Nobody would suspect this. It’s too stupid for them to even imagine.”

She stepped back, checked my posture, and nodded. “It’s time. We can’t wait any longer.”

Henley cracked the door open and scanned the hallway. She grabbed my hand and led me out. My boots clicked against the stone floor. The wedding dress was heavy, dragging at my heels. We reached the stone path leading to the garden. The air outside was cold, smelling of pine and damp earth. Rows of chairs filled the lawn. A low, constant hum of voices rose from the crowd.

“Ready?” she asked.

I wasn't. I never would be. I nodded anyway.

We walked down the aisle. People turned. They stared. I kept my head down, focusing on the dirt between the stone pavers. Every step felt like wading through deep water. The whispers grew louder.

“She’s beautiful,” a woman said.

“Radiant,” another added.

“Simone always had that grace,” someone else said.

I flinched. The name felt like a slap.

I reached the front. Nixon stood there, waiting. His hair was slicked back, and the smell of pine was stronger now, mixed with something sharp and expensive. Henley squeezed my hand one last time before letting go. My palms were slick. I rested my hand on Nixon’s sleeve, and he must have felt me trembling.

An Elder stood beside him. She was the pack healer, her silver braids woven with polished stones. She looked at us with pale, clear eyes.

“We are here to join two souls,” she said. Her voice carried across the lawn, clear and steady. “Alpha Nixon of the Brown Reed Pack and Simone of the NeonViper Pack have chosen to bond.”

The crowd shifted. Choosing a mate wasn’t just a political marriage. It was a request to the goddess to forge a bond where there was none.

The Elder held out a golden cup. “Drink. Open your soul to your chosen.”

Nixon took a sip. His jaw muscles tightened. He handed the cup to me.

I lifted the lace just enough to touch the rim to my lips. The liquid was cold, then burned like fire as it slid down my throat.

The Elder began to chant. She pulled a thick, red cord from her belt and began to weave it around our joined hands. She moved in a complicated, rhythmic pattern.

“By this binding, your spirits reach across the divide,” she said. “What is not fated, you call into being with will and love.”

The cord turned hot. A sharp pressure blossomed in the centre of my chest. Something was fluttering against my ribs, frantic and wild. I looked up through the veil.

Nixon’s eyes were wide. He felt it too.

Panic surged through me. This wasn't part of the plan. I was supposed to act, to bluff, and then find a way out later. A chosen bond was hard to break. If this grew stronger, he would see my thoughts. He would see everything.

“The bond takes root,” the Elder said. She sounded pleased. “Now, seal this union.”

The crowd roared. People climbed to their feet. Nixon turned to me, his hands reaching for the edge of my veil.

“No,” I whispered. The sound was swallowed by the cheering. I grabbed the lace, holding it tight.

Nixon laughed, thinking I was playing. “Shy? It’s okay. We have time.”

“She’s just nervous!” someone yelled from the back. More laughter followed.

I looked at Henley. She stood in the crowd, watching me with a blank, neutral face. She didn't look like an accomplice. She didn't look like she cared.

Nixon’s hands were firm. He didn't use force, but he didn't stop. “I’m here,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

His voice was a promise that made my stomach turn. I pulled back, but his fingers caught the fabric. He pulled upward.

The veil slid off my head.

The cheering died. The silence that followed was absolute.

Nixon’s face shifted. He looked confused, then shocked, then absolutely cold. His eyes locked onto mine, and the warmth of the bond suddenly felt like a chain around my neck.

“You,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the silence like a blade. “You are not my bride.”