I never wanted a perfect wedding. But I was promised one.
The Ashborne estate's cathedral was drenched in roses and guilt. Ivory petals were scattered across marble steps. Journalists outside buzzed like flies over spoiled fruit, waiting for a glimpse of a billion-dollar merger disguised as a marriage.
My marriage.
I stood at the end of the aisle, my heels steady but my stomach in knots. The designer gown clung too tightly to my ribs, like it sensed I wasn't meant to breathe today.
I wasn't marrying for love. I was marrying to save my father's empire.
Through the veil, I could see Victor Ashborne standing proudly in the front row, a stiff smile carved into his face like it had been rehearsed. Cold. Unapologetic. Behind him, board members and social elites nodded with approval, their approval worth more than any blessing.
And beside the altar—him.
Damien Laurent. The golden boy. Slicked-back blond hair, crisp Armani suit, fake warmth in his smile. The son of Ashborne Corp's last surviving rival. Our union would end a thirty-year feud and transfer billions.
My fiancé. My cage.
The organist hit the wrong note, or maybe I just imagined it. I took one step forward.
Then I saw it.
He didn't notice me watching. He was too busy with the bridesmaid.
Victoria. My best friend. Or so I thought.
Her hand cupped his jaw. His mouth was on hers.
Behind the altar. In full view of the priest.
I froze mid-step.
At first, no one noticed. The guests were too focused on their phones, their whispers, their hunger for spectacle.
But I saw it. I saw the way Damien leaned into her, the way Victoria smirked like she'd already won.
My fists clenched around the bouquet.
"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered.
The priest cleared his throat awkwardly.
Cameras flashed. Gasps rippled.
Damien finally turned. His smile froze when he saw me watching. His lips still wet with betrayal.
"I—Sera, it's not what it looks like."
My voice was ice. "Then I'd love to hear what exactly it is."
The silence broke like glass. Voices erupted behind me, some confused, some amused. I took three steps down the aisle and threw the bouquet at his chest.
"You can both rot in hell," I said clearly, loudly, for the cameras.
Victor Ashborne stood without a word. His jaw was tight. Disappointed—not in Damien, not in Victoria. In me.
He started walking toward me, and for a second, I braced for the usual—disapproval, whispered threats, a reminder that this wasn't about me.
But he never made it to me.
Because the doors exploded open behind us with a sound like thunder.
People screamed. The chandeliers trembled.
And through the shattered light and chaos stepped a man I had never seen before.
He walked straight down the aisle like he owned it.
Broad shoulders beneath a tailored black coat. Dark hair cropped close to his head. A scar running down his left temple. Sharp. Unapologetic. Dangerous.
His eyes locked onto mine—cold, metallic, as if forged from steel under moonlight.
The crowd backed away from him like waves parting. The man didn't flinch.
And when he reached me, he didn't bow. Didn't speak. He simply raised his hand—and ripped the veil from my head.
I gasped.
"What the hell—?"
"I'm taking what's mine," he said, voice low and deliberate. "You are no longer bound to this union."
"What?"
"Seraphina Ashborne," he continued, turning to the stunned crowd. "By ancient law, sealed in blood and witnessed by the Shadowfang council, she belongs to me now."
Laughter erupted—nervous, disbelieving.
"Who the fuck are you?" Damien shouted.
The man looked at him like he was already dead. "Killian Vance. Alpha of the Shadowfang Pack."
Dead silence.
My knees buckled. I wasn't sure if it was from fear or adrenaline.
"Is this a joke?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Shadowfang…? You're one of them?"
"Not one of them. The Alpha." He turned to me again. "And you, Seraphina, are now my bride."
I should have screamed. Should have run.
But my feet were frozen, my heart thudding in a rhythm I couldn't control. Killian Vance's hand was still on my arm—strong, steady, like he had all the time in the world while mine had just shattered.
"I'm not going with you," I managed to say, even as my voice trembled. "I don't care what that paper says."
He leaned in, not menacing, just… final. "You will."
"No," I snapped. "This is insane. You can't just walk into my wedding and claim—"
"I didn't claim," he interrupted. "Your father gave you away long before I got here."
I turned toward Victor, hoping—still, stupidly—that he'd deny it. That he'd shout it was a lie.
But he didn't. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, eyes as empty as a locked vault.
"Did you sell me?" I asked, the words slicing through my throat like glass. "Did you really sign me over to a—"
"To an Alpha," Killian said flatly. "Not just any Alpha. Me."
"I'm human," I whispered. "This doesn't apply to me. I'm not… I'm not part of your world."
"You were never just human," he said. "You've only been kept in the dark."
"And now you're dragging me into it?"
"No," he said. "I'm dragging you back."
Before I could react, he lifted a silver pendant from his coat and tossed it at the priest's feet. It shattered on the marble like it was made of glass.
And then everything changed.
A pulse of energy ripped through the cathedral. Candles flickered violently. The chandelier above us swayed. The air grew heavier, thicker, like we were breathing underwater.
Gasps filled the room. People backed away. Damien looked like he'd just pissed himself.
"What the hell is this?" someone shouted.
Killian turned to me. "You can walk out with dignity, or be carried out with force. Choose now."
"I'm not leaving with you."
His jaw tensed. "Then forgive me."
Before I could run, he grabbed me.
The last thing I saw was Victoria's shocked expression, her fake lashes twitching, and Damien yelling something I didn't care to hear. Then came the sound of wind, of tearing fabric, of light snapping—
—and everything went black.
We landed hard.
Stone beneath my knees. Cold air slapping my face. A world away from polished marble and camera flashes.
I stumbled to my feet, breathing hard.
We were in some kind of underground chamber. Carved walls, torches burning blue flame, the smell of earth and old magic. The floor beneath us was etched in a glowing silver pattern I didn't recognize.
"What is this place?" I hissed.
Killian didn't look at me. He was already walking forward, coat billowing like smoke.
"Shadowfang territory," he said. "You're under my protection now."
"Protection? You abducted me!"
"If I hadn't, your father would've handed you to someone far worse." He turned, his eyes catching the light in a way that made my skin crawl. "You don't know what you are, Seraphina. But they do."
"Stop saying that! I'm not one of you."
His expression didn't change. "That's what they wanted you to believe. To keep you weak. Unaware."
I took a shaky step back. "You can't just force me into whatever this is. I didn't agree to anything."
"Your blood agreed," he said, and pointed toward the altar at the far end of the chamber.
A stone table stood there, covered in runes, flanked by two armored guards with wolf crests burned into their breastplates. One of them—a woman—nodded to Killian.
"The bond must be sealed tonight," she said. "Before the full moon fades."
"What bond?" I asked.
Killian faced me again. "The one your father forged and I activated. A blood oath between your house and mine."
"No."
"It's not just about politics anymore. You've been marked by old blood, Sera. They'll come for you now—everyone who wants what you carry."
"And you? What do you want?"
"I want what's mine."
He reached out. I slapped his hand away.
"I'm not yours!"
"You are," he said simply, "until you prove otherwise."
I backed toward the wall, breathing hard. "So what now? You tie me to that table and cut me open?"
He actually smiled at that. "Not quite."
He signaled to the female guard. She brought over a small dagger—curved, silver, ancient. Its handle was engraved with a wolf's head, its eyes glowing faintly red.
"You're insane."
Killian took the blade and walked toward me. "It's just a cut. A drop of blood. Then the bond is sealed."
"And if I fight it?"
"Then we do it the hard way."
The room spun. My heart roared in my ears. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
I lunged.
He caught me.
In a flash, I was pinned to the stone floor, his body over mine—not crushing, but unmovable. His eyes burned into mine.
"Let me go," I snarled.
"You were never free."
He brought the blade to his own palm first, slicing across it with no hesitation. The blood that welled up shimmered—not red, but deep crimson laced with silver threads.
Then he took my wrist.
I screamed. I thrashed.
He didn't flinch.
The blade kissed my skin—just enough to draw blood.
And in that moment, I felt it.
A pull. A surge of heat racing through my veins, like lightning striking bone. My body arched, not from pain—but something deeper. Older.
The floor glowed beneath us. The runes lit up. The torches flared high.
Then—darkness.
Everything fell quiet.
When I opened my eyes again, Killian was still above me. His bloodied hand was over mine. Our cuts were touching. The bond was sealed.
"You bastard," I whispered.
He leaned close.
"I told you," he murmured. "You're mine now."