My stomach turns at her words, I plaster on another fake smile and nod in agreement.
“Let’s toast to new beginnings,” Alpha Dane announces, raising his glass. The sound of crystal clinking echoes around us, a chorus of assent to a union I have not consented to. The rest of the evening is spent in a blur of food, drinks, and well-wishes from pack members. Boyd never leaves my side, his possessive grip on me only getting tighter as the night goes on.
His touch is possessive, not tender; his gaze calculating, not warm. I can sense his desire to claim me, to mark me as his own before everyone. I shrink from him, unwilling to play the part of the doting fiancée when he keeps glaring at the mark on my neck left by Zayn.
Finally, the festivities come to an end. Boyd asks to drive me home. I stare at my father pleadingly, who is quickly distracted by Alpha Dane. “It’s fine, I can get a lift home with Dad and Linda.” I tell him.
“Nonsense, I will drop you home,” Boyd says, steering me out of the restaurant, and leading me back to his car. As soon as the door closes behind us, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against mine without warning.
My body stiffens in shock before I push him away forcefully. “What do you think you’re doing?” I snap.
Boyd just smirks at me. “Relax, sweetheart. We’re going to be married soon; there’s no need for this prudish behavior.”
I scoff at his words and shift away from him toward the window. “There’s nothing prudish about not wanting to kiss someone who has shown nothing but disrespect toward me and my wishes. You know I don’t want to marry you!”
His smirk turns into a scowl as he grips my chin painfully with his fingers. “What you want doesn’t matter. Our fathers have a deal. You will learn your place once we’re married,” he growls before shoving me away from him and starting up the car.
As soon as we step out of the car back on my pack’s territory, Boyd pulls me close to him again, showing off our ‘happy couple’ act for anyone who might see us.
I feel sick to my stomach, but I keep up appearances for my father’s sake. After all, he is trying to find a way out of this. He pulls up seconds after us, and relief floods me.
My father looks at me, his smile tight. “You’re doing the right thing,” he says, helping a drunk Linda out of the car.
I don’t respond, just turn and gaze away, my vision blurring when Boyd speaks. “Oh, you were quicker than I thought; I figured you and Dad would have gone over formalities,” Boyd states, clearly not happy that my father rushed home.
“Linda wasn’t feeling well,” Dad says, and Linda gives him a look. I see my father’s grip on her arm tighten.
“I’ve had a few too many drinks,” she quickly states. Boyd nods and turns to me, and smiles, leaning in like he may try to kiss me.
I turn my face, refusing to let this mongrel’s lips touch me. Boyd leaves and Dad waves to him. Linda makes her way inside.
“Did he try anything? I rushed home as quickly as I could. I am pretty sure I got done by every speeding camera on the way here,” my father says.
“What do you think?” I growl and he sighs.
Then my phone vibrates. A message from Zayn, each word a dagger to my heart.
Zayn: Is it true? Did you agree to marry Boyd?
I let the phone slip from my hand and back into my pocket, unable to confront the truth in his question. Zayn doesn’t relent—a second message follows, heavy with a threat that sends a chill down my spine. We head inside to the living room, I sit in the armchair by the window. Dad falls heavily into the other one by the fireplace. My phone vibrates again.
Zayn: Answer your phone. You aren’t doing this, Cleo.
A tremor runs through me, fear and longing warring within.
The phone rings insistently, Zayn’s name illuminating the darkened living room.
My finger trembles as I press the reject button, the beep of the call being declined.
“Everything okay?” My father’s voice is laced with concern.
“It will be,” I mutter, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. I lean my head against the back of the armchair, trying to anchor myself to something real, something tangible. Even the solid chill of the room can’t dispel the heat that flares within me when I think of Zayn—his silver eyes, tattooed arms, the scar down hisleft flank. And most of all, his wolf, Zarek, wild and untamed, a perfect mirror to Zayn’s soul.
My phone vibrates again, and without a glance at my father, I retrieve it from my pocket, my fingers trembling. Zayn’s words blaze across the screen, igniting a wildfire in my chest.
Zayn: I will wipe out every pack in the city before I allow you to marry him.
“Who is it?” my father asks, his voice laced with suspicion.
