The mansion was dressed for mourning, not matrimony.
Storm clouds rolled low over the blood-dark sky, a velvet curtain stretched taut over a stage no one asked to perform on. Shadows pooled around the edges of the estate, stretching like silent spectators. Dominic Vaireux, Alpha of the Vaireux pack and CEO of one of the world's most dangerous supernatural conglomerates, stood in front of the grand hearth, firelight dancing across his angular cheekbones.
He didn't look like a groom. He looked like a predator being forced to play house.
"Everything's ready," said Lucien, his Beta and lifelong friend, stepping into the library with quiet urgency. "The Council is waiting. The ceremony has to start before moonrise."
Dominic gave a stiff nod, but his amber eyes betrayed turmoil. "Does she know?"
Lucien hesitated. "She suspects something. She's not stupid. But no, she doesn't know… not everything."
Dominic clenched his fists, sharp claws pressing against his palm. "Good."
Meanwhile, upstairs, Lyra Quinn stood in a borrowed silk gown the color of fresh cream, staring at herself in a gilded mirror. The reflection looking back felt like a stranger.
A fake bride.
An unwilling mate.
A cursed woman with nowhere else to go.
"Miss Quinn?" a quiet voice interrupted behind her. A pack maid, barely older than twenty, held a silver box. "These are the ceremonial rings. Alpha Vaireux asked that you wear this one. It's… special."
Lyra took the box without a word. Inside, the ring looked simple at first—a platinum band etched with strange symbols that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. She ran her fingers over the markings.
The symbols burned cold.
Her heart thudded. Her curse—whatever it was—responded.
Down in the ancestral hall, the guests gathered. Not friends or family. No. This audience was a council of power brokers, Elders, and rival Alphas. They smelled of suspicion and waiting for an opportunity.
This wasn't about love.
This was war in velvet.
Dominic entered first, flanked by Lucien and the High Priestess of the Moonlit Creed. His steps echoed like gunfire. Whispers followed him:
"Still no transformation during the last blood moon…"
"He's hiding weakness."
"Why choose a human?"
He ignored them all. But each comment carved deeper.
Then Lyra appeared, walking alone.
The hall fell silent.
The moment their eyes met, a crackle of energy hummed through the air. Dominic flinched—but masked it with a slight bow. Lyra looked beautiful, yes—but it was more than that.
It was dangerous.
She didn't know she carried the blood of a moon-bonded line. He hadn't told her.
And tonight, that blood would matter.
The ceremony began. The High Priestess raised her hands.
"This union is called under false stars and fading moons," she intoned. "It binds in name, not in spirit—unless the spirit chooses otherwise."
Dominic offered his hand. "Lyra Quinn," he said, voice low, "do you accept this contract in exchange for safety, power, and protection from your enemies?"
Lyra looked him dead in the eyes. "Do you accept that I am not afraid of you?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Then sign."
From the shadows, Lucien brought forth an obsidian blade—ancestral, used only in blood vows. Its hilt pulsed.
Lyra's breath hitched. "Blood?"
Dominic's eyes narrowed. "This is how our people seal contracts. A drop. No more."
"But I'm not your people."
"You will be. Or they'll kill you."
The truth hung there, raw and cold. She understood.
With a trembling breath, she took the blade. Cut first.
Her blood sizzled on the scroll parchment.
Dominic cut second. His blood met hers.
Then everything changed.
The mark appeared.
It wasn't supposed to.
A silver crescent moon flared across her collarbone, blazing like starlight through silk. Dominic's eyes went wide. The room gasped. His hand reached forward—but stopped an inch from her skin.
"Impossible," he breathed.
Lyra staggered. Her veins felt like liquid lightning.
"What… What did you do to me?" she whispered.
"I didn't do this," he said, eyes narrowing. "The bond is real. This is not part of the contract."
Panic surged in her chest.
"What do you mean real?"
"I mean," he said grimly, "we may have just faked a wedding… but the moon just decided it's real."
The Council stood.
"What trick is this?" an Elder snarled. "She's human! She cannot bear the bond!"
But the Priestess stepped forward, voice hushed. "Not human," she said, gazing at Lyra's mark. "Not fully. The bond would not form otherwise."
Lyra's breath came fast. The mark throbbed. Memories—flashes—of her mother, always warning her not to "sleep beneath a full moon without salt," of visions that weren't hers, of voices in the dark.
"You knew," she said to Dominic. "You knew something."
"I suspected," he said. "But I didn't know… I didn't think the bond would take."
"And now?"
"Now…" he turned to the Council, lifting her hand. "Now, you all saw it. She is my mate. And no one challenges the bond of an Alpha and his fated Luna."
The Elders hissed, but sat.
Hours later, they sat alone in his private chambers, two glasses of dark wine untouched on the table between them.
"Why me?" Lyra asked.
Dominic sighed, leaning back. "Because you were invisible. Unclaimed. A survivor of a cursed bloodline I needed access to.
Because I thought I could control the game."
She stared at the mark still glowing faintly.
"And now?"
"Now I realize I might have just chained myself to something older than the Council. Older than even me."
Lyra rose slowly, standing in the moonlight.
"You used me."
"Yes."
"But you didn't fake the mark. That's not a lie."
"No," he said. "That's a truth neither of us asked for."
She walked to him, slow and measured, like approaching a beast that might be tamed… or bite.
"You said you'd protect me."
He looked up. "I will."
"Then tell me the rest."
There was silence. Then:
"I'm dying, Lyra."
The words dropped like knives.
She inhaled sharply. "What?"
"I didn't just fake this marriage to secure my rule. I did it to mask my weakness. I haven't shifted in months. The bond… It was a decoy. A distraction."
Lyra's voice trembled. "You brought me here to lie."
He met her gaze, intense. "I brought you here to save us both. But now…"
Now, the moon had intervened.
The lie had become a prophecy.
She didn't sleep that night.
Neither did he.
But somewhere beneath the mansion, in ancient vaults forgotten by most, a seal cracked.
Blood called to blood.
And a buried truth began to stir.