MAEVE
The reception has begun, and it feels like I'm floating through a dream—no, more like a nightmare. None of this was supposed to happen. The dress, the ceremony, the kiss. The kiss with Ronan still lingers on my lips, and my pulse hasn't slowed since. Everything feels too surreal, like I'm walking through a world that's suddenly tilted on its axis.
Well, if this isn't the plot twist of the century, I don't know what is. Someone pass me a drink.
I stand at the edge of the clearing, pretending to be present, smiling at guests I barely know, but my mind is racing, a whirlwind of thoughts I can't control. I wasn't supposed to be here, standing in Isabelle's place, tethered to Ronan in ways I don't fully understand. I try to keep up appearances, but there's an undercurrent of dread that coils tighter with every passing moment.
The room is buzzing with conversation, but it's not the usual celebratory chatter. There's a tension hanging in the air, thick and heavy. The Pack Elders whisper among themselves, stealing glances at me when they think I'm not looking. The Coven leaders are no better, their eyes fixed on me like they're watching for something, waiting for something.
I don't belong here. I never did. And now, it's worse than ever. Every gaze feels like a weight pressing down on me, reminding me I'm not the bride they expected.
I catch a glimpse of Ronan, standing tall and stoic across the room, surrounded by his pack. His broad shoulders are tense, his posture commanding, even when he's silent. There's an intensity about him, a quiet power that makes him seem larger than life, like he could take on the entire world without flinching. His expression is unreadable, locked behind the mask of an Alpha, but I can sense the tension radiating from him, a tightly coiled spring waiting to snap. He's as trapped as I am.
For a split second, our eyes meet, and there's something there—something I can't quite place. Attraction? No, it's not possible. My heart is tangled up with Liam, not Ronan. Liam, with his easy smile and soft touches, the way he's always made me feel safe and seen. He's everything Ronan isn't—gentle, where Ronan is hard, warm, where Ronan is cold. With Liam, there's comfort. With Ronan, there's... danger.
At least there used to be warmth and comfort with Liam. But today? He didn't say a word while I was thrown to the wolves. So much for that.
And to add to all of it, I can't deny the strange pull I feel toward Ronan, like a thread being drawn taut between us, unseen but impossible to ignore. Ronan is magnetic in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I never felt it before, or maybe I refused to acknowledge it, because no matter how undeniably attractive he is, he's always been Liam's older brother—the untouchable Alpha. Plus, let's be real. I was planning HIS wedding, after all. But now, with the rituals binding us together, there's something shifting in the air between us, and I don't know what to do with it.
I quickly look away, trying to shake off the feeling. My head is pounding, my chest tight with the weight of everything I'm trying to hold together.
"Maeve."
I turn and find Siobhan standing beside me, her brows furrowed in concern. She's always had this sixth sense about me, about every one of our siblings, knowing when something's wrong before we even say a word. As the eldest of seven, my sister has been overprotective for as long as I can remember, and tonight, her instincts are on full alert.
"You okay?" Siobhan's voice is soft, but it cuts through the noise around us. Her eyes scan my face, searching for cracks in the mask I'm wearing. She nervously combs her fingers through her auburn hair.
"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile. "It's just… a lot to take in."
She narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. "A lot to take in? Maeve, this wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to marry him. What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "It all happened so fast. One minute, Isabelle was gone, and the next… I was in her dress, standing at the altar. I didn't have a choice."
Siobhan's hand grips my arm, her touch grounding me in the chaos. "And the rituals? Did you know about them?"
I shake my head, the weight of it pressing harder on my chest. "No. I thought it was just going to be the mundane ceremony—it made sense. No witch bride, no magic. But then... it started. I felt it. The magic. I couldn't stop it."
Siobhan's hazel eyes, just like mine, darken, her protective instincts flaring. "The witches," she mutters under her breath. "They did this."
"I don't know what they're planning," I say, my voice shaky, "but something's not right, Siobhan. I can feel it. And Ronan… he knew. He had to have known."
Her grip on my arm tightens, but her face softens as she searches mine. "Maeve, this isn't you. You're shaking. What's going on? Really?"
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can speak, something shifts inside me. A sharp pressure builds in my chest, tightening like a vice. My vision blurs, and a strange sensation washes over me, like my senses are suddenly on overdrive. The surrounding sounds—the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—become too loud, too sharp. Every color is too bright, every scent too intense.
"Maeve?" Siobhan's voice is distant now, muffled by the overwhelming sensation crashing through me.
I stagger back, gripping the edge of a nearby table for support as the pressure in my head intensifies. It's like there's something pulling me, drawing me toward something I can't see. My heart pounds harder, faster, and my breath comes in shallow gasps.
Something's happening to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the onslaught of sensations, but it's no use. My head spins, and suddenly, I'm not in the reception tent anymore.
Flashes of images burst through my mind, too fast to process, too sharp to ignore. I see Isabelle—not as I remember her, but distorted, shadowed. Her face is twisted with fear, her eyes wide with terror. There's blood. So much blood. And then there's something else—something dark, lurking just beyond the edge of the vision. Danger. Death.
I gasp, clutching my chest as the images blur and fade, leaving me breathless and trembling. My heart pounds erratically, like it's trying to escape my ribcage. The cold shock of what I just saw grips me, turning my skin icy, making my fingers twitch as if I could still grasp the vision that slipped away. A violent shudder runs through me, my knees weak, and for a moment, I think I might collapse.
The images—so vivid, so real—still flicker at the edge of my mind. Death. Darkness. Faces twisted in agony. My throat tightens as if I've been screaming for hours, but no sound escapes. The weight of the vision presses down on me, suffocating, making it hard to breathe.
I open my mouth to scream, to release the terror clawing at my insides, but nothing comes out. Only a shallow gasp. My whole body trembles, my blood runs cold, and I know deep down that nothing will ever be the same.
"Maeve!" Siobhan's voice cuts through the fog, and I blink, trying to ground myself in reality again. She's gripping my shoulders, her worried face even paler than usual. "What happened? You zoned out. Talk to me!"
I swallow hard, the vision still flashing behind my eyes. "I—I saw something," I stammer. "Isabelle… she's in danger. There was blood. So much blood."
Siobhan's eyes widen, but she says nothing for a moment. Her grip on me tightens. "Maeve, what are you talking about? What did you see?"
"I don't know," I whisper, shaking my head. "But something's happening to me."