RONAN
The blood moon casts its ominous glow over the forest clearing, painting everything in shades of crimson. I can feel the pull of the moon like fire in my veins, heightening my senses, pushing the wolf inside me to the edge of control. But tonight, it's worse. So much worse.
Because Isabelle isn't here.
I stand at the altar, every muscle coiled tight, forcing myself to stay calm. My eyes sweep over the crowd—wolves, witches, vampires, and others—gathered for what was meant to be a monumental event. They know Maeve isn't Isabelle. The swap isn't some secret. Everyone understands that Isabelle vanished before the ceremony, and Maeve has stepped in as a substitute. It's only acceptable because Maeve is neutral, tied to no supernatural faction. They aren't thrilled, but they're willing to go along with it for now.
But that doesn't make this any less of a disaster. To them, this wedding is still a symbol of unity between the pack and the Coven, a promise of stability. They expect me to lead by example, as always, for the good of the pack.
But this isn't that simple.
This wasn't just another decision for the pack or the community. Isabelle wasn't a strategic choice. She wasn't the most powerful witch. She was the one I chose—for me. For once, it wasn't about duty. It was about love.
And now she's gone.
I clench my jaw, forcing down the anger and confusion boiling inside me. This was supposed to be our day, and now everything's unraveling. And Maeve… Maeve is standing here in her place. Liam's girlfriend. Someone who should never have been pulled into this.
The lace of Isabelle's dress clings awkwardly to Maeve, too tight in some places, loose in others, and a little too short. Her hands tremble, and I can feel the sharp sting of her fear, mixing with the oppressive pull of the moon. She's trying to hold it together, but I can hear her heartbeat, wild and erratic.
At least the dress fits the situation—awkward and wrong.
I glance at Liam, standing behind me as my best man. His eyes burn with fury. He knows this is wrong, and with every passing second, the reality only becomes harder to bear. But he's trapped by duty, just like me. Neither of us has a choice.
The witches swore the rituals would be canceled. We were adamant—my mother, Brielle, the other Coven leaders. The plan was simple: if Isabelle didn't show, there would be no magic, no rituals. Just the simple ceremony to keep the peace. But now, I can feel the shift in the air. The power. The magic. This wasn't supposed to happen.
The officiant starts the ceremony, her voice calm and steady, but my focus is pulled in every direction—the tension, the pull of the moon. Everything feels wrong. The magic is already swirling, creeping in like tendrils of smoke, searching for a place to latch on.
I glance at Brielle. She looks composed, like everything is going to plan, but I know better. She's orchestrated this. The rituals are starting, and there's no stopping them.
My pulse races, the wolf inside me snarling as I feel the magic wrapping around me and Maeve, tightening like a noose. This wasn't the deal. There was supposed to be no binding magic, no fertility ritual. The witches have gone back on their word.
I grit my teeth, keeping my gaze forward, refusing to let anyone see the chaos inside me. But I know. I know the witches are playing a dangerous game, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Liam shifts behind me, his anger practically vibrating off him. Maeve is his—not mine. She's been with him for years, and he loves her with a fierceness that's impossible to ignore. Now she's being pulled into something neither of us wanted.
But the magic doesn't care. It's building, growing stronger with every word from the officiant's lips. The fertility ritual is starting, the one meant to bind Isabelle and me, to ensure the continuation of the Alpha bloodline.
I glance at Maeve, and for a moment, our eyes meet. She's terrified. She doesn't understand the depth of this magic, the power crashing down on us. Her hand tightens around mine, and I feel her pulse—quick, frantic.
The magic pulls tighter, wrapping around us like a net. My blood burns with it, the heat sinking into my bones, intertwining with the constant pull of the moon. I've always known Maeve was pretty—hard not to notice—but there was never any attraction. She was the wedding planner. Then Liam's girlfriend. Someone I respected but never wanted.
But now... something is changing. The magic is doing this. I can feel it twisting inside me, pulling me toward her in ways that feel unnatural. This raw attraction surges up from somewhere deep, unrelenting and fierce. It's not right. None of this is right.
The fertility ritual is creating a bond we never asked for, making me feel things I shouldn't. There was never a spark between us—until now. And it's overwhelming, clawing at me, pushing me toward Maeve in ways I can't fight.
But I have to. I can't let this magic pull me into something we didn't choose. Yet the more the ritual tightens its grip, the harder it becomes to resist.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to pull away from her, to tear free from this bond before it's too late. But I can't. Not in front of everyone. Not without causing a scene that would unravel everything I've worked for.
The officiant's voice grows louder, and I feel the power building again. This time, it's the second ritual—the power-sharing one. I can feel the magic reaching out, trying to merge my strength with Maeve's. But she's not Isabelle. She's not a witch. This ritual wasn't meant for her. It's wrong—so damn wrong.
Maeve staggers beside me, her breath shallow. She's feeling it too, as the magic pulls her into something she wasn't prepared for. The power digs deeper, clawing at us both, forcing a bond that was never meant to exist.
I glance at Liam again, his face a mask of barely contained rage. His fists are clenched so tight I can hear his knuckles crack, but there's nothing either of us can do to stop this without throwing everything into chaos.
The witches have betrayed us.
I want to tear into them, demand answers, but I can't. Not now. Not in front of everyone. All I can do is stand here, as the magic wraps itself tighter around me and Maeve, forcing a connection neither of us wanted.
The officiant's final words echo through the clearing, her voice heavy with power, marking the end of the ceremony. The rituals have done their work, locking us into this twisted union that was never meant to be.
But it's not over.
My heart pounds in my chest, each beat amplified by the weight of the magic coursing through my veins. My senses are on fire—everything too sharp, too real. I hear the rustle of the forest, the shallow breaths of the guests. And in the middle of it all, I hear Maeve's uneven breathing; her fear as palpable as my own.
The officiant's eyes shift toward me, and her words cut through the haze.
"You may now kiss the bride."
The words hang in the air like a death sentence. A formality that means nothing and everything. A final seal on this bond that should never have existed. My body tenses, every instinct screaming at me to stop, to walk away. To reject the very thing I'm about to do.
But I can't. The world is watching. My pack, the Coven, the supernatural leaders. They expect me to go through with this, to seal this farce with a kiss, as though it means something real. As though Maeve and I are anything but victims of a magic neither of us wanted.
I glance at Maeve, and for a split second, I see the panic in her eyes. She's barely holding it together, trying to make sense of everything. But she stands there, frozen, waiting for me to make the next move.
My gaze shifts briefly to Liam. He looks like he wants to tear my throat out. I can feel the fury radiating off him, sharp and bitter. This is his worst nightmare—watching his brother kiss the woman he loves. And yet, he stands there, silent, knowing there's no other choice.
I turn back to Maeve. My jaw clenches as I step closer, the weight of the situation pressing down. I feel the magic humming between us, raw and untamed, urging me to close the distance, to complete the bond.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain, but she doesn't pull away. She can't. She's as trapped in this as I am.
I lean down, my hand tightening around hers, and press my lips to hers.
The moment our lips meet, it's like a shockwave ripping through my body. The kiss is soft, almost mechanical, but the magic surges between us, solidifying the bond. It's not passion—it's power. Raw and primal, tethering us together in a way that feels unnatural. Wrong.
For a moment, the world disappears. All I feel is the fire of the moon in my blood and the pulse of magic connecting me to Maeve. My wolf howls inside me, confused, angry, desperate to break free from this false bond.
But I can't. Not here. Not now.
The kiss ends as quickly as it began, and I pull back, my face a mask of control, hiding the storm inside me. Maeve looks up at me, her lips parted, her breath short. She's in shock, the same way I am, but neither of us can show it.
I turn to face the crowd, my grip still tight on Maeve's hand. The guests begin to applaud, but there's unease in the air, like they know this isn't what it seems. I catch sight of Brielle, her expression calm, but her eyes gleam with satisfaction.
The witches have won. They've bound me to Maeve, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
But the cost? The cost will be higher than any of them could ever imagine.