Dahlia.
I'm the Black Dahlia... not to be confused with the tragic Hollywood story, though my life isn't much cheerier. Raised in the Church of the Lightens-a cult disguised as a community of overly pious control freaks-I was groomed to be the perfect doll. Seen, not heard. A decorative mute. My opinions? About as relevant as a snowball in a furnace.
Things went south quickly-people died, chaos ensued, and somehow, I made it out alive. Cue the Catholic Church swooping in to "save" me. And now? Here I am, living as the unluckiest virgin in history.
I'd heard rumors about a girl being offered to the werewolves-a sacrificial lamb in a wedding dress-but I brushed it off as gossip. Turns out, when you're the only virgin left and have hair longer than Rapunzel's, you're practically a glowing target.
When the church bells rang, I knew doom was knocking-literally. Two familiar faces, Mr. Randy and Mr. Bob, appeared at my door. Their smiles were strained, the kind that screamed, "We're about to ruin your day, but hey, God bless!"
"We've reached a peace agreement with the wolves," Mr. Bob began, his voice so soft it could have lulled a baby to sleep-except it wasn't soothing at all. "Six territories will be surrendered... and you."
Me. Of course, it's me. Why not? They'd been keeping me separate for years, like a fragile artifact. Turns out, I wasn't just an artifact; I was a bargaining chip.
---
The journey to the wolves' territory was nothing short of a horror movie montage. Anxiety twisted my stomach into knots, and every bump in the road felt like a jolt to my impending doom. Dressed in a wedding gown that screamed innocent maiden, I sat alone in the back of the car.
This wasn't how I'd imagined my wedding day. I'd dreamed of love, a grand house, and a husband who adored me. Instead, I was about to marry a stranger-possibly a furry one-with no say in the matter. Romantic, huh?
When the car stopped, I stepped out, my heart pounding like it was auditioning for a metal band. The mansion before me was colossal, a stark contrast to the simplicity of my former life. If it weren't for the dread gnawing at me, I might've been impressed.
A maid greeted me at the door, her round glasses reflecting nothing but judgment-or maybe that was my imagination. Her voice was polite but robotic. "Welcome to the Kelce residence. Please follow me."
Inside, the house was immaculate. The kind of clean that made you wonder if germs were banned. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a countdown. Clutching an envelope I hadn't dared to open, I followed her to an empty room.
I braced myself for a monstrous, snarling beast to burst through the door. Instead, a man entered. A tall, muscular man. He looked... human. No fur, no claws, no fangs dripping with saliva. Just a man.
He stared at me, his expression unreadable. Beside him stood a priest, holding a small book and looking equally uncomfortable. My heart raced. Was this the infamous Wolf King? And more importantly, what had I just gotten myself into?
He was annoyingly handsome-the kind of handsome that made you want to roll your eyes and say, Really? Was all this necessary? His ocean-grey eyes locked onto mine like he was trying to download my soul. Intense? Absolutely. Dark? Oh, for sure. But did he have to look like he walked straight out of a "Hot Alpha Bachelor" calendar?
His jawline looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo on an especially inspired day, and his perfectly straight nose only added to the injustice. And those lips-full, dark pink, and, honestly, just plain rude for being that perfect. It was like he had a personal vendetta against everyone else's mediocrity.
When he lifted my veil, I braced myself. Maybe he'd have a lazy eye or a blemish-something to remind me that he was, in fact, human. Nope. He met my face with that same devastating perfection, though there was a flicker in his eyes that suggested he wasn't thrilled about whatever he was reading on my face. Probably because I'd been gawking at him like a starstruck fangirl.
I handed him the envelope, my fingers trembling. He tore it open with all the grace of a wolf tearing into a steak and scanned the contents. His lips pressed into a line so tight I wondered if they might disappear altogether. Great. He looked mad. Nothing like marrying someone who immediately regrets the whole thing.
"What's your name?" he finally asked, his voice deep enough to make the chandelier tremble (okay, maybe that was just my nerves).
I started signing, and his expression shifted so fast it gave me whiplash. "What! You can't speak?" His face twisted like I'd just told him I ate puppies for breakfast.
Well, this was going swimmingly. I dropped to my knees in a panic, tears flooding my eyes like a dramatic heroine from a bad soap opera. If I went back home, humanity was doomed, so here I was, begging like my life depended on it-which, unfortunately, it kind of did.
"Get up!" he barked, and I obeyed faster than I'd ever moved in my life. He turned to the priest and muttered something that probably wasn't she's so charming and delightful, let's throw her a welcome party.
The priest stepped forward, clearly used to handling tense situations, and began the vows. "Do you, Dahlia Immaculate Webb, take Rath Titan Kelce to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish until death do you part?"
I read his lips.
Wait. Rath Titan? I almost laughed out loud. His name sounded like a superhero who moonlighted as a nightclub bouncer.
I nodded, because what else was I going to do-say no? The priest turned to Rath, who grumbled an "I do" that sounded like he'd been forced into promising to babysit a particularly annoying child. He slid a ring onto my finger with all the enthusiasm of someone handing over a parking ticket.
Curiously, he wore no ring, and I wasn't given one for him either. No big surprise there. Apparently, this wasn't a real marriage, just a let's save the world by throwing her under the bus kind of deal. He didn't kiss me, didn't even pretend to. Instead, he just turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me standing there like a cake someone forgot to cut.
The maid approached, her expression polite but deadpan, and motioned for me to follow. "This way, please," she said, clearly over this whole thing.
I trailed after her into a room so absurdly beautiful it looked like the result of a Pinterest board binge. The bed was enormous, draped in pink and purple sheets, and a chandelier sparkled above like it was trying to audition for a fairy tale. It was all so soft and dreamy that I half-expected unicorns to start prancing in.
And yet, as I caught sight of myself in the mirror, a shiver ran down my spine. This wasn't a fairy tale. It was the opening act of a very dark comedy. And I was the punchline.