0002
1116 Words
0002
Celeste's POV
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.
Marry his brother?
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest — hysterical, inappropriate, completely unhinged. But I couldn't stop it. Here I was, kneeling on the filthy concrete of a warehouse, my sister bleeding beside me, a Lycan with a gun standing over us both, and he was talking about marriage like we were at some twisted speed-dating event.
The laugh died in my throat when I saw his expression hadn't changed. He wasn't joking.
"I'm sorry, what?" My voice came out strangled.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly interesting specimen. Those amber-gold eyes tracked every micro-expression on my face. "I said, you're going to marry my brother. It's quite simple, really."
I looked down at my left hand, at the modest diamond ring Tom had given me three months ago. My alpha's ring. The physical symbol of his claim on me, of our bond, of the future we were supposed to build together in Fevermore pack.
I lifted my hand so he could see it. "I'm... I'm engaged. I'm claimed by an alpha."
He glanced at the ring with all the interest one might give a piece of lint. "Yeah, yeah. Engaged, but not mated, right?" He waved the gun dismissively, and I flinched. "Even if you were mated, you'd break the bond to marry my brother. This isn't really up for negotiation."
The casual way he dismissed an alpha's claim sent ice through my veins. Breaking a claim bond was serious. It was an insult to the alpha, to his pack.
Behind her gag, Fanny made a desperate sound. The Lycan looked at her, something almost like amusement crossing his features.
"Oh, you have something to say, love?" He snapped his fingers, and one of his wolves moved forward to remove Fanny's gag.
She gasped for air, coughing and spitting blood. When she finally caught her breath, she turned to me with wild, desperate eyes.
"Celeste, please." Her voice was hoarse, wrecked. "Please, just do what he says. Marry his brother."
I stared at my sister, unable to believe what I was hearing. "What? Fanny..."
"Jesus Christ, Celeste!" She was crying again, fat tears mixing with the blood on her face. "We both know Tom is no good for you anyway other than he is the alpha of that poor pack. And how the hell else are we going to get one hundred million dollars?"
The audacity of it struck me speechless. Tom was no good for me? Poor pack? Because she left the pack to become a lone wolf suddenly makes Fevermore poor?
"Fanny," I said slowly, fighting to keep my voice level, "I could walk right out of here and let this Lycan devil kill you if you don't keep your mouth shut."
I didn't mean it. We both knew I didn't mean it. But God, it felt good to say.
"Hmm." The Lycan's voice drew my attention back to him. "Lycan devil. Is that what I look like to you?"
He seemed to genuinely consider this, tapping the gun against his thigh thoughtfully. His eyes flashed that eerie amber-gold again.
"Well, the devil does evil. I do evil. So we're not so different, right?" That terrible smile again, showing just a hint of fang. "I'm the devil. And I'm going to make you a deal, Celeste."
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Please." I tried to keep my voice steady, tried to sound reasonable. Like this was a normal conversation between normal people. "I don't even know your name, and..."
"Stefan Casteel."
What?
Stefan Casteel. I knew that name. I'd heard it before, but where? It was familiar in a way that made my skin prickle, nostalgic and uncomfortable all at once.
And then it clicked.
"Glendale Grammar School?" The words came out before I could stop them. "Stefan Casteel from... ninth grade? The basketball player?"
His entire demeanor shifted. The casual menace evaporated. He leaned in closer, those predatory eyes narrowing as he studied my face with new intensity.
"Hmm. Looks like I'm famous." His voice had taken on a different quality — dangerous curiosity. "Who are you?"
My heart sank. I shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have revealed that I knew him, that we had history. But it was too late now.
Ninth grade. God, I'd been so stupid back then. Fourteen years old, an omega girl from a poor family, convinced I was in love with Stefan Casteel — the tall, handsome basketball star who everyone whispered came from a powerful wolf family. I'd written him a letter confessing my feelings in purple gel pen on lined notebook paper.
I'd slipped it into his locker between third and fourth period, my hands shaking so badly I could barely fold it properly.
He'd read it out loud in literature class. In front of everyone. Mrs. Patterson had been late, and Stefan had stood on his chair, holding my letter like a trophy, doing an exaggerated dramatic reading complete with hand gestures and a high-pitched voice that was supposed to be mine.
"'Dear Stefan,'" he'd read, "'I know you probably don't even know who I am, but I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met.'"
The class had erupted in laughter. And when he got to the end..."'Love, Celeste Stonewall'"... I'd wanted to die right there in my desk.
I'd begged my parents to transfer me that night and I'd spent the rest of high school at Lincoln Prep, where nobody knew about the letter or Stefan Casteel or the most humiliating moment of my adolescent life.
And now here he was, all grown up and holding a gun. Not just a wolf anymore, but a Lycan. One of the most dangerous creatures in Camelot City.
"Celeste Stonewall," I said quietly.
The warehouse fell silent except for the crackle of the burning barrels. I watched understanding dawn across his face, watched his eyes widen slightly, and then…
He burst out laughing.
"No," he gasped between laughs. "No way. The letter girl? Are you serious right now?"
Heat flooded my face. Even now, even with everything else happening, that old humiliation came rushing back like it had happened yesterday instead of fifteen years ago.
His laughter finally subsided, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh, this is perfect. This is..." He shook his head, grinning. "Fate has a sense of humor after all."
Then, without warning, without any change in his expression, he stepped around me and fired the gun.
- Writer
