The ballroom smelled of champagne, expensive perfume, and lies.
Hundreds of wolves from allied packs filled the grand hall of my father's estate. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sea of silk dresses and tailored tuxedos, but beneath the glamour, the air was thick with primal scents. I could smell the musk of dominant Alphas, the floral sweetness of unmated she-wolves, and the sharp, metallic tang of rivalry.
I stood at the top of the staircase, my hand gripping the velvet railing so tight my knuckles turned white.
"Smile," my step-sister Beth whispered, leaning close to my ear. "Try not to look like you're walking to the gallows. It's embarrassing."
I forced the corners of my mouth up, though it felt like the skin might crack. "I'm just overwhelmed, Beth."
"You're just weak," she corrected, smoothing her own crimson dress. "If Magnus had chosen me, I would be down there ruling the room, not shaking like a frightened rabbit."
She wasn't wrong. I was frightened. But not of the crowd. I was terrified of the man waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Magnus.
He stood in the center of the room, a king in his own court. He was undeniably handsome, tall, with hair the color of spun gold and eyes like polished sapphires. He wore a tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, and he was laughing at something an elder said. He looked charming. Benevolent. Perfect.
But I knew the truth. Or at least, I feared it.
" announcing... the Alpha Heir Magnus of the Bloodmoon Pack, and his fiancée, Celeste Black!"
The announcer's voice boomed, and every head turned toward me.
I descended the stairs, one agonizing step at a time. Magnus looked up. His smile didn't waver, but his eyes... they didn't hold warmth. They held possession. Like a collector looking at a rare painting he had just bought.
He met me at the bottom step, taking my hand. His skin was cold.
"You look breathtaking, my love," he murmured, kissing my knuckles.
"Thank you," I whispered. "You look..."
"Powerful?" He finished for me, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come. There are people you must impress."
He didn't offer his arm; he gripped my waist. His fingers dug into the silk of my dress, pressing against my ribs hard enough to bruise. It was a subtle display of dominance, a message to every other male in the room: Mine.
We circulated the room for an hour. I played the part of the dutiful doll, nodding and smiling while Magnus discussed trade routes and territory borders. My feet ached in my heels, and the noise of the party was starting to give me a headache.
"I need some air," I said during a lull in the conversation.
Magnus tightened his grip. "You will stay right here. My father's envoy is arriving, and—"
"Excuse me."
A smooth, rich voice cut through the tension.
We both turned. Standing behind us was a man I hadn't seen before. He was younger than the other Alphas, perhaps twenty-four, with messy dark hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He wore his tuxedo carelessly, top button undone, and held a glass of bourbon like he was bored with the entire world.
But his eyes, warm, whiskey-brown were fixed on me.
"I couldn't help but notice the lady looks like she's about to faint," the stranger said, flashing a grin that was equal parts trouble and charm. "Magnus, surely you can spare your bride for a breath of fresh air?"
Magnus bristled. The scent of ozone and burnt sugar, his anger, flared around him. "Alpha Dante. I didn't know the Iron-Claw Pack was sending a representative."
"My father sent me to check out the... merchandise," Dante said, his gaze flicking to me. It should have been insulting, but he winked, letting me know he was mocking the situation, not me. He extended a hand. "May I steal this dance? Before she collapses?"
Magnus looked like he wanted to rip Dante's throat out. But this was a public event. Politics matter. To refuse a visiting Alpha would be an insult.
"Briefly," Magnus snapped, releasing my waist.
I took Dante's hand. It was warm, rough with calluses, a warrior's hand, not a politician's. He pulled me onto the dance floor, sweeping me into a waltz with surprising grace.
"Breathe, Princess," Dante whispered, spinning me away from Magnus's glare. "You're turning blue."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thank you. He... he can be intense."
"He's a suffocating prick," Dante corrected bluntly. "I don't know how you stand him. He smells like a mint leaf trying to cover up a corpse."
I almost laughed, shock rippling through me. No one spoke about Magnus like that. "You shouldn't say that."
"I say what I see. Or smell." Dante leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "You, on the other hand... you smell like rain. Clean. Real. Why are you marrying a statue like him?"
"He's my mate," I recited the lie automatically.
Dante studied my face, his brown eyes searching mine. "Is he? Because I see the way you look at him. That's not love, Celeste. That's survival."
My heart skipped a beat. How could a stranger see me so clearly when my own family couldn't?
"I don't have a choice," I whispered, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.
"We always have a choice," Dante said firmly. He squeezed my hand. "Listen to me. If you ever need an out... if you ever need to run... the Iron-Claw borders are open to you."
Before I could ask what he meant, a heavy hand landed on Dante's shoulder.
Magnus.
"Dance is over," Magnus snarled. He didn't wait for Dante to let go; he yanked me back against his chest. The force of it knocked the breath out of me.
Dante held his ground, his easy smile vanishing. "Careful, Magnus. You might break her."
"She is mine to break," Magnus hissed, low enough that only we could hear.
He dragged me off the dance floor, ignoring the stares of the guests. He didn't stop until we were in a secluded alcove near the gardens, hidden by heavy velvet curtains.
He spun me around and pinned me against the wall.
"Did you enjoy that?" he demanded, his face inches from mine.
"It was just a dance, Magnus! You allowed it!"
"I allowed you to be polite. Not to flirt with my rivals!"
He leaned in, inhaling deeply at the curve of my neck. I shuddered not from pleasure, but from revulsion. Dante was right. Beneath the expensive cologne, Magnus smelled... wrong. Like stagnant water. Like something rotting.
"You smell of him," Magnus growled, his hand tightening on my throat not enough to choke, but enough to threaten. "I should kill him for touching what belongs to me."
"I belong to no one," I gasped, trying to push him away.
Magnus laughed, a cold, empty sound. "Oh, my sweet, naive Celeste. You belong to the Bloodmoon now. You belong to my father."
He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened. The charming mask slid back into place.
"Speaking of my father," he said casually. "He is... impatient. He expects a Wolf to be standing at the altar next month. Not a human."
My blood ran cold. "I told you, it will happen. I just need time."
"Time is a luxury we don't have." Magnus leaned in, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. His touch was gentle now, which was somehow more terrifying than his anger. "If you haven't shifted by the wedding night... my father will intervene. He has... methods. Unpleasant ones."
He kissed my forehead.
"Do try to enjoy the rest of the party, darling. Smile."
He turned and walked back into the ballroom, leaving me trembling in the shadows.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking uncontrollably.
Methods.
I knew what that meant. Experiments. Torture. The things people whispered about Julius in the dark.
I looked out the window at the storm raging over the forest. The wind howled, shaking the glass. It sounded like a warning. Or maybe... an invitation.
Dante's words echoed in my mind. That's survival.
But as I stared into the dark woods, I realized survival might not be enough anymore.