I sat in the back of the sleek black SUV, staring out the tinted window at the fading outline of Silverfang Pack's territory. The engine hummed softly, waiting, just like me—trapped in this new nightmare. My wolf paced inside, restless, her instincts screaming about the shift in pack dynamics. Logan had claimed me, marked me as his in front of everyone, but that didn't make the hatred any less real. In fact, it made it even intense. The hatred I have for Logan had been brewing for years, ever since he was just a Gamma, clawing his way up the Imperial hierarchy.
It started with Xander. My first love, the one who made my wolf sing. He was a strong fighter from a rival pack, but we kept it quiet, stealing moments under the moon. Logan challenged Xander to a duel, pack-style, to settle some fabricated territory dispute. It was supposed to be harmless, no claws, no fangs, just a test of strength to keep the peace between packs. Xander agreed, cocky as ever, thinking he could handle a Gamma.
The fight drew a crowd. Wolves from both sides circled the clearing, howls echoing as they squared off. Xander landed the first hit, a solid punch to Logan's jaw that drew blood. Logan just smiled, that cool, charismatic grin that made him seem untouchable. He dodged the next swing, moving like shadow, and countered with a series of blows that had Xander staggering. The pack cheered, the energy electric, until Logan feinted left and drove his fist right into Xander's throat. One violent punch—crunch—and Xander's head snapped back, neck broken. He dropped like a felled tree, eyes staring blank at the sky.
The howls turned to gasps. I rushed forward, shoving through the crowd, my wolf howling in agony. "Xander!" I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him, shaking him as if that could bring him back. Blood trickled from his mouth, his scent already fading. Logan stood over us, wiping his hands on his pants, casual as if he'd just finished a spar. "Challenge met," he said coolly, his golden eyes flicking to me for the first time. Intimidating, like he owned the whole damn forest.
But it didn't end there. While I mourned, crumpled over Xander's body, Logan flexed his growing power in the pack. First, he ordered Xander's body desecrated—no proper burial rite, just burned in a pit like rogue trash, denying his spirit the moon's peace. The pack whispered it was to prevent unrest, but I knew it was to break us. Then, he banned any public mourning, threatening demotion or exile for wolves who showed sympathy, forcing loyalty tests that split families. And worst, he seized Xander's family's hunting grounds, claiming them for Imperial under false treason charges, exiling Xander's kin to the wilds as rogues. Power plays, all of it, twisting pack bonds into chains.
From that day, I hated him. Avoided Imperial territory, prayed our paths wouldn't cross. My wolf recoiled at his name, sensing the ruthless alpha beneath the charm. And now? Here I was, married to him. He'd killed my father in cold blood, imprisoned Tyler on lies, and dragged me into his web. The pack's hierarchy had shifted overnight—I was Beta-Luna now, soon-to-be Alpha-Luna, bound to the monster who'd shattered everything. I looked down at my fingers, watching them tremble. Fuck!
Tears welled up, hot and unstoppable. They spilled over, tracing down my cheeks, and soon I was sobbing quietly, shoulders shaking. My wolf whined, caught between grief and the pull of the mate bond he'd forced.
The door clicked open suddenly. I wiped my face fast, swallowing the sobs, thinking it was him. But Aaron slipped in, his face tense, eyes scanning the lot where Logan still chatted with Alpha Everhart, few miles away from the car. We were minutes from leaving for Imperial Pack.
"Aaron?" I whispered, confusion evident in my tone. "What are you doing? Logan could come any second."
He slid closer, pulling me into a quick hug. His scent—familiar, like pine and family—eased my wolf a bit. :"I'm sorry, Bambi," he murmured, voice low. "I promised Mom I'd protect you after she passed. I failed today."
I clung to him, the hug acted as a brief anchor. When he pulled back, his eyes were fierce. "I have a plan. Can't say it here—too risky. Meet me at Imperial Pack, hours before the marriage is... consummated."
My heart raced. He slipped a scrap of paper into my hand. I glanced down: "East Wing, library," it read.
"Be there by 6 p.m.," he added. "Your marriage should be consummated tomorrow so, we meet right before that happens. I'll never allow that monster have his way. Wait for me."
I nodded quickly, tucking it away. He squeezed my hand once and slipped out of the car, vanishing into the darkness.
Minutes ticked by, my pulse still thundering. Then the driver's door opened—a burly guard in a black suit climbed in, rigid as a statue. My wolf tensed.
The back door swung open next. Logan climbed in, slamming it shut with casual authority. He dropped his wallet on the console between us, his presence filling the space like a storm. His scent hit me—cedar and raw power, suffocating yet oddly sweet, making my wolf stir.
He buckled in, glancing my way. "Why was Aaron in here earlier?" he asked, voice smooth. But my heart skipped, those golden eyes missed nothing.
"Just... a goodbye message," I lied, forcing my voice steady. "That's all."
He nodded slowly, clicking his seatbelt. "Smart to lay down rules now, before we head out as Beta and Beta-Luna." He leaned back, cool as ever. "For example, I hate lies."
He drew out "lies," staring intensely, his gaze pinning me like prey. I swallowed hard, nodding.
Then he reached over, cupping my face gently, his thumb caressing my cheek. Soft, almost tender, but the intensity in his eyes screamed control. "I trust my girl to follow them," he muttered, voice low and charismatic. "Consequences for breaking them? Deadly."
I nodded again, a chill running through me. Something in his tone said he knew I was lying. My wolf quivered, drawn to his dominance even as fear coiled in my gut.
He settled into the leather seat, all effortless power. "Drive," he told the guard.
The engine roared to life, and we pulled away from Silverfang, heading into Imperial territory.
I settled into the room they'd assigned me, the faint scent of pine and pack territory lingering in the air like a constant reminder of where I was—Imperial Pack grounds, far from home. Mira, the maid who'd introduced herself quietly, helped unpack a few things without a word. Her movements were efficient, almost mechanical, and I suspected Logan's instructions had her zipped tight. No chit-chat, no slipping secrets. Fine by me; I wasn't in the mood to engage anyway. My mind was on Aaron's plan, the escape we'd pull off that evening. I desperately hope it works.
A knock echoed on the door. The door swung open before I could respond, and in strode a woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun with some other maids. "I'm Sylvia, assistant head maidservant of the Pack," she announced, her voice clipped. She eyed me up and down, lips thinning. "As the new Beta-Luna, and soon-to-be Alpha-Luna, you'll follow rules. No wandering without permission. Meals in the hall unless ordered otherwise. Obey pack hierarchy at all times—soon-to-be Alpha Logan's word is law and final."
She paused, folding her arms. "This isn't your matrimonial room. You'll move into it with Beta Logan once you consummate the marriage."
My heart skipped, a wild thump that echoed in my ears. Consummate? No. I'd be gone before that, by tomorrow, slipping away with Aaron under the moon's watch. I prayed the goddess would guide our steps through the dark which we planned to escape through.
Sylvia snapped her fingers at Mira and the other maids she had arrived with. "Dress her properly. Pink silk mini nightwear. Wash and comb her hair neat."
They moved like a well-oiled pack unit, Mira guiding me to a basin for a quick wash while Sylvia supervised. The water was warm, but it did nothing to ease the chill in my bones. Mira combed my blonde strands with gentle tugs, parting them straight. Then she reached for a perfume bottle, spritzing it over my skin as Sylvia nodded approval.
When she sprayed the third perfume to my face, I suddenly felt dizzy, my head light and my body also light as a feather.
Something was wrong. And whatever they were doing didn't feel like a random preparation.
This didn't feel like prep for bed. The scent was too heady, too inviting. "What's this about?" I asked Mira, my voice a little bit weak from the dizziness.
Sylvia cut in coldly. "You're being prepared for consummation. Beta Logan's waiting."
I shot up from the chair, my leg almost giving out from the weakness I suddenly felt. "No. Didn't they say it was tomorrow? Why so soon? I-I can't go tonight. I—"
Her eyes narrowed, unyielding. "Alpha Everhart's direct order. Disobey, and there are consequences." She leaned in, voice dropping. "Remember the former Gamma's daughter? Exiled for refusing a similar command. Rogues tore her apart—only bones left for the pack to find."
Yes, I did. I also remembered cursing at Imperial Pack for tossing the poor girl away. I sat back down, forcing the tears away as my fingers trembled on the armrest, my head still light and weak as though I had been poisoned. Moon goddess, let something happen. An invasion, a rogue attack—anything to stop this. Or even me dropping dead. Anything.
But the hall remained silent as Sylvia led me down the carpeted corridor, our footsteps muffled. Pack guards nodded from the shadows, their eyes glowing faintly in loyalty to the hierarchy. We reached ornate double doors, carved with wolf motifs that screamed power.
Two uniformed maids slipped out, holding bowls and towels, heads bowed low in submission. They held the doors wider, and Sylvia nodded me in. "Go on."
The bedroom was vast—a king-sized bed dominating the space, a desk and chair tucked in the corner like afterthoughts. My vision blurred, it was getting worst. I could give out at anytime.
"Bathroom," Sylvia said, pointing. "Beta's waiting."
My legs felt unsteady, shaky as I crossed the threshold either from the weakness or anxiety. One last prayer to the moon goddess—help me.
Sylvia opened the bathroom door, ushered me in, and shut it behind me. I heard the bedroom door click closed, sealing me in. Alone with him.
I turned slowly, heart pounding like war drums. There he was—Logan, sprawled in the oversized bathtub, black jeans clinging to his legs underwater, chest bare and sculpted from years of pack runs and battles. A cup of whiskey dangled from his fingers, his black hair slicked wet, dripping. He was hot, no denying it—my gaze lingered for a split second, drooling over those broad shoulders before reality crashed back. This was the man who'd killed my father, arrested my fiancé, shattered my world, just to marry me.
He didn't even glance up. "Get in."