Lycan's Second Mate

Chapter 3 – Wedding Dress, Shattered Heart

Something soft brushed Martha's cheek.

Her eyes flew open.

Above her was not a gray ceiling but a white canopy. Light spilled through wide windows. The air smelled of soap and lavender, not damp stone.

She jerked upright. Her wrists were bare. No chains. No iron cuffs.

For one dazed heartbeat she thought the basement had been a nightmare. Brian's flat eyes, his mouth shaping I reject you—surely her starved mind had invented that cruelty.

She reached for the mate bond the way she always had, expecting the faint, steady pull toward pine and smoke.

Only jagged emptiness answered.

A sharp, tearing ache knifed through her chest. The hollow place where Brian's presence used to rest yawned wide and raw.

Her wolf whimpered.

“He's gone," the wolf whispered.. “The bond really broke."

Tears burned hot at the corners of Martha's eyes. She pressed a shaking hand over her heart, but the pain didn't fade.

Brian had stood in front of her chains and cut her loose from him.

It was real.

“What…?"

The door opened. A young maid stepped in with a tray. Seeing Martha awake, she gasped.

“Miss Martha! You're awake!"

Martha's throat burned, but she forced her voice out.

“Where am I?"

“In your room, miss," the maid said, hurrying closer. “Alpha Taylor ordered us to move you here last night."

“How long was I in the basement?" Martha asked.

“Two days," the maid whispered. “The healer said if you stayed there any longer, your body might not stand it. Alpha Taylor said you must eat and recover."

“For what?" Martha asked, though she already knew.

“For your wedding, miss," the maid answered softly. “Alpha Davis will send someone soon to escort you to his territory. Alpha Taylor said you should be calm and accept your duty."

Martha let out a rough laugh.

“Calm," she repeated. “He locks me up and starves me, then tells me to be calm."

“I'm sorry," the maid whispered. “We wanted to help, but Alpha Taylor—"

“It's not your fault," Martha cut in. “You're following orders like everyone else."

The smell from the tray reached her. Soup. Bread. Her empty stomach cramped.

“Please, miss," the maid said. “Just a little."

Martha hesitated, then nodded.

“Fine. I don't plan to faint again in front of my father."

The maid fed her in small spoonfuls until the bowl was empty. Some strength crept back into Martha's limbs.

“Alpha Taylor also asked us to help you change," the maid said. “The dressmaker delivered something."

“What kind of something?"

The maid looked toward the door. Two more maids entered, carrying a long shape wrapped in white. They unfolded it carefully.

A gown shimmered in the light—white lace over satin, pearls sewn along the neckline, a thin veil hanging from the back.

Martha stared.

“My wedding dress," she said.

One of the maids nodded.

“Yes, miss. It was tailored overnight. The alpha wanted it ready."

“When is the ceremony?" Martha asked.

“We don't know," the first maid said. “But we heard Alpha Davis's men are close. Maybe tomorrow. Alpha Taylor said you must be ready at any time."

Tomorrow.

Martha drew a slow breath.

“All right," she said. “Help me stand."

They eased her to her feet and slid the dress over her head. Fingers fastened buttons and laces. The veil brushed her shoulders.

Martha faced the mirror.

A pale woman stared back. Eyes shadowed, cheeks thinner than before. The dress was beautiful, but it looked wrong on her.

“You look lovely, miss," a maid offered.

Martha didn't answer. Her thoughts drifted to the basement—to Brian's face, his voice when he said he would marry Linda, when he said he rejected her.

“No," she whispered under her breath. “There has to be a reason."

Her wolf's voice stirred faintly.

“The bond is gone," the wolf said. “We felt it break."

“He was afraid," Martha answered inside. “My father must have threatened his family. He isn't cold. He isn't like my father. He wouldn't cut me off without a reason. I need to hear it from him."

“Martha?" a maid asked. “Are you all right?"

“I'm fine," she said. “Take it off."

They removed the dress and helped her into a simple house gown. As they fussed with combs and ribbons, she asked, “Do you know where Brian is?"

“The beta's son?"

“Yes. Brian."

“We heard he was here earlier," the maid said. “Alpha Taylor called him to the office to talk about arrangements with Alpha Davis's people. We don't know if he left yet."

Martha's fingers tightened around the fabric of her skirt.

“I need to rest," she said. “Leave the dress there."

The maids placed the gown on a stand and slipped out, closing the door behind them.

As soon as they were gone, Martha went to the window. Outside, dark clouds crowded the sky. Rain hammered the courtyard, turning the paths to streams.

She watched the water for a moment, then whispered, “No. I won't just sit here and wait."

Her gaze shifted to the far side of the compound. Through the sheets of rain, she could just make out the roofline of the beta's house—Brian's home.

“If I must marry," she said softly, “I want the truth first. From him."

Her wolf sounded tired.

“You're weak," the wolf warned. “You barely stood."

“I can still move," Martha said. “That's enough."

She listened. Faint voices drifted from the hallway. Steps moved away. Dishes clinked. No one was right outside her door.

She unlatched the window.

Cold air rushed in, carrying the sharp scent of wet stone and pine. The balcony floor was slick, the stone dark with water.

Martha swung one leg over the sill, then the other, and stepped onto the narrow ledge.

“Don't look down," she told herself.

She caught the metal drainpipe, gripping with both hands.

Her arms trembled, but she wrapped her legs around the pipe and began to slide down toward the lower roof. Rain plastered her hair to her face and soaked her dress. By the time she reached the roof edge, she was shivering.

She crawled across the slick tiles, keeping low. No alarm sounded. Guards in the yard below kept their eyes on the gates, not the roofs.

At the far side, she lowered herself to a ledge and dropped into a line of bushes. Her knees hit mud hard, jarring up through her spine.

Before she could rise, light swept across the shrubs.

Martha froze.

A guard was making his rounds, a lantern bobbing in his hand. He muttered to himself about the storm, boots squelching in the mud as he paced along the wall. The beam of light slid dangerously close to where she crouched.

“If he shouts, they'll have me back in chains," her wolf hissed.

“I know," Martha breathed.

She pressed herself flatter against the wet earth, but the guard's steps slowed. The lantern hovered, then began to angle toward the crushed leaves where she had fallen.

She couldn't outrun him like this. Not soaked, not half‑recovered.

So she didn't run.

Her hand closed around a broken roof tile lying in the bush, its edge jagged but solid. She waited, muscles coiled, counting the guard's breaths as he stepped closer, peering into the dark.

“Who's there?" he called.

Martha snapped a twig on purpose.

The tiny crack drew him the last step forward. As he leaned into the bushes, she surged up from the side, looping one arm around his throat and slamming the tile lightly—but sharply—against his temple.

“I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear.

The guard's eyes rolled back. His body went limp, lantern slipping from his fingers. Martha caught it before it hit the ground, snuffing the flame with a quick twist of the shutter.

For a heartbeat she knelt there, panting, the weight of him heavy in her arms.

“He's breathing," her wolf said after a moment. “You held back."

“I'm not my father," Martha answered. “I don't break people to get what I want."

She dragged the unconscious guard deeper into the bushes, tucking him under the overhang of the ledge where the rain couldn't beat down so hard. She brushed wet leaves over his uniform, hiding him from sight, and carefully set the lantern beside him.

“Forgive me," she murmured. “But I won't let you be the one who chains me again."

Only when his face disappeared beneath shadow did she push herself up, legs shaking.

She started toward the trees.

Rain beat at her from every side. The world narrowed to wet branches and her own rough breathing. She didn't stop until the beta's residence rose through the curtain of water ahead of her.

The house stood quieter than the alpha's, its stone walls streaked with rain. Warm light burned in a window on the second floor.

Brian's floor.

Martha circled until she saw the familiar balcony. Stone rail. Ivy climbing the wall beside it.

“Just like before," she murmured.

She grabbed the thick vines and pulled herself up. Her muscles shook with the effort, but she kept climbing, hand over hand, foot over foot, until at last she could reach the rail and heave herself onto the balcony.

She leaned against the wall, catching her breath. Rain drummed on the stone.

Then she heard it.

A sound from inside the room. Not footsteps. Not conversation.

Soft gasps. A low laugh. The faint creak of a bed.

Her heart stuttered.

Slowly, Martha crossed the balcony and stopped by the glass door. The curtains were drawn, but a narrow slit between them showed a line of warm light.

She hesitated only a heartbeat, then reached out and nudged the curtain aside.

The room came into view in a thin slice.

A bed.

Two bodies tangled in the sheets.

A man leaned over a woman, his bare shoulders tense, his head bent to her neck. Her arms were thrown around him, fingers digging into his back. Their legs were wrapped together.

Martha froze.

The man shifted. His profile turned slightly toward the light.

She knew that face. That jaw. That dark hair.

“Brian," she breathed, though no sound left her lips.

The woman beneath him moved, her head tipping back. Golden hair spilled over the pillow. Pale skin. Familiar features.

Linda.

Martha's fingers slipped from the curtain.

Rain hammered the balcony, but inside the room, Brian and Linda didn't notice the figure outside the glass.

Martha had climbed through storm and mud to hear the reason he had abandoned her.

She stood there, soaked and shaking, and watched him in bed with her sister.