Chapter Four: Jeans

‘In a year, if I come to you, will you help me disappear?’

The question plays again in my mind.

Good lord, I actually asked the queen such a question on the happiest day of her life, her wedding.

Why couldn’t I keep the grief to myself? At least for a few days, at least until she returns from her honeymoon.

A loud groan follows the thoughts racing through my mind.

For some reason, my mind flashes to the last time we were alone. I don’t know why my fingers move to my lips.

I almost kissed him, or he almost kissed me—no, I must be the one who almost kissed him; such thoughts would never cross his mind, especially not with me.

My body burned during the entire car ride home, and the marks his nails formed on my back stung for days before healing—I could have healed them sooner, but his trace on me felt…good.

Snap out of it, Ruby.

My gaze lands on my reflection in the mirror; it only takes a second to lower my fingers from my crimson-stained lips; It feels foolish having them there.

‘Men like red lips. The redder, the better.’

Christ, I resemble a clown on my wedding day—a murky dress, too brightly coloured lips, and these hideous eyes. Would things have been better if my eyes were green like all the other Clives?

A knock sounds on the door.

“Five minutes, Mallory.”

Britney’s voice sounds.

A maid was attending in place of mother because she couldn’t make it; she had an emergency—an emergency on my wedding day, just like last time. It turns out the day never mattered.

My stand from the dressing table is quick, but the back of my legs sting.

I was punished for leaving my room in a night dress in the middle of the night. Apparently, it has happened thrice, all without my recollection—God, Britney is working overtime to get me punished at every turn.

At least the smell of blood has long faded, though I doubt Alpha Adrian will care as long as I don’t limp down the aisle and ruin the ceremony with barely anyone in attendance.

Though Mother did her best to plan a grand wedding, the Alpha insisted on a court wedding, which is no different from eloping.

‘You are not worth introducing to my family.’

Those are the cold words he spat in my previous life, so when mother--again--asked that I try and convince him, I went to the spa and relayed the disappointing news after. It could be my imagination, but his glares have grown more intense since the night of the queen's reception party.

I wonder if it is possible for him to hate me more than he already does. What would that even entail? I am fine with him ignoring me like before; in fact, I am banking on it.

A bitter laugh trickles from my throat before my gaze lands on a soft teal box on my dresser containing enchanted handcuffs, a wedding gift courtesy of a witch called Violet that was paired with the note: ‘for your wedding night.’

I almost laugh, but again, the knock returns.

My five minutes are up.

**

"Dearly beloved..."

The officiant begins after signing the necessary paperwork.

My gaze roams the room; it is small, with the barest amenities, and aside from the officiant, my maid and his security personnel, the hall is empty.

Inviting the queen to such an event after her extravagant wedding would be shameful, so I didn’t.

Everything is the same as our wedding in my previous life—his stoic expression, the blue cloth sticking out of his front suit pocket, and his soothing scent that floods the small space, lulling me into a calm I should not feel in his presence.

Should I turn away from him and run out of the building without looking back?

If I do, I will get the bonus of breaking his bored expression, but where the hell will I go?

To mother?

"Have you prepared your vows?"

The officiant leans in to ask, worry on his face and a hint of irritation as if he had repeated himself.

"No."

Last time I was foolish enough to do that, Adrian, no, Alpha Adrian called it ‘unnecessary’. Now that I think about it, he was right.

Let’s not do anything ‘unnecessary’ again.

The officiant turns to Alpha Adrian, and he gives the same response I did before proceeding with the ceremony.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Last time he raised my chin but couldn't bring himself to kiss me, so he hugged me instead to save face.

If I start coughing right now, will it free him from having to go out of his way?

“We can skip the-”

The words barely leave my mouth when his warm hands, whose roughness can be felt through his thin black gloves, cup my cheek and pull me to his height before leaning into my frame.

My eyes widen, and my lips seal shut on instinct, just as his press against them.

What the hell?

What is he doing?

His lips trail from mine, across my cheek and to the ear opposite from where the officiant stands.

"Open your damn mouth before I pry it open."

The question, 'why’ hangs at the tip of my tongue, but the feel of his large familiar hand sliding around my waist and pressing my now searing flesh against his hard-muscled body erupts a gasp from me, one that he all too willingly swallows.

The softness of his lips is startling, but it is the scent of the ocean flooding my nostrils that flutter my eyelids shut and steal every ounce of fight from me.

If my lungs could take in all of him, I would let them.

His tongue strokes the roof of my mouth, weakening my knees.

My feet do not feel as if they are on the ground; the dizziness claiming me reminds me of waves crashing against my body in water; thank the Goddess for his hold against me, for his large hand that burns its existence on my back stills me in place.

My hands itch to slide to his neck for more support, but I let my fingers curl into fists instead.

As his mouth widens to devour mine, which seems to crave and follow his dominating and delicious movements blindly, a stray thought floats in my mind—he tastes addictively divine to me; how average must I have tasted to him that this in both our lives is our first kiss?

How did his mate taste to him?

The questions have the quick effect of making my body feel as if iced water has been poured on me because I regain my sanity all too quickly.

My hands move to his chest to push him from me, but it is as if my struggle excites him, for his hold on me only tightens.

His hand on my cheek forces my face to remain on him until, once again, fight leaves my body at his skill; only then does he pull harshly away from me that my body shudders at the drop in temperature.

His gaze remains on mine before the dark blue of his eyes turns away. My focus remains on him for a moment, but the blaring sound of Mendelssohn’s wedding march reminds me of where we are.

My tongue aches to lick my now tender lips, but I will not. Not when I am convinced he pressed the kiss despite my struggle to pass on a message that he is the only one permitted to reject me and never the other way around.

"What the hell was that?"

At my question, his gaze turns to the blushing officiant, who busies himself almost instantly, then back to me.

He does not answer instantly; he merely watches me before a smirk lifts from his now crimson-stained lips courtesy of my lipstick.

"What? Is the Luna scared of a little kiss? But that can’t be the case. Not when you still need to borrow my c*ck six times and especially not when you dared threaten me.”

Is...is he punishing me?

“Why the frown Mallory.”

He asks, stressing that cursed name.

Ignore it, Ruby. If you show him it bothers you; he will use it even more. Remember, this man hates you.

“The kiss was unnecessary.”

His scoff follows my words.

“Get this right and get it right now. I am the one, the only one, who decides whether kissing you is unnecessary or not.”

“Wha-”

My protest barely leaves my mouth before he turns and walks out of the loud courtroom alone, leaving me with the officiant as if we had not just gotten married.

A cheap wedding without family or friends, clownish make-up, an ugly dress, and now I must walk alone out of the courtroom with a body that still burns and in a dress that screams ‘just married’—F*ck, I should have worn jeans.