Chapter 1 The Missing Groom
After he'd dropped his news, Damian Hart settled his hands on my shoulders like nothing had happened at all. His fingertips were cool, and his eyes held that familiar mix of indulgence and worn-out affection.
"You're still the most important person in my life, of course you are. Chloe Reed only just came of age. She's young, she's innocent. You're the mature one—you understand me better than anyone ever has. You're not going to make this hard for me, are you?"
I looked at the man in front of me, and my mind went back 10 years.
Back then, Damian had been a castoff from a disgraced branch of the Blackpine Pack, barely hanging on at the very edge of his own family. We'd lived in the drafty basement of a roadside motel and split one cold beef pie through the worst Christmas of my life. Other Blackpine heirs had once cornered him with a pack of men to force him to sign away his claim, then turned around and blamed him for starting it. I pawned the moonstone necklace my mother left me and spent the whole night tracking down a lawyer who could clear his name and save his last shot at the succession.
That winter, he knelt in snow up to his knees and slid a ring onto my finger. Fated mate or not, he promised, I'd be his one and only bride.
I believed him for 10 years.
When the pack council treated me like something unclean because I had no wolf, Damian held my hand and shrugged off their contempt. When nightmares about my past jolted me awake in the middle of the night, he was always right there beside the bed. That warmth had been real—which was exactly why his gentle little sales pitch now felt like a rusted blade dragging through me, inch by inch.
I watched him, waiting for him to break any second and admit this was all some cruel joke.
He didn't. He just waited for me to cave.
"What about the bonding ceremony?" I asked.
When Damian realized I wasn't going to cry or make a scene, his shoulders came down. He even smiled a little.
"The venue's paid for, everything's paid for. If you can't let the ceremony go, hire someone to stand in as the groom. No vows, no mark. Just something to put on for the guests."
He reached out, about to tap the tip of my nose the way he always did. I turned my head. His fingers stalled in the air, then pulled back, smooth as ever.
"You've always cared about ceremonies. I'd never take that from you."
I dropped my eyes to the delicate handmade lace on my skirt. The day I picked this dress, Damian had stood behind me at the mirror and promised he'd be waiting at the altar when I walked toward him. Now he was telling me to swap him out for whatever man I could scrounge up.
"And if I really do find someone else—you won't regret it?"
Damian laughed under his breath, easy and unbothered.
"Your wolf still hasn't woken up, and you've got no family behind you. Evelyn, who else would ever dare marry you?"
I didn't say anything.
The report in my pocket pressed against my fingertips. It said I hadn't been born defective—my wolf's awakening was only delayed. I'd shift one day. No one could say when.
Damian's phone buzzed again and again, and his face softened.
"Chloe's waiting on me. I'll drop you at the estate first and come back for dinner."
"Don't bother."
I lifted my hands, eased the veil off, folded it neatly, and laid it back in its wooden box.
"Go be with your wife."
Damian looked at me for a moment. Then he smoothed my hair, turned, and walked out of the bridal shop. The sound of his dress shoes carried through the empty room.
I sat alone on the bench until closing. I didn't cry. I only bent my head and tried to work off the old silver ring I'd worn for 10 years.
Fine snow started falling past the window, and a cold draft slid under the door.
I took out my phone and found a number I hadn't called in three years.
At a banquet in the North three years ago, Soren Black—King of the North—had asked me, in front of the elders of all seven northern packs, if I'd be his queen. Gripping the silver ring Damian gave me, I'd turned him down.
Now I tapped the call.
It rang once before he picked up. That low, rough voice came through clear as anything. "Evelyn?"
"Soren. Does your offer from three years ago still stand?"
Silence. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"What about Damian?" he asked.
"He married someone else at city hall today." I tightened my grip on the phone. "But the bonding ceremony's already set. He told me to find any man I wanted to take his place."
I heard the faint rustle of paper, then his voice dropped.
"So you want me to help you act out the rest of his ceremony?"
"It's not an act." I watched the snow come down over the street. "If you're still willing, I want to marry you for real."
A long silence. Then, "When's the ceremony?"
"Next Saturday."
"Don't move the date," Soren said. "Send me the address. I'll be your groom."
