The Alpha’s Last Bride

You will obey me

Damien

The firelight did little to warm the hall.

I stood at the head of the Luna ceremonial table, surrounded by wolves I barely tolerated—politicians dressed like warriors, drunk on their own self-importance. The air was thick with incense and expectation. The priestess from the Moon Temple sat rigid across from me, fingers steepled in silent judgment. Oscar hadn’t spoken a word since arriving, but his gaze tracked everything.

And still—no sign of her. Her chair sat empty, a polished insult carved in oak. I clenched my jaw and scanned the room again. Elias caught my eye from halfway down the table. He leaned back in his seat, wine glass poised like a scepter.

“Your bride’s making quite the entrance,” he drawled, loud enough to earn a ripple of hushed laughter.

“She was instructed to be ready,” I said flatly.

Elias raised a brow, grin lazy. “Then perhaps she’s staging a coup. Shall I prepare the throne room?”

I didn’t answer. My grip on the carved chair arm threatened to splinter the wood. Oscar looked at me then—really looked. Not with amusement, but something worse: interest.

He’d seen too much already.

A footman rushed toward me, bowing so low I thought his spine might snap. “Alpha,” he stammered, “we sent word, but Lady Ayla hasn’t come down. She… rang for assistance this morning, but…”

“But what?” I asked, my voice as calm as it was deadly.

The servant swallowed. “There was confusion. Some of the maids reported she looked fine. Others said she was sweating. One said she was—”

I slammed my fist down on the table. Cutlery jumped. The room fell silent.

“One job,” I growled. “You had one job.”

He flinched. “Shall I send for her now, my Lord?”

“Get out.”

He scurried from the hall. I stood slowly. The priestess stiffened. Elias’s smirk widened. Oscar’s brow lifted, but he remained silent.

“I’ll fetch her myself,” I said coldly.

I didn’t wait for their reactions. Let them whisper. Let them wonder what kind of Alpha had to drag his Luna to the table.

I didn’t care.

Not when fury curled beneath my skin like smoke.

Not when the scent of her had been teasing at the edges of my awareness all damn day—faint, but wrong. Overripe. Distracting.

By the time I reached her wing, I was seconds from tearing the hinges off the door. My boots echoed off the stone corridor like war drums. Her guards didn’t try to stop me. Smart.

I didn’t knock. Didn’t pause. I slammed the door open and—

Gods.

The scent hit me like a punch to the chest.

Thick. Sweet. Impossible to ignore. I staggered, just once, teeth clenching so hard my jaw popped.

And then I saw her.

Tangled in the center of the bed, twisted in sweat-damp sheets, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Her nightgown was practically translucent. Her hair clung to her skin. Her lips were parted—flushed, trembling. Her eyes cracked open at the sound of the door, but they didn’t focus.

Her scent rolled off her in waves now, heavy with need. Not perfume. Not illness.

Heat.

The room reeked of it.

Mine.

A growl rumbled low in my throat before I could stop it. She was in heat. Alone. Unmarked. Unclaimed. And no one had told me. My voice came out cold. Controlled. Barely.

“Did you really think you could get out of your Luna duties?”

Her eyes fluttered open, slow and hazy. She blinked, as if unsure whether I was real. Her lips moved, but no sound came out at first.

Then a hoarse whisper, “Damien… please. I need the medicine again.”

I stared at her.

She was flushed all over. Her chest rose in quick, shallow breaths. Her skin gleamed with sweat. I could smell her need like it was stitched into the air itself—ripe, clinging, undeniable.

And she thought it was illness.

“Medicine won’t help you,” I said roughly.

She tried to sit up, but her limbs betrayed her. She slumped forward with a soft cry, hand pressed to her stomach. “It does. I—someone brought it earlier, a maid—”

“A maid?” My voice dropped to a growl.

I reached out through the mind-link and snapped at the two guards outside her chamber.

Leave. Now. No one comes near this door. Not unless I summon them myself.

They obeyed without question. They’d scented it, too. The whole corridor had to reek of her by now. But she was mine. My responsibility. My curse.

My little wolf.

She was trembling violently now. “Please,” she whispered again, clutching the edge of the bed. “Damien, I’m—something’s wrong. It hurts. My skin, my chest—I feel like I’m burning alive.”

I didn’t answer. Because I could feel it too.

Every inch of me was on fire, pulled toward her with a force I didn’t know how to resist. My mouth was dry. My fists clenched at my sides. My wolf stirred under my skin, snarling for release. I circled the bed slowly, jaw locked, steps heavy.

“You’re not sick,” I murmured. “You’re in heat.”

Her brows knit. “No. No, I—I’ve never—”

Her lips parted. Confused. Frightened. Tempted. I almost groaned.

“I can almost taste you,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, do you? What you’re doing to me.”

She pressed herself back against the headboard. “I didn’t mean—Damien, I didn’t ask for this—”

“No,” I said. “You didn’t.”

But it didn’t matter. Because I had.

Not aloud. Not in words. Not even to myself. But something inside me—something primal, buried, furious—had chosen her long before I admitted it. And now the bond was dragging us both under.

“I’ve never experienced it,” I said lowly, circling again. “Not like this. I’ve seen she-wolves collapse from it. Watched the healers bring ice baths and spells. I never thought—” My throat closed around the truth.

Not her.

Not this girl. Not in my keep. And yet… She whimpered, small and wrecked.

“Please, Damien. I don’t want to die.”

I stepped closer.

“You’re not dying,” I said, leaning down. My voice was a rasp against her ear. “You’re awakening.”

I didn’t touch her. Not yet.

Instead, I turned my back to her trembling form and strode across the chamber to the hearth. The fire had burned low, but I tossed another log on and settled into the armchair beside it, letting the warmth lick up my arms like a promise.

My c**k strained against my trousers, hard enough to ache, but I didn’t move.

Didn’t relieve it. I watched her instead. She curled in on herself in the sheets, crying softly now, body wracked with tremors. It should’ve stirred pity. Maybe even guilt. But all I felt was heat. Power.

For the first time in my cursed, hollow life—I had a she-wolf in heat. My she-wolf. And she wanted me. Needed me. Every inch of her called to me like a siren, her scent thick and maddening, saturating the air. And she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

“Damien,” she whimpered again. “Please—”

I let the silence stretch. Let it sink in that I hadn’t come to save her. I’d come to claim her. When I finally spoke, my voice was velvet-wrapped steel.

“Come, little she-wolf.”

She went still. Her breath hitched. I leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees. Watching. Waiting.

“Get yourself out of those sweaty clothes,” I said, voice low and rough. “And come show your Alpha where it hurts.”

She flinched, but she moved. Slowly, shakily, she pushed the covers aside. Her knees wobbled as she rose from the bed. Her nightgown clung to her curves like a second skin, sheer with sweat, fabric twisted around her thighs and breasts. She swayed as she stood, head bowed. Then her fingers found the hem. And she pulled it over her head.

Gods.

I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for days.

There she was—bare, trembling, radiant in the firelight. Not perfect. Not posed. Just real. Feverish, swollen, needy. Better than I’d ever imagined. And I had imagined. Far too many nights alone. I’d pictured her smart mouth stuffed with obedience, her spine arched beneath me, her thighs slick with submission. But this—this—was rawer. Wilder. Sacred.

I groaned aloud, unable to help myself. Her arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to hide. I let her squirm.

“Don’t cover yourself,” I ordered, voice dark with warning. “Not from me.”

She dropped her hands. My c**k twitched. The control it took not to pounce on her right then nearly split me in two. She took one unsteady step toward me. Then another. Her legs brushed together, thighs slick.

“Good girl,” I murmured, eyes tracking every movement. “Come here. Show me exactly where it hurts."