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1762 Words
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Celeste's POV
Present Day
My hands wouldn't stop shaking on the steering wheel.
I'd been driving for what felt like hours — though in reality, it had only been forty-five minutes since I'd left St. Mary's Hospital. Forty-five minutes of winding country roads that led farther and farther from the city, from civilization, from any hope of turning back.
The fear from last night still lived in my body. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Fanny's leg exploding in a spray of blood.
I'd thought I was going to lose her.
The GPS announced I'd arrived at my destination, and I looked up to see the most intimidating structure I'd ever laid eyes on.
The Casteel mansion rose from the landscape like something out of a Gothic novel. It wasn't a house — it was an estate. Old English architecture, all gray stone and towering spires, with ivy crawling up the walls like grasping fingers. It looked like a duke's manor, transplanted from the English countryside and dropped into the hills outside Camelot City.
This was Nevermore pack territory.
I pulled up to the massive wrought-iron gates and rolled down my window as a security guard approached. He was built like a tank — clearly a wolf, probably an enforcer.
"ID, please."
My hands trembled as I fumbled for my driver's license. He took it, scanned it with a device that looked far too high-tech for a simple estate, and then I watched his entire posture change.
He flinched. "You're the wife-to-be."
It wasn't a question.
"I... yes." My voice came out smaller than I intended.
The reality of what was happening crashed over me again, a wave I couldn't fight. I'd barely had time to process any of this. After leaving the warehouse last night, I'd driven straight to St. Mary's, where Fanny was already in surgery. I'd spent the night in an uncomfortable plastic chair, still wearing my blood-stained jeans, waiting for news.
When she'd finally woken up, groggy and in pain, she'd grabbed my hand with surprising strength.
"You can't go to the police," she'd whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "Celeste, you can't. Stefan Casteel... he's the head of the Hamish family. And he's a Lycan of Nevermore pack."
“Nevermore pack?” I almost screamed.
That was literally Fevermore’s nemesis. History of Nevermore being constant bully to Fevermore. Is history currently repeating itself?
The Hamish family. I'd seen the name in newspapers, always in articles about organized crime and federal investigations that never seemed to go anywhere. A powerful crime organization run by some powerful humans, I didn’t even know wolves were involved.. I'd thought it was just urban legend, mob mythology for people who watched too many crime dramas.
But the fear in Fanny's eyes told me it was real. All of it.
And I knew better than to disobey a Lycan. I'd seen how easily Stefan had pulled that trigger. Twice.
The gates swung open with a mechanical groan, and I drove through, my old Honda looking pathetically out of place against the manicured grounds and fountain that probably belonged to pack royalty.
A woman and a man stood waiting at the actual entrance to the mansion. They looked like they'd been standing there for a while, their postures rigid and formal. Human, I realized. Not wolves. Pack employees.
I parked and got out on shaky legs.
"Welcome, Ms. Stonewall." The woman stepped forward with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was middle-aged, with graying hair pulled back in a severe bun, wearing a crisp black dress and white apron. "I'm Anne, the housekeeper. This is Gareth, the butler."
Gareth nodded—a tall, thin man with silver hair. He didn't smile.
"The boss has ordered that you be prepared within the hour," Anne continued, already ushering me toward the entrance. "Come on," she said, her smile slipping for just a moment. "We can't be one minute late."
…
They led me through hallways that seemed to stretch on forever. The mansion was beautiful in a cold, museum-like way. High ceilings with elaborate crown molding. Oil paintings in gilded frames — portraits of stern-faced Casteels, generations of pack leaders staring down with predatory eyes. Floors so polished I could see my reflection.
And it was empty.
Eerily, unsettlingly empty.
For a house this size, for the main estate of Nevermore pack, I'd expected to see more staff, more pack members, more... life. But aside from Anne and Gareth, I saw no one. Our footsteps echoed in the silence.
Anne brought me to a bedroom — though calling it a bedroom felt inadequate. It was larger than my entire apartment, with a four-poster bed, an antique vanity, and windows that overlooked the sprawling grounds. Pack territory as far as the eye could see.
A simple white dress hung on a dress form in the corner.
"Your wedding dress," Anne said, following my gaze.
Wedding dress. The words felt surreal. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Tom and I had spent months planning our mating ceremony — debating between a beach wedding and something more traditional. I'd had a Pinterest board with hundreds of pins—elaborate gowns with lace and beading, flowers in every color imaginable.
This dress was simple. Plain white cotton, knee-length, with short sleeves and a modest neckline. Something you might wear to a casual garden party, not a wedding. Not a mating ceremony.
So much for the fairy tale.
Another young woman entered — early twenties, with nervous eyes and hands that couldn't seem to stay still. Human, like Anne.
"This is Joy," Anne said. "She'll help with your hair and makeup."
For the next forty-five minutes, they worked on me with quiet efficiency.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Try to calm down," Anne said gently, dabbing powder on my cheeks. But I noticed her own hands trembling slightly as she worked.
I couldn't calm down. How could I? I was about to marry a complete stranger to pay off my sister's debt to a Lycan crime boss. I was about to break my bond with Tom, my alpha. This wasn't real life. This couldn't be real life.
But it was all for Fanny. To save Fanny's life.
I repeated it like a mantra: For Fanny. For Fanny. For Fanny.
At 11:39, Anne suddenly became frantic, checking her watch every few seconds.
"We need to go," she said, practically pulling me to my feet. "Now. Please, Ms. Stonewall, we need to hurry."
She handed me a small bouquet, then grabbed a pair of simple white flats from the closet. "Put these on quickly."
I slipped on the shoes, and we rushed through the hallways — Anne and Joy flanking me like guards escorting a prisoner. The mansion remained empty, silent except for our hurried footsteps and Anne's increasingly anxious breathing.
"Where are we going?" I asked, confused. "I thought the ceremony was here?"
"No," Anne said tersely, checking her watch again. "The boss decided on the courthouse. More... official."
Courthouse? My stomach dropped. This was getting more real by the second. Not even a pack ceremony. A human courthouse wedding.
We arrived at the front entrance where a black Mercedes was waiting, engine running. Gareth stood by the passenger door.
"11:46," Anne said, breathless. "We're cutting it close."
She practically shoved me into the back seat, then climbed in beside me. Gareth got in the driver's seat, and we were moving before I could even process what was happening.
The drive was tense and silent. Anne kept checking her watch, her leg bouncing nervously. I clutched my bouquet, the stems digging into my palms, and watched the mansion disappear behind us.
"How far is the courthouse?" I asked.
"Ten minutes," Gareth said from the front. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "We'll make it."
We drove through increasingly urban landscape until we pulled up in front of the county courthouse.
This was where I was getting married.
Not in a pack ceremony. Not with Tom's pack witnessing our bond. In a cold, human courthouse.
Gareth parked in a reserved spot near the entrance. Anne checked her watch one more time.
"11:57. Perfect timing." She turned to me, and for the first time, I saw something like sympathy in her eyes. "Are you ready, Ms. Stonewall?"
No. I wasn't ready. I would never be ready.
"Yes," I lied.
Anne gave my hand a quick squeeze. "Good luck," she whispered.
Then I was being ushered inside.
The room was small and plain, clearly designed for quick civil ceremonies.
And then there were the two men.
One was seated off to the side, lounging in a chair like he was watching a particularly entertaining show. Even before I was close enough to see his face clearly, I knew who it was.
Stefan.
As I walked closer, I could make out his expression. He was smiling. Like a cat that had just caught a very large, very stupid mouse. Those amber-gold eyes tracked my every movement.
The sight of him made my stomach twist into knots. After what he'd done to Fanny, seeing him look so pleased with himself made me want to scream.
But it was the other man who made me forget how to breathe.
And he was beautiful.
Not in Stefan's dangerous, predatory Lycan way. This was different. Softer. He had the kind of face that belonged in Renaissance paintings — delicate features, high cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled. His hair was dark, falling slightly across his forehead in a way that explained he'd been running his hands through it.
But something was wrong.
He looked... worn out. Exhausted. His skin had an unhealthy pallor, like he hadn't seen sunlight in months. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
A wolf, I realized. But something was clearly wrong with him.
He turned as I approached, his eyes finally landing on me.
His eyes were a pale gray, almost silver. Beautiful and empty.
Then he looked away, like I was nothing more than a piece of furniture he'd been told to stand next to.
My heart raced, thundering so loud I was sure everyone in the room could hear it.
Is this the man I'm supposed to be getting married to?
This pale, distant, broken-looking stranger?
Stefan's brother?
I kept walking, my bouquet trembling in my hands, carrying me toward a future I couldn't even begin to comprehend.
And with every step, one thought echoed through my mind:
What am I doing?
- Writer
