Chapter 6: Arrival

Thud!

Suri jolted awake, heart racing. For two or three blurry seconds, she had no idea where she was or even who she was. The world felt foggy and strange. Then, like a bucket of cold water, reality hit her. She was in the back of a sleek black car. She was married to Ragnar Wolfe, the Lycan King. The same man who every werewolf called a monster. And he was definitely not her mate.

Tap. Tap.

A sharp knock on the window made her snap her head up. Ragnar stood right outside, tall and impatient, motioning with two fingers for her to get out. No smile or gentle word. Just that cold, expectant look. Suri’s face twisted. Really? He couldn’t even bother to wake her properly or open the door like a normal person? She gave him a long, unimpressed stare before letting out a tired sigh. Fine. Whatever. She reached for the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the evening air. The air was fresh, with a scent of pine trees mixed with bright citrus, clean and alive in a way her pack lands never felt. For a moment, she basked in the sheer refreshment of it.

When she opened her eyes again, the mansion stole what little calm she had left. It stood like something carved out of a dream; modern, sharp, and powerful. It didn’t have the fussy white paint or golden details. It was painted in dark charcoal grey. Just clean lines, wide balconies with clear glass railings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the last of the sunset and turned it into fire. The whole building seemed to grow straight out of the hill, level after level. Around it spread an entire estate of other houses and mansions, smaller but still expensive-looking, probably for the rest of the pack. But this one? This one felt different. It looked private and made her father’s pack house look like a shabby garden shed in comparison.

She must have been staring too long, because a low, grumpy voice cut through the silence. “Are you done?”

Suri blinked and turned. Ragnar was scowling down at her, arms crossed, looking like she’d personally offended him by existing. She scrunched her nose right back at him but kept her mouth shut. No point starting a fight before she even stepped inside. He turned without another word and started up the wide white stone steps that led to the huge front doors. Suri followed, heels clicking softly on the stone. Behind her, Dray, the beta, and Connor, the head gamma, moved in quiet sync. They were the only two who had come with Ragnar to Moonfang to collect her. No big entourage. Just these three dangerous men and one very unwilling bride.

As they climbed, Suri caught movement from the corners of her eyes. Curtains twitched in the windows of nearby houses. Faces appeared briefly on balconies, then vanished again. Everyone was watching. The new werewolf, wolfless, outsider queen was here. Ragnar didn’t seem to notice or care. He reached the top, pushed open the tall double doors, and walked straight in. Suri hesitated for half a second on the threshold, then lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside after him.

Her jaw actually dropped when she stepped fully inside. The entrance hall was pure luxury, high ceilings with sleek black chandeliers, polished marble floors that reflected everything like dark mirrors, and walls lined with modern art that probably cost more than her entire university tuition. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in soft evening light, turning the whole space into something warm and expensive. Suri was so busy staring, mouth slightly open, that she didn’t notice Ragnar had stopped walking.

Biff! She slammed straight into his broad back. It felt like hitting a literal brick wall.

“Ouch,” she whined, rubbing her forehead as she stepped back and looked up at him.

Ragnar didn’t move. He didn’t reach out to steady her. He just looked down at her with eyes like frozen amber. “Get your head out of the clouds,” he said in that low, smooth voice that somehow managed to sound both velvet-soft and dangerous. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour.”

Suri narrowed her eyes and gave him her best glare, but he ignored it completely and kept talking.

“You have to make everyone believe you’re a real wife,” he warned. “Especially Nana.”

Suri opened her mouth to ask who Nana was and why she had to pretend at all, but before a single word came out, Ragnar’s hand shot out. He caught her arm and tugged her sharply against his side. His other arm slid around her waist, locking her there—close, too close. Pain flared across her back where the whip marks still burned under her clothes. She couldn’t help it; she twisted and squirmed out of his hold with a small hiss.

Ragnar’s eyes flicked down to her, expression blank as ever. But before he could say anything, the sound of sharp heels clicking down the hallway made him freeze. Instead of grabbing her waist again, he simply took her hand in his, firmly. Suri blinked in surprise as all three men, Ragnar, Dray, and Connor, went completely still, eyes fixed on the entrance.

A moment later, an older woman appeared. She had short, silver-blonde hair cut in a sharp bob, and she wore a perfectly tailored red suit with a matching pencil skirt that screamed power and money. She walked like she owned every room she ever entered. Suri’s heart picked up speed. This woman looked exactly like the kind of matriarch who could make or break empires.

The woman’s face lit up the second she saw them. “Is this her?” she asked, voice warm and excited as she hurried over.

“Nana,” Ragnar said calmly, “meet my wife, Emily Thornclaw.”

Nana reached Suri in three quick steps and cupped her face gently with both hands. “Oh, darling, you are beautiful, aren’t you? I always knew Raggy had excellent taste. Welcome to our world, Em.”

Suri sucked in a quick breath and forced a smile. Relief washed through her, grateful that this elderly woman did not turn out to be the older version of Amelia, her stepmother.

“This is my grandmother, Lady Genevive Wolfe,” Ragnar added, sounding completely bored.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Genevive,” Suri said politely.

Nana waved one elegant hand. “Oh, please, call me Nana. You’re family now.” She dropped her hands from Suri’s face and grabbed both of her hands instead. “Come, come. We need to get you ready for the ceremony. Raggy, you and the boys go get changed; the guests are already arriving.”

Suri’s brows scrunched together. “Ceremony?”

Nana looked at her like she’d asked something adorably silly. “Your wedding reception, of course! There’s no way my grandson is having some tiny little thing. He’s a king, darling. I’ve invited the absolute crème de la crème, the one per cent of the one per cent, you know.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t worry about a thing. Everything is organised. You just need to freshen up and look gorgeous. You’re already stunning, we won’t make you stress.”

Before Suri could protest, Nana was already pulling her gently but firmly down the corridor. Suri threw one quick glance back at Ragnar over her shoulder. His face gave nothing away. No apology or explanation. Just that same blank, unreadable stare.

Ragnar, Dray, and Connor watched the two women disappear around the corner, the sound of Nana’s heels and Suri’s softer footsteps fading away.

Connor shook his head with a small smile. “Nana will never change.”

“She finally got what she wanted,” Ragnar said quietly. “At least now I can breathe.”

Dray’s expression stayed serious. “Are you sure about this, Ragnar? She’s a werewolf.”

Ragnar placed a hand on Dray’s shoulder and gave it a brief, firm squeeze. “That’s exactly why I chose her. There’s zero chance of feelings getting involved. No risk of weakness. No risk at all.”

Dray nodded slowly, but he still looked doubtful. “I hope it stays that way for the full twelve months. Just… remember why you picked her. Their kind can’t be trusted. They’re cunning.”

Connor clapped his hands together, voice suddenly bright. “Okay, enough serious talk. Can we please focus on the fact that His Grace is about to host the fanciest wedding reception of the decade? The one per cent of the one per cent are waiting.”

Ragnar shot him a look that could have frozen fire. Connor just shrugged and grinned wider. Before any of them could move toward the hallway, the front door burst open with a dramatic whoosh.

A tall, handsome man strolled in wearing a perfectly cut navy suit, hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets, and a smug little smirk on his face. “I hope I’m not late for the party,” he drawled. “Did anyone miss me?”

All three men turned at once and fixed him with identical glares.

“Brian,” Ragnar growled low.

"Young Coz,” Brian replied cheerfully, pulling one hand free to give a lazy wave. “Looking thrilled to see me, as always.”

“Who invited you?” Dray asked, voice flat.

Connor sighed and shook his head. “Nana, obviously. This is going to be… interesting.”