Page 3

"I yield my independence to your protection. I will earn your loyalty every day. I will be the fire at your hearth and the blade in your hand. I will remain a faithful shadow at your side until our bones return to the earth."

The silence that fell over the stone sanctuary was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic hum of the lights that I pretended were hurting my eyes.

My almost-husband shifted, as though he sensed the lie. Gunnar turned his massive body toward me, stepping into my line of sight so completely that his shadow blocked out the light behind him. When he reached out and took my hand, his palm was rough, calloused, and massive. Yet his grip was surprisingly light, as if he were holding something made of fine porcelain.

"I, Gunnar Blackwood, take you as my partner, my bride, and my prize." His voice wasn't the polished, practiced tone of a politician. It was low, gravelly, and solemn, like he was making a vow forged in heavy iron.

"I do not ask for your submission through fear, but through the proof of my worth. I vow to lead you with strength that never falters. I will earn your loyalty every day. I vow that as long as I draw breath, you will never know harm, you will never know lack, and no hand will ever be raised against you."

A cold spike of unease shot down my spine. I had expected a clumsy, performance-heavy recite from the Blackwood enforcer, a dumb brute repeating lines his parents had forced him to memorize. Instead, every single word that spilled from Gunnar’s mouth felt like a brand seared into stone. He wasn't acting. The dumb brute standing in front of me genuinely, completely meant every word of his oath. He truly believed he was taking on the solemn, holy duty of protecting a helpless girl.

I couldn't have planned this better if I tried.

"By the blood of the Pack and the witness of the Moon," Fenrir declared, his voice sealing the agreement, "you are bound. You may now kiss your bride."

Gunnar didn't hesitate. He didn't rush either. He stepped closer, his heavy body blocking out the rest of the small crowd until there was only the grey blob of him. All I could smell was cedar, iron, and the raw, masculine scent of his wolf. His massive hand reached up, his thick fingers carefully cupping the back of my neck, tilting my face up toward his.

When his lips pressed against mine, the kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't brutal either. It was warm, and heavy with a possessive nip that made my wolf purr beneath my skin before I slapped the instinct back into place.

I kissed him back just enough to play the part: yielding, soft, and compliant.

When he pulled away, his dark eyes held mine for a long, quiet second, searching my hidden expression for any trace of what I was really thinking. He didn't find a damn thing.

Enjoy the victory while it lasts, husband, I thought, as the cathedral burst into formal applause behind us. He thought he had just taken a delicate wife to protect. He had no idea he had just brought the architect of his pack's destruction into his family's den.

CHAPTER THREE

GUNNAR

The ceremony was over. The blood debts were bound. The gold bands were on our fingers. Legally, sacredly, Rosalind Lobo was now my wife.

Across the marble expanse of the sanctuary, the post-ceremony crowd was milling into small, tense clusters. My attention stayed locked on one pink, frilly dot in the room. Rosalind was standing beside her mother, looking for all the world like a brooding storm wrapped in silk. Sorsha Lobo leaned in close. There was a tight, artificial smile plastered on her face as she spoke through gritted teeth. It was that universal trick mothers pull when they were disciplining a child in public without trying to look like they were doing it. I'd been on the receiving end of that many a time in my youth.

Rosalind wasn't giving her mother much. She was just pouting, her chin tucked low, her spine rigid, radiating sullen defiance behind those pink-rimmed, blacked-out sunglasses.

I dragged my tongue across my lower lip. I could still taste her. When I’d kissed her at the altar, I’d prepared myself for something sugary and soft—some delicate, perfumed female who tasted like ripe cherries and innocence. Instead, my tongue caught the sharp, fiery tang of dark spice and pure, unadulterated venom. She tasted like a hidden flame beneath a layer of ice.

"You even listening to me?"

Magnus’s voice broke through my thoughts, but I didn't turn my head. I kept my eyes fixed on the way Rosalind crossed her slender arms over her chest, the hot pink ruffles catching the flickering candlelight. Was the light too bright for her?

"I came up here to say thank you," Magnus said. "Taking my place, marrying Rosalind on three hours' notice... you saved the pack alliance, Gunnar. You saved me and Nell. I won't forget it."

I rolled my shoulders and gave a lazy, dismissive wave of my hand. "Brush it off, big brother. Duty comes first, right?"

Magnus let out a low huff that might have been a laugh, but then his expression hardened. He leaned in a fraction closer, dropping his voice. "Just be good to her, G. And don't cheat."

A sting of heat flared in my chest, an unexpected bullet wound from friendly fire. I snapped my head around to glare at my eldest brother. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I swore a vow. When have you ever known me to break my word?"

"Back off, both of you." Vidar wedged his way between us like a middle brother who'd never learned to mind his own business. He shot Magnus a warning look before turning his analytical gray eyes on me. "Magnus phrased it like an idiot, but the point stands. Be gentle with her, Gunnar. She's clearly untouched."

The insults just kept coming. I opened my mouth to lay into him, but then my gaze dropped to my hands. My knuckles were thick, heavily calloused, and scarred from a decade of violent enforcement. Hands that usually reeked of copper, scrubbed raw with harsh soap to get the blood of our enemies out from under my fingernails. Hands trained to find the exact pressure point to snap a femur or shatter a collarbone.

The anger drained out of me, leaving a heavy ache in my gut. They weren't trying to insult me. They just looked at me and saw what everyone else saw: the executioner. The hammer. The brute.

Before either of my brothers could say something else to piss me off, my mother swept into our circle. Mei Ling Blackwood didn't need to raise her voice to command a room. Her mere presence was an absolute force. She flicked a dismissive hand at Magnus and Vidar.

"Shoo. Go find your mates. Leave my boy alone."