6
1653 Words
Summer's POV
The wedding celebration was finally winding down.
Pack officials were filing out of the hall, their fake smiles and empty congratulations still echoing in my ears. I watched them leave one by one, watched them whisper to each other as they passed, watched them glance back at me with pity or judgment or disgust.
The fifth bride. The barren one. The lunatic who would probably be dead in a hundred days.
I needed a drink.
Actually, I needed several drinks. Enough to make the voices in my head shut up. Enough to make the weight of this ridiculous dress feel less suffocating. Enough to forget that I'd just legally bound myself to another Alpha who saw me as nothing more than a tool.
I slipped away from the crowd as soon as I could, heading straight for the bar at the far end of the hall. My feet hurt in these stupid shoes. The dress kept catching on things. Everything about this night felt wrong.
The bartender—a young wolf with kind eyes—looked up as I approached.
"Whiskey," I said. "Neat. Make it a double."
He hesitated, glancing past me like he was checking to see if anyone was watching. "Are you sure, Luna? That's pretty strong—"
"Did I stutter?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Whiskey. Now."
He poured it quickly, sliding the glass across the bar.
I downed it in one gulp, the liquid burning a path down my throat. It felt good. Clean. Like it was washing away some of the filth from today.
"Another."
This time he didn't hesitate.
I was halfway through my third drink when I felt it—that prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Someone watching me.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I could smell him now, that vanilla and pine scent that made Arghea stir restlessly inside me.
Luxian.
"You're too drunk."
His voice came from right behind me, cold and flat. Then his hand shot out, snatching my glass before I could finish it.
I spun around to face him, the room tilting slightly. "One more shot!" I demanded, reaching for the glass he'd stolen.
He held it out of reach, his gray eyes hard as stone. No warmth. No concern. Just cold assessment, like he was looking at a problem that needed solving.
"No."
The word was sharp. Final. Like I was a child being told to behave.
Anger flared hot in my chest. "Who the hell do you think you are—"
"Let's go to the room." It wasn't a request. It was an order, delivered in that same emotionless tone.
And something about that—the commanding voice, the complete lack of care—made something inside me snap.
Fine. He wanted me to play the part of the obedient bride? I could do that. I could play a lot of parts.
"Sure, alpha..." I said loudly, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "Let's make love!"
The effect was immediate. Several heads turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Luxian's jaw tightened, but his expression remained cold. Controlled.
Good. Let them all hear. Let them all know exactly what this marriage was really about.
I tried to walk toward the exit, but the room was spinning now. The floor felt unsteady under my feet. I stumbled, catching myself on a nearby table.
*s**t. Maybe I'd overdone it.*
"Let's do it, alpha... let's make babies..." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, loud and crude and exactly calculated to embarrass him. "f**k me, alpha... hurry up—"
His hand clamped over my mouth so fast I barely saw him move. His face was inches from mine, his eyes cold and hard as steel.
"Control yourself, Summer," he muttered, his voice low and sharp. No anger. Just cold annoyance, like I was being inconvenient.
I smirked against his palm. Even drunk, even barely able to stand, I could still get under his skin. That was something, at least.
Then the room tilted again, harder this time. Pain exploded behind my eyes.
"Ouch!" I clutched at my temples, the sudden headache making my stomach lurch. "My head!"
"Let me carry you." The words were practical, efficient. Not an offer—a statement of what he was about to do.
Before I could protest—before I could tell him to f**k off and leave me alone—his hands were on my hips, lifting me up like I weighed nothing.
I gasped, my arms automatically wrapping around his neck for balance. Suddenly I was pressed against his chest, my body fitting against his in a way that made my skin prickle with unwanted awareness.
But my traitorous body didn't get the memo. Heat spread through me where we touched, starting from where his hands gripped my hips and radiating outward. My heart started racing, and it wasn't just from the alcohol.
Luxian's body remained rigid. Tense. As he started walking, his face stayed expressionless. Cold. Distant. Then his lips accidentally brushed against my neck as he adjusted his grip—just a whisper of contact, barely there—and everything inside me went haywire.
A sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. Soft. Involuntary. Mortifying.
"Uhm..."
Oh god. Did I just moan?
"What happened, Summer?" His voice was flat, almost clinical. Like he was asking about the weather.
The lack of emotion in his tone was like ice water thrown over my head.
"No... nothing..." I managed to say, humiliation burning through me.
Arghea stirred inside me, confused and hurt. She could sense him—our mate—but he wasn't responding.
Luxian started carrying me up the stairs.
My chest pressed against his. My thighs brushed his sides. Every point of contact that made my skin burn seemed to have zero effect on him.
I didn't want him. Didn't trust him. Planned to escape from him.
But some stupid part of me had hoped... what? That maybe this mate would be different? That maybe someone would finally want me for me, not for what I could give them?
"Stay still, or we'll fall together," he said, his voice completely neutral. A practical warning, nothing more.
No warmth. No concern. Just cold calculation.
I almost laughed. Of course. Why had I expected anything else?
We reached the top of the stairs and he carried me down a long hallway. I tilted my head slightly, my lips accidentally brushing against his neck.
We reached a door at the end of the hall. He somehow managed to open it while still holding me, then carried me inside and kicked it shut behind us.
Luxian set me down on the edge of the bed like he was unloading cargo. He stepped back immediately, putting distance between us. His hands didn't clench. His face showed no strain. Just cold, practiced control.
"Sleep off the alcohol," he said flatly. "We'll discuss your duties tomorrow."
Duties.
I looked up at him, taking in his perfect composure. Not a hair out of place. Not a hint of desire or affection or anything human in those cold gray eyes.
He looked like a statue. Beautiful and untouchable and completely devoid of warmth.
I laughed.
It started as a small chuckle, but quickly grew into full, slightly hysterical laughter. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, until my sides hurt, until I couldn't breathe.
"What's so funny?" Luxian asked, his voice still flat. No curiosity. Just mild annoyance at the disruption.
I wiped at my eyes, smearing the makeup Riri had so carefully applied. "This," I said, gesturing between us. "All of this. The whole f*****g situation."
"You're drunk." Not a question. A statement. Cold. Dismissive.
"You want me to get pregnant," I said, my voice sharp despite the slurring. "Need me to break your curse. Save your life." I stood up—wobbled, but stayed upright. "But you don't even want me. You can't even pretend to."
His expression didn't change. "This isn't about wanting. This is about survival."
The bluntness of it—the complete lack of pretense—was almost refreshing.
Almost.
"At least you're honest," I said bitterly. "Rhys pretended to care at first. Made it worse when the mask came off." I took a step toward him. "You don't even bother with the mask, do you?"
"No." His voice was ice. "I don't."
"Good." I poked him in the chest with one finger. "Because here's the deal, Luxian....You can have this body. You can use it however you need to try and break your curse. But you don't get me. The real me. That's not for sale anymore."
Luxian's expression remained perfectly blank. "I'm not interested in the 'real you,' Summer. I'm interested in whether you can carry a child to term."
The words should have hurt. Would have hurt, once upon a time.
Now they just made me angry.
"Well, I can't," I spat. "So I guess we're both f****d. You'll die from your curse, and I'll die trying to break it. What a beautiful fairy tale."
"Then we'll both do our best to avoid that outcome." Still no emotion. Just cold practicality.
I pulled away from him and turned toward the bed, stumbling slightly.
"You won't escape." His voice was flat, certain. "I'll make sure of that."
I looked back at him over my shoulder. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact." He moved toward the door. He paused at the door, not looking back. "I have no interest in sleeping next to a drunk woman who'll regret everything in the morning."
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I crawled into the bed, still wearing the stupid wedding dress.
And I closed my eyes, Arghea whispered one last bitter observation:
At least he's honest about not loving us. That's something.
- Writer
