Ryker quietly threads his fingers through hers and leads her away from the reception. The music fades behind them, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of wolves celebrating.
She notices the guards trailing behind — not close enough to intrude, but close enough to protect.
“Where are we going?” she asks, breathless from the night, from him, from everything.
“A final surprise,” he says, voice warm and low.
They walk deeper into the trees, moonlight filtering through the branches in silver ribbons. The air smells like cedar and roses, the remnants of the ceremony still clinging to her skin.
Then the trees part.
A secluded cabin sits in a clearing, bathed in moonlight. Warm golden light glows from the windows. White roses line the porch. Candles flicker inside, cast
