Silvercrest looked the same. Tall gates. Stone walls. Guards who knew my face but checked my ID anyway.
I hadn't been home in three years. Not since Father told me Kael was beneath me, and I chose Kael over blood.
The guard handed back my license. "Miss Vance. Your father is expecting you."
"I'm sure he is."
The gates opened. Mira's car crawled up the long driveway. Trees lined both sides. Ancient oaks. I used to climb them as a girl. Used to hide in the branches when Father was angry.
I was done hiding.
The house came into view. Manor, really. Three stories. Gray stone. Cold even in sunlight. My mother had tried to warm it with flowers, with color, with laughter. She failed. She died trying.
Mira parked. "You want me to come in?"
"No."
"Elara—"
"I need to do this alone."
She grabbed my hand. Squeezed hard. "I'll be here. Engine running. You say the word, we leave."
I nodded. Climbed out. The air smelled like pack. Like home. Like everything I had rejected.
The front door opened before I reached it.
Father stood there. Sixty years old. Silver hair. Grey eyes like mine, but harder. Colder. He looked at my wedding dress. At my suitcase. At my face.
"You look like a ghost," he said. "A wedding ghost."
"Can I come in?"
He stepped aside. "You were always welcome. You chose to leave."
The hallway was dark. Wood paneling. Paintings of ancestors who all looked disapproving. I followed Father to his study. The room where bad news happened. Where Mother told me she was sick. Where Father told me I was disowned.
He sat behind his desk. Didn't offer me a chair.
"Kael left you," he said. Not a question.
"At the altar."
"For the stepsister?"
"Yes."
Father's mouth tightened. Not sympathy. Satisfaction. He had predicted this. Had warned me. He hated being right more than he hated Kael.
"You're here for the list," he said.
"Yes."
He opened a drawer. Took out a paper. Single sheet. Names written in his precise handwriting. Seven Alphas. All looking for mates. All strong enough to save me.
I scanned the list.
Marcus Holt. Age forty. Widower. Three children.
Sebastian Crow. Age thirty-five. Known temper. Two previous mates, both left him.
Elias Vane. Age fifty. Distant cousin. Would take me out of pity.
The names blurred. Desperate men. Broken men. Men who would take damaged goods because they had no better options.
Then I saw it.
At the bottom.
Crossed out. But readable.
Cassian Vane. Rogue King. Age twenty-nine. No pack. No law. No mercy.
I touched the name. My finger came away dusty.
"That one," I said.
Father followed my gaze. His face changed. "No."
"He's the strongest."
"He's a criminal."
"He's alive. He's powerful. He can save me."
"He'll kill you." Father stood. Leaned over the desk. "Cassian Vane doesn't take mates. He takes victims. His last fated mate betrayed him to his enemies. He slaughtered three men and she disappeared. No one has seen her in five years. No one asks."
"Perfect," I said.
Father stared at me. "What?"
"He doesn't believe in the bond. I don't either." I straightened my shoulders. "I don't want love, Father. I want to live. I want a mark that stays. I want a wolf strong enough to hold mine together."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking." I met his eyes. Grey to grey. "I spent five years loving a man who wouldn't choose me. I won't spend my last months hoping for a miracle. Cassian Vane is strong. He can save me. Or he can let me die. Either way, it's my choice."
Father was quiet for a long time. Then he sat back down. Reached for his phone.
"I know a neutral ground," he said. "A bar. He meets people there sometimes. When he chooses."
"Call him."
"He won't come for me."
"Then call whoever he listens to."
Father dialed. Spoke in low tones. I caught words. "Daughter." "Dying." "Desperate."
I didn't care how I sounded. Desperate was true. Dying was true.
Father hung up. "Tomorrow. Midnight. The Iron Thorn. Don't go alone."
"I won't."
"Mira," he guessed.
I nodded.
He stood. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me. Close enough to touch. He didn't.
"Your mother would hate this," he said.
"Mother would understand."
"Your mother waited for me. Twenty years. I didn't choose her either, not at first. She waited."
"And she died waiting for you to say you loved her." The words came out sharp. "I won't die like that, Father. I won't die at all."
His face changed. Something cracked. Pain, maybe. Or memory.
"Take the dress off," he said quietly. "You look ridiculous."
I looked down. White silk. Stained now. Wrinkled. The dress I had starved for, dreamed in, planned my life around.
"Burn it," Father said.
I met his eyes. "I will."
He nodded. Turned away. Dismissed me, like he always did. But his voice followed me to the door.
"Elara."
I stopped. Didn't turn.
"If he hurts you, I'll kill him. Pack law be damned."
I smiled. It didn't reach my eyes. "He won't hurt me, Father. I'm already broken. There's nothing left to break."
I walked out.
Mira was waiting. Engine running, like she promised. I climbed in. She looked at my face.
"Well?"
"Tomorrow. Midnight. The Iron Thorn."
She went pale. "That's rogue territory. Neutral on paper, but Elara, no one enforces—"
"I know."
"Your father agreed to this?"
"He made the call."
Mira was quiet. Then: "What are you going to wear?"
I looked down at the wedding dress. "Not this."
We drove to my old room. Third floor. Dusty. Untouched since I left. Mira found clothes in the closet. Jeans. Black sweater. Boots.
I stripped in front of the mirror. The wedding dress fell in a heap. I stepped out of it. Naked. Bruised. Thin.
I looked at my shoulder. The last mark was faded. Almost gone. Kael's teeth marks. His claim. His abandonment.
I turned away. Dressed in black. The color of mourning. Or the color of war.
Mira watched me. "You look different."
"I am different."
"Good." She tossed me a leather jacket. "Rogue territory gets cold."
We waited. Twenty-four hours. Mira didn't leave. She ordered food I didn't eat. She talked about work, about Jax, about nothing. I listened. Grateful for the noise.
At eleven, we drove.
The Iron Thorn sat on the edge of the city. No signs. No lights. Just a steel door and a bouncer who looked at my ID, then at my face, then let us in.
Inside was dark. Smoke. Music too loud. Rogues everywhere. No pack colors. No laws. Just wolves.
Mira grabbed my hand. "There."
I followed her gaze.
A man sat alone at the corner table. White hair. Not old. Young. Trauma-bleached. He wore black. Simple. No jewelry. No markings.
But power came off him in waves. I felt it in my chest. In my bones. In my broken wolf.
He looked up.
His eyes caught the light. One blue. One grey.
Cassian Vane.
He saw me. Saw Mira. Saw us coming. Didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.
I walked toward him. Each step felt heavier. My wolf stirred. Weak. Damaged. But interested.
I stopped at his table.
"You're Cassian," I said.
He didn't answer. His mismatched eyes traveled over me. Jeans. Sweater. Jacket. No makeup. No attempt to impress.
"You look like hell," he said.
His voice was quiet. Rough. Like he didn't use it much.
"I feel like hell," I said.
"What do you want?"
Direct. No games. I liked that.
"I want to marry you."
He blinked. Once. The only surprise he allowed.
"Sit," he said.
I sat. Mira hovered behind me. Cassian looked at her.
"Leave us."
"No," Mira said.
"Leave us, or I leave. Your choice."
I turned to Mira. Nodded. She hesitated. Walked to the bar. Close enough to see. Far enough to pretend.
Cassian leaned back. Studied me.
"Name."
"Elara Vance. Silvercrest."
"I know the name. Alpha daughter. Disowned. Chose Shadowfang's pretty boy over your blood."
"He left me at the altar."
Something flickered. Interest? Pity? I couldn't tell.
"So you want revenge," he said.
"No."
"You want to make him jealous."
"No."
"What do you want?"
I met his eyes. Blue and grey. Cold and hot. Dangerous.
"I want to live," I said. "Five rejections. Pheromone collapse. I need a mate strong enough to hold me together. You're the strongest name on the list."
He was quiet. Then: "I don't take mates."
"I know."
"I don't believe in the bond."
"Neither do I."
"I was betrayed by my fated mate. She led enemies to my door. I killed three men with my hands." He held them up. Large. Scarred. Clean now. "I would have killed her too. She ran."
"I'm not her."
"No," he agreed. "You're worse. You're desperate."
I didn't flinch. "Yes."
He leaned forward. Close enough to smell. Smoke. Pine. Something darker. His scent filled my lungs. My wolf whined. Not afraid. Curious.
"Why me?" he asked.
"Because you won't lie. You won't promise to love me. You won't leave me at the altar because you won't be at the altar. You'll take what you want and give what you choose. I can work with that."
His mouth moved. Almost a smile. Almost.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Midday. Neutral chapel. No guests. No celebration. I mark you. You take my name. We never speak of love."
"Fine."
"And Elara?"
"Yes?"
"If you betray me, I won't run like she did. I'll finish what I started."
I stood. Held out my hand.
"I won't betray you," I said. "I have nothing left t
o betray."
He looked at my hand. Didn't take it.
"Tomorrow," he repeated.
I walked away. Mira met me at the door. Didn't ask. I didn't tell.
Outside, the air was cold. Clean. I breathed deep.
Tomorrow I would marry a monster.
Tomorrow I would live.
Or I would die trying.