The priestess helps me off the dais, escorting me to a private tent where I am stripped and tattooed by another elder called Indigo. As her needle pricks my back, Demi and the others continue to pray over me, whispering almost too hushed for me to hear.
When I reemerge from the tent, the crowd erupts in whistling and applause. Dozens of guests have already lined up, ready to swear their fealty. A band of a dozen wolves flank the left side of the platform, ears forward and tails held high. Demi hands me off to rejoin Axe at the dais for the final time.
“All rise,” the priestess orders. Axe squeezes my hand, distracting me from the irritating throb of my freshly inked shoulder.
“In the names of Petyr and Rose Skornokovy, I present to you Vespera Lemaire, Evening Glory, Daughter of the Moon, and Luna of Bleeding Sun. May she serve our people loyally and hold all the Great Mother’s children in her heart.”
The wolves genuflect, tilting their heads to the sky, filling the space with their rejoicing howls.
Then, in one voice, the pack looks to me, speaking,OhGoddess, we exalt thee. Behold our mother anew, our defender and refuge.
Tesni motions for the warrior band to assimilate. She is the first to kneel before me, to take my hand and place it over her beating heart that is adorned with intricate, layered necklaces of carved bone. Thick hair is piled atop her head, tiny braids woven into the knot. Tonight, she is regal, elevated by her eternal loyalty.
“Wise Mother—on my honor, I will not fail you. Shall I bleed, it will be for my brother or sister, never for thy enemy.”
The rest of the evening is filled with merriment, wine, and dancing. Nell and Jabir pose for Cora as she makes her rounds, capturing photos of happy couples. She even catches Demi and Tesni shoveling cake into their mouths while Chris spins his daughters around on the dancefloor.
Inevitably, the quartet announces a final song. Axe seizes my hand, holding me to him as we begin to sway. He leans down to steal a kiss, and unbeknownst to him, that red lipstick smears all over his mouth. I throw my head back to laugh, just in time for Cora to humiliate him with a flash shot. It feels like we’re frozen in time, two figurines rotating atop the music box I had as a girl. For a moment, I wish we could stay this way, forever cranking the lever so that the song—this starry night, this bliss—may never fade.
Just before midnight, Axe and I are given a rowdy sendoff. Hands interlaced, we pull up to a dimly lit wilderness cottage, about twenty-five minutes north of Lupine Manor. Axe brings our bags to the front entrance, then swings back around to retrieve me, gathering me in his arms so that the dress doesn’t collect any dirt or debris. Once inside, he flicks on the lights, revealing a cozy den filled with quilts, animal pelts, and the comforting sight of books. Lots of them. The rustic kitchen around the corner is modest with furnishings that haven’t been updated in decades. Hung from the sink window is a frilly heart made of paper mâché withP + Rwritten in the center.
At the foot of the stairs, I lift my skirts and carefully ascend the carpeted steps. A small loft adorned with elk antlers and rugs of deep emerald gives way to a two-bedroom hallway and powder room. On my left, an ornate clock is mounted to the wood interior, along with a series of oil paintings. I shuffleover to study portraits of those I presume to be Skornokovy ancestors.
“My great-grandfather,” Axe says in a subdued voice. I peer over my shoulder, comparing him to the middle-aged male in the frame. Flecks of gold glint along his wavy hairline, darkening with the tighter curls along his neck. Their jawlines, noses, and golden skin are exactly alike, as are their names.
He props himself against the banister, letting his eyes trail from my face to my breasts to the cascading tulle of my gown. A jaw-dropping squared neckline is offset by sheer half-sleeves embellished with crystal floral appliqué. The drop waistline gives way to a shimmering trumpet skirt of organza tulle and a sheer train stitched with hundreds of shimmering stars.
His dark sleeves reveal a forking web of veins, protruding as he grips the wood. "Tell me I'm not dreaming right now. I’ve tried pinching myself, but I still feel the same."
Now I’m the one who’s gone dizzy. I answer him, if only to remind myself. “This isn’t a dream.”
“You’re right. If you were a dream, you wouldn’t be in my every waking thought. You wouldn’t be a constant craving. If you were a dream, I’d be terrified at the thought of being torn away from you, not knowing whether I’d ever see you again or if I’d altogether imagined you.”
From head to toe, my entire body flushes. “Axe, I . . .”
"Just let me look a minute longer," he whispers.
My fingers curl around the edge of an antique console table. I watch as his lips part, eyes gleaming with wonder. Like he still can’t believe that I chose him. That I’m about to bind myself to him in the most intimate way lycans know how.
"You're not . . . nervous, are you?" I ask.
He chuckles lowly, crossing over to me. Calloused fingers gently pry away my painfully tight grip on the wood. Axe cranes down and trails his nose along my neck, filling himself with theluxury of my scent. Sighing, I slide my fingers along his imposing shoulders. My hands are too small to grip them. I shudder, realizing that everything about me is just that. Too small. Too inexperienced.
The next thing I know, my legs are lifted, my ass promptly set on the raised table. His forearm is steady at my waist. “Quite the opposite.”
Demonstrating, he grabs a fistful of my hair and licks a tantalizing stripe up my neck. The short stubble of his chin caresses the delicate skin, making my toes curl inside my heels. Intent on eliciting a moan from me, he nips my earlobe, tongue darting out once more. The sensation strikes a match, igniting my core. Loosing a sigh, I fist Axe's shirt, threading my other fingers through the soft waves at the base of his neck. My legs latch and pull him closer, so that his bulge is right up against my stomach.
Each intake of breath is thinner as his hand draws closer to the source of the molten throbbing. Slipping beneath the gown, his thumb lingers on the crease of my inner thigh. So close to where I desperately need him.
Hot breaths caress my collarbone. “I don’t have to take you to bed if . . . if you need more time. I’ll just give you the mark right here and we’ll leave it at that.”
I raise my gaze where his eyes dare me to meet, so close to that cerulean lightning that entices me endlessly. There isn’t an ounce of me that doesn’t want this. That isn’t also starving. The choice is simple. And yet . . . the smallest, foreboding chill winds itself down my spine.
His throat bobs. “I have been waiting for you for most of my existence. But I will wait as long as you need. I have always been yours.”
I clutch his sleeve, where the raven is inked beneath. The familiar that has been leading him to me through every dream, every battle, every aching moment.
The cadence that spills out of me is so sensual I barely recognize it as my own. “Then let me have you.”
