Oh, boy!
I gulp hard, sensing my impending unrest at the hands of the human, and having to remind myself that her feistiness is only the consequence of my past actions. She has every right to throw daggers at me with her fierce glare, her eyes turning dark crimson as she steps into the cabin, her gaze fixed on something beyond my head. I frown, because perhaps I’m imagining the fierce glint in her eyes, bushe turns her face away before I can double-check.
Dianna enters behind her, wearing a look of apology as she meets my eyes briefly. But even then, Sophie continues walking toward me at the end of the aisle, marching forward with sharp steps and a hardened expression.
My heart hammers in my chest, a flurry of emotions setting in as I watch her approach me, and I realize just how much I missed her. Just how much I'd been bottling up since the day I left her two years ago.
We were meant to go out that one sunny Sunday, to our special place in the mountains which overlooked the Red Moon territory, where we'd watch the sunset over the valley. Sophie didn’t know what was below, what it signified, or that hidden under the panoramic views was the pack I lead. I'd kept my true identity a secret for months, and then another demon attack forced me to a crossroads.
Stay with Sophie and put her life in danger?
Or leave, and keep her safe?
The latter was the better option, because I'd found myself falling too hard, too fast, and that meant that I couldn't endanger her life. If I did, if I stayed with her, and something happened, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself.
I'd never forgiven myself for leaving.
And here we are, two years later, with her walking down the aisle as my bride, wearing a white dress that hugs her voluptuous curves so perfectly, it makes her look like an ethereal creature who's fallen out of the sky.
But my arms cannot catch her. Not when she wears her resentment for me as fiercely as the red painting her lips. Those lips don't even twitch, as if she's made of steel, her hair—which I remember her wearing in its natural state, bold, dark brown curls cascading over her shoulders—set into a tight bun now, flat and formal, like she's protesting.
When she steps beside me, she turns to me, but doesn't meet my eyes. She simply stands there, in front of the council members, in front of me, with her mouth pressed into a firm line.
Oh, yeah, I pissed her off. If there's anything worse than breaking up with her, it’s capturing her, locking her in my cabin, and forcing her to be my wife.
But fate has left me no choice.
Uncle Joel proceeds with the formalities, reciting words that belong in a church on a Sunday, speaking as if he's some revered priest who's marrying off two humans. We're made to sign a contract, a piece of paper that means nothing compared to the sacred fated mate bond—a contract agreed upon by our souls long before we entered the physical realm of Earth. That’s what the fated mate bond is meant to be, but it’s hardly possible to believe this when Sophie is as detached as possible, even her fingers cold as she holds her hand out when it’s time to put a ring on her finger.
Mother’s ring, a silver band with a teardrop-shaped sapphire in the center. It fits Sophie’s ring finger perfectly—almost too perfectly, like a cruel joke from the universe, because back when we’d been seeing each other, I often pictured what it’d be like to ask Sophie to marry me.
I knew that dream was out of reach, but I clung to it like a lifeline in those months when we’d been together, fantasizing about a world in which I wasn’t a werewolf, an alpha of a pack in the valley, and I could have an ordinary life with the woman I loved.
That's why I walked away. And if what we know about fated mates is true, breaking up with her was no ordinary thing.
I rejected my mate.
I turned my back on the most precious thing that can be gifted to a werewolf.
And here we are, getting married to preserve my pack, when I don't even know how that's supposed to happen. I don't even know if we'll ever get past this, and if she'll say anything more to me than a listless murmur after Uncle Joel pronounces us husband and wife.
I offer her my hand to lead her out of the cabin, but she turns her face away, as if she finds my hand disgusting—a hand that once held her, touched her, caressed her in places—
“We can go back to the cabin now,” I say, and the only response I get is a hum, and her refusing to take my hand.
What was I expecting, anyway? A second chance, for us to pick up where we left off?
So, I lead the way back down the aisle, nodding at my sister as I pass her on the bench. Dianna wears the same, sad expression she did when I carried James back to the valley, and he wouldn't wake up. A look of grief, perhaps for theunforgivable situation I'm in now, which has no remedy. I can only imagine that Dianna tried and failed to befriend Sophie.
I just hope that she doesn't give up trying.
All I can do is lead Sophie back to the cabin, and she follows me in silence, not protesting, not attempting to escape. When we reach the cabin, I open the door and step aside so she can enter. She does, again in silence, heading toward the bedroom where I'd kept her locked away for two nights.
She passes me, leaving a trail of her scent in her wake. Jasmine flowers and sweet honey.
“Sophie…” I call out after her, and she stops, but doesn't turn.
“I won't be locking the cabin anymore. I won't lock you in your room. You're free to roam the valley if you'd like.”
