CHAPTER THREE

"Dante."

His voice glided through the air and into my ears, startling me. We had sat in silence for half the ride, which only made me more anxious—yet, deep down, I was glad the scarily beautiful man hadn’t spoken to me until now.

"My name. Dante."

He added it as if to reassure my thumping, trembling heart. If that was his aim, it did the exact opposite. His voice carried a compelling, autocratic weight—velvety, but commanding—which only made my heart thrash harder. I feared he could see it pulsing wildly beneath the cursed wedding gown, especially with the way he looked at me.

His presence terrified me.

I was married to a monster—and no matter how resigned I was to fate, it was still a hard truth to swallow.

I shaped my lips to produce a reply, hoping they wouldn’t go numb from fear like the rest of my body.

"O—" I cleared my throat; the word had come out shaky and cracked.

I tried again. "Oh." But on second thought, it sounded too bland, too disinterested—far from what I meant.

"Mine is Hazel."

"I know."

Amusement danced across his eyes, as if noting every tiny move I made. Of course, he knew the name of the woman he was marrying. This situation was so unfair. He always had the upper hand.

Under his gaze, I felt like prey. His eyes were too fiery, too intense, too powerful—too much for me to handle. If he noticed my trembling hand, no matter how calmly I had tried to place it on my thigh, he didn’t say anything. But his eyes softened slightly, and he leaned back against the carriage.

I wasn’t sure if he even realized it, but his every movement was so poised, so dangerous, yet so effortless and lazy. I could almost imagine him purring.

No. I couldn't.

His fine lips parted.

"We’re almost at the Pack. I want you to understand that you are my Luna now. The Moon Goddess has declared it."

Luna? What was that supposed to mean?

Mother hadn’t told me about this part. Was it a title? A type of slave? I had only meant "sacrificial lamb" metaphorically in the past—but now… And did they seriously believe in a Moon Goddess? Was she like Cupid or something?

"A Luna is like a queen," he said, answering the very question in my mind, "in your part of the world."

He could see through me. I knew it. He saw my thoughts, my movements. And not to boast—but I’m not easy to read. Or at least I thought I wasn’t.

I laughed nervously—and immediately cringed. That was awful.

"I understand that we come from different worlds," he said.

He leaned in slowly. I instinctively pulled away, only to hit the wooden back of the carriage seat. A sharp, sweet pain flared in my spine. But he didn’t give me space this time—he leaned closer, and I felt his warm breath against my ear. I became hyper-aware of his sculpted face, of his eyes that burned like embers.

"I understand that humans don’t have a good impression of us Werewolves," he continued, voice low, "but this is your home now."

He paused, then reached out. His fingers slid under my chin, guiding my face to meet his. I stubbornly held his gaze. Even as something sharp and electric shot down my spine—even as my heart pounded and my brain pulsed in warning—I didn’t look away. Something in me resisted. Repulsion? Maybe. But his touch stirred something else, too. Just like at the ceremony.

"You are one of us now—whether you like it or not. And Arazona is no longer your home. You seem smart, Hazel. You know why."

He dropped his hand and looked away.

"Use that intelligence wisely. If you respect me, and trust me, I will return it. I want this to work. But if you act otherwise, we’ll all suffer for it."

His voice sharpened.

"And for your own good—if you still like your breath and your heart intact—do not even think of betraying the Pack. I will make you pay. No matter what ties we may share."

The finality in his words.

The assurance.

I understood exactly what he meant: the Pack came first. If I wanted to stay alive, I had to be loyal, obedient—a submissive queen, preferably a silent one. My father would never take me back. The people of Arazona wouldn’t either. Not now. I was a traitor. A possession of the enemy.

I wasn’t married to Dante. I was married to the Pack.

And no matter what bond formed between us, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut me down if I betrayed it.

Everything boiled down to loyalty.

I understood that.

I wasn’t the naive princess who believed in love or happily-ever-afters. I wasn’t the brave heroine who would save her people or change her fate.

I was me. Plain, fearful, careful Hazel.

Well—not plain in the face. Just… in the heart.

Others in my place might have hated Dante for his coldness, but I couldn’t help admiring him. Not in a romantic way, of course. That was impossible. He was still a monster.

But he was clear. Honest. Direct. No tricks. No manipulation. He laid out exactly what I was walking into. The rules. The cost.

All I had to do was exist quietly, show up when called, and maybe—if I was worthy—bear him an heir one day.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Right?

No. It was going to be hard. Draining. I’d be lonely. I’d lose myself sometimes. But that was my job.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

But I knew he heard me. His lips twitched.

He had saved me—from myself. From whatever silly delusions I still carried. Dante would never be my husband.

The Alpha was.

A heavy silence settled between us again until the carriage came to a halt.

"We’re home."

His eyes twinkled as he said it. I saw the way they lit up. This place—this Pack—meant everything to him. He didn’t try to hide it.

Suddenly, loud animalistic howls and hoots pierced the air.

It sent shivers down my spine.

My heart thudded. My fingers went cold.

This feeling—I would have to get used to.

These creatures—I would have to get used to.

This man—I would have to get used to.

Dante held out his hand and helped me down from the carriage.

And before me stood a long, massive crowd of terrifying wolves.

Home.