Crashing the Altar

TALIA POV

My toes throbbed inside the borrowed silver stilettos. Every shift of my weight sent a sharp ache straight up my ankles, but I couldn't move. I knelt behind a thick, manicured boxwood hedge at the edge of the terrace, fighting the itch of twigs against my bare shoulders.

Cleo crouched beside me, adjusting her grip on a low branch to widen her viewing angle. "Remind me why we drove three hours across pack borders for this?"

"Because Corin swore his uncle's wedding was strictly Onyxmoon blood only," I whispered, keeping my eyes glued to the rows of white chairs below. "He told me Ashcreek wolves would be detained at the gates. He told me he couldn't bring me because the elders would throw a fit."

Rhea leaned over Cleo’s shoulder, her breath tickling my neck. "And your brilliant plan is to sneak onto high-society territory in shoes you can't walk in?"

"I needed to see it for myself," I muttered, tugging at the strapless neckline of the borrowed dress. It belonged to my sister and clung to my ribs like shrink wrap. "I’m tired of him keeping me hidden. We’ve been together eight months. If he’s embarrassed of where I come from, I want him to look me in the eye and say it."

The courtyard below looked like something ripped out of a fairy tale. Crisp white runners sliced across emerald turf, flanked by towering floral arches draped in ivory roses, hydrangeas, and trailing silk ribbons. Crystal chandeliers swung from the ancient oak branches overhead, catching the midday sun. Two hundred elite wolves occupied the seating area, dressed in custom suits and shimmering designer gowns. The air smelled of expensive perfume, crushed pine, and heavy, polished silver.

Cleo pointed toward the third row near the center aisle. "Row three, dark hair, gray suit. Is that him?"

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Corin sat tall among the guests, laughing with a wolf beside him. His tailored slate-gray jacket fit his broad shoulders, looking far more expensive than anything he ever wore when visiting me in Ashcreek. But it wasn't his clothes that froze the air in my lungs.

His right arm was wrapped around the bare shoulders of the woman beside him.

She wore an emerald silk slip dress, her sleek blonde hair spilling over his lapel. Her posture was relaxed, intimate, and familiar.

Cleo gripped my elbow, her voice rising an octave. "Is that Nadine?"

"No." I squinted through the leaves, praying my eyes were playing tricks on me. "That makes no sense. Nadine is an Ironclads pack heiress. He swore she was just an old family friend who went to school with his cousin."

Corin turned toward the blonde. He didn't just lean in to speak to her. He slid his hand up the back of her neck, tangled his fingers in her hair, and pulled her mouth to his.

It was not a quick peck. It was deep, lingering, and full of public ownership. He kissed her right there in the third row, under the bright sun, in front of two hundred Onyxmoon wolves.

The world lost all its sound.

My stomach dropped through the earth. A sick, burning knot twisted in my throat, hot and sour. He hadn’t kept our relationship quiet to protect me from high-society pack politics. He hadn’t hidden me away in Ashcreek because of strict elders. He kept me hidden because I was an embarrassing secret, tucked out of sight while he paraded his real socialite girlfriend in front of his entire world.

Rhea let out a low whistle behind me. "That is definitely Nadine."

"Oh, gods," I whispered, bile rising to the back of my tongue. "He lied. Every single word was a lie."

Cleo pulled firmly on my sleeve. "Okay, we saw what we needed to see. We walk back to the car right now. We drive home, you pack his shit into garbage bags, and you block his number."

"Eight months," I choked out, blood rushing into my ears until my temples pounded. "I spent eight months thinking he was just busy with pack business."

Cleo tugged harder on my arm. "Talia, breathe. We are in the heart of an Alpha's estate without an invitation. If their security catches us, they won't just escort us out."

"I want to walk down there and throw these damn shoes directly at his teeth," I said, shaking with a sudden rush of fury.

Rhea grabbed my shoulder from behind. "No, you don't. Talia, step away from the edge."

"I borrowed these torture heels and snuck through the bushes like a deranged stalker for a liar," I muttered, stepping backward and gesturing with both hands.

The stiletto heel caught.

An exposed pine root jutted from the dirt, snagging the thin heel like a trap. My ankle rolled with a sharp snap of pain. My balance vanished instantly. Gravity grabbed me, pulling my center of mass backward toward the steep slope behind the shrubbery.

Cleo lunged forward with a sharp gasp. "Talia!"

Her fingers skimmed the lace of my bodice and slipped. In pure panic, I swung my arm out, grabbing the nearest thick branch of an overhanging birch tree to halt my fall.

The branch held for half a second.

Then, with a sound like a gunshot, the dry wood snapped in two.

I tipped backward off the terrace ledge.

The world inverted. Sky, grass, leaves, and stone spun in a blur of green and white. I didn't tumble gracefully. I hurtled down the steep, terraced incline like a runaway boulder. My hip crashed through a wooden lattice support, splintering white painted cedar into matchsticks.

"Look out!" someone screamed from below.

I plowed straight through a ten-foot floral archway. Iron wire and hundreds of white roses wrapped around my torso before snapping under my momentum. I hit the edge of a banquet table next. The impact overturned a multi-tiered crystal cake display. Sheets of thick, chilled vanilla buttercream and crushed sugar pearls exploded over my face, chest, and arms. A speaker tower toppled, screeching feedback into the microphone system as I skidded across the manicured lawn.

I finally ground to a halt face-first on the pristine white fabric of the ceremonial runner.

Air exploded out of my lungs in a harsh wheeze. Everything throbbed. Sugar and frosting ran into my eyebrows and glued my eyelashes together. My dress was torn down the left side, grass stains streaked my ribs, and one of the borrowed silver heels was missing entirely.

The courtyard went dead silent.

No music. No chatter. Not even the rustle of the wind. Just the hum of the ruined sound system echoing against the stone manor walls.

I pushed myself up onto trembling hands, shaking chunks of white cake from my hair. I wasn't in the back of the garden. My rolling descent had carried me straight through the aisle, past every guest, and deposited me at the very foot of the raised stone altar.

Three feet away stood the bride.

Camilla Danvers stared down at me, her mouth parted in utter disbelief. She held a bouquet of calla lilies, her veil fluttering around a diamond-encrusted tiara. Her vows were still half-formed on her tongue.

She took a startled step back, clutching her bouquet. "What in the goddess's name—"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, trying to scramble backward to untangle my limbs from the runner. "I slipped. The branch broke, and—"

My fingers caught on something dense, heavy, and gossamer-thin.

In my blind scramble across the fabric, my hands had planted directly onto the lace train trailing behind her designer gown. As I shoved myself up to run, my weight anchored the delicate fabric against the stone.

The silk hissed. Then it tore with a sharp, violent rip.

The sudden resistance jerked Camilla backward. Her high heel caught the jagged hem of the torn train. Her arms flailed wide, dropping the lilies as she lost her footing on the slick marble edge of the raised dais.

Someone shouted in horror from the front row. "Camilla!"

She tumbled backward off the platform. Her skull struck the sharp corner of the lower stone pavement with a sickening, wet crack.

The sound echoed across the entire courtyard.

Then she lay still.

Her limbs sprawled awkwardly across the flagstones. Her eyes remained wide open, staring blankly up at the cloudless afternoon sky. Blood pooled beneath the crown of her head, dark and heavy, soaking into the white runner.

A woman in the fourth row shrieked.

The scream cracked the silence, unleashing a flurry of panicked whispers that swept through the rows like wildfire.

A pack medic pushed past the front row, dropping to his knees beside the bride. He pressed two fingers against the side of her throat, held them there for three suffocating seconds, and let his hand fall away. His face drained of color as he looked up toward the dais.

"She's gone," the medic whispered. "Her neck snapped on impact."

My lungs locked up. My heart beat so hard against my ribs that my vision blurred at the edges. I had killed her. A freak fall, a torn hem, and a woman was dead on her own wedding day.

"Merciful Moon," a guest whispered nearby, clutching her partner's arm. "That's six. Six brides."

"She didn't even make it through the opening prayer," another voice hissed from the second row. "The Ravencroft curse is real. No woman survives his altar."

"Six dead before they could even share a bed," an older male guest muttered. "The man is marked by death."

Through the haze of shock, I spotted Corin standing frozen in the third row. His jaw hung open, his face pale as chalk. He still had his arm around Nadine, his fingers digging into her shoulder as he stared at me like I had crawled out of a nightmare.

Corin stepped forward a fraction, his voice trembling. "Talia? What are you doing here?"

I blinked up at him, frosting dripping down my cheek. "I should've tripped on you instead."

Before I could formulate another word, a pair of heavy, leather-gloved hands closed over my shoulders.

The grip was like steel clamps. The force hauled me upward, lifting me clean off the turf until my toes barely brushed the stone.

I stumbled, gasping, and looked up into the face of the groom.

My thoughts dissolved.

Alpha Lucius Ravencroft was devastating. His presence was a physical weight, crushing the air straight out of my chest with the pure, predatory aura of an apex wolf. Broad shoulders filled out a midnight-black coat tailored to perfection, tapering down to a lean waist and powerful frame. Dark hair fell in loose waves across a sharp, sculpted brow. His jawline looked chiseled from obsidian, tense and dangerous.

And his eyes.

They burned with pure, liquid silver. The pupils were dilated, glowing with a cold, terrifying Alpha power that made my knees weak.

My inner wolf, usually timid and quiet in my chest, stood right up and whined in fascination. She didn't cower. She leaned toward him, fascinated by the overwhelming scent of winter frost, cedar, and dark amber radiating off his skin.

My brain, completely battered by the fall and overloaded with panic, misfired.

Covered in vanilla icing, grass, and crushed lilies, I blinked up at him. "You are aggressively hot."

A muscle in his sharp jaw twitched once. His silver eyes narrowed, scanning my face, the smeared frosting on my cheek, and the dead body bleeding out on the stone behind me.

"You just killed my bride, and you're commenting on my face?" His voice was low, deep, and smooth, cutting through the humid courtyard like an icy blade.

The reality of the blood on the stones slammed back into my skull. The heat left my face instantly.

"It was an accident," I stammered, my voice shrinking into a squeak. "I swear to the goddess, it was an accident. The branch snapped, and I fell down the hill, and then my hand caught the dress—"

From behind the manicured hedge up on the terrace, Cleo's frantic shriek carried on the wind. "Oh gods, she killed someone! Talia, run!"

"Don't run, you idiot!" Rhea yelled right after. "We need a lawyer! Plead manslaughter!"

Lucius didn't look toward the bushes. His eyes never left mine. His fingers tightened on my shoulders, his leather gloves creaking under the pressure. The sheer weight of his Alpha aura pressed down on me, demanding submission.

His voice dropped into something lethal. "What pack are you from?"

"Ashcreek," I squeaked, fighting the instinct to lower my head. "I'm nobody. This is a mistake. I didn't mean to—the branch broke and I fell—"

"You're from Ashcreek?" He tilted his head, a cold, sardonic curl touching his lips. "And you crashed an Onyxmoon Pack wedding?"

"Technically, I crashed through the wedding," I corrected desperately.

"You killed my bride," he repeated, flat and merciless.

"That was an accident!" My voice cracked. "She's dead. I know, okay? I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll do anything—"

"Anything?" He looked at me, really looked, taking in my torn dress, my smeared makeup, and the way my knees shook.

Before he could speak again, the shuffling sound of heavy ceremonial robes approached the altar.

An elderly pack priest stepped out from the shade of the stone pillars. His white beard fell to his chest, and his rheumy eyes fixed directly on me with an unsettling gleam of reverence.

The priest raised both hands toward the sky. "The signs cannot be ignored. The Danvers blood was weak. The Moon Goddess has intervened once again to choose your seventh bride."

I choked on the air in my throat. "Seventh?"

"The other six are dead," Lucius said flatly.

My blood ran cold. "Six. You've had six wives, and they're all dead?"

"Yes," he replied.

"And I'm number seven?"

"Correct."

"Is this a marriage or a survival game?" I yelled, terror tearing the words from my throat.

His jaw ticked. "Both."

He turned his head toward the armed enforcers standing at the perimeter of the dais. "Strip the dead woman's gown. Fit it to her body within ten minutes, and drag her back to the altar."

"I am not marrying you!" I shouted, struggling against his grip.

"You killed my bride," Lucius said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You owe me a wedding."

"That's not how marriage works!"

"It is when you kill an Alpha's intended." He leaned in, close enough that his pine-and-frost breath brushed my temple. "Of all the idiots who could have killed her, it had to be the one with an ember gaze."

My mind spun. "Ember gaze?"

"Get her dressed," Lucius commanded the guards. "Ten minutes."

He stepped away, turning toward the altar steps. He paused, looking back over his broad shoulder.

"Try not to die tonight," he muttered, silver eyes lingering on my face. "I'm curious about you."

He walked away, leaving me frozen.

Two burly royal guards seized my arms, hauling me backward across the courtyard lawn.

"Wait!" I yelled, thrashing against their grip. "Cleo! Rhea! Don't leave me!"

Up on the ridge, the branches parted. I caught a glimpse of Cleo and Rhea bolting toward the tree line, disappearing into the dense forest in pure self-preservation. They were running for their lives.

The guards dragged me through a heavy oak side door into an adjoining stone dressing room. The space was furnished with a carved vanity, a velvet chaise, and full-length mirrors. An older Onyxmoon attendant stood waiting, silver shears in hand and pins tucked into her hair, while two junior maids brought in Camilla Danvers's torn white gown.

"We need to work fast," the older woman said, eyeing me with clinical detachment. "You're smaller than she was. We will have to take in the waist."

"I'm not doing this," I argued, my voice shaking as I backed toward the wall. "This is insane. You cannot force someone to marry a stranger."

The woman stepped forward and began slicing open the ruined stitches of my borrowed dress. "You killed his bride. Bride for bride. That is the law of the blood debt."

"It was a horrifying accident!" I screamed, shivering as the cold air hit my skin. "I refuse to marry a madman!"

The attendant paused, meeting my gaze in the mirror. The sharpness in her face faded, replaced by an expression of hollow pity.

"Honey, you do not want to refuse Alpha Lucius," she warned in a low murmur. "The last wolf who dared defy him did not live to see the sunrise."

My heart dropped into my stomach. "He killed them?"

"Killing is an understatement." She lifted the dead woman's gown, shaking out the folds of lace and ivory silk. "Now hold still and put this on. Your groom is waiting."

Outside the thick stone walls, a low vibration shuddered through the floor. The brass horns and drums of the ceremonial wedding march began echoing across the courtyard, heavy and foreboding.

My wedding march.

I stared at my bruised, cake-streaked reflection in the gilded glass. My hair was tangled with leaves, black mascara ran down my cheeks, and the cold lace of a dead bride was being pinned tight against my ribs.

This morning I had put on ridiculous heels to confront my cheating boyfriend.

Now I was about to walk down an aisle toward an Alpha with six dead wives.

I had accidentally killed my way into a cursed union with the most lethal Alpha alive, and I was utterly screwed.