Forced Vows

TALIA POV

"Five minutes ago, she killed my last bride. I think we can bypass the sacred part."

The words cut through the frigid mountain air as I stood before the assembly in a deceased woman's blood-flecked silk gown, dirt and leaves still tangled in my hair. The pine needles dug into my bare soles, but the physical sting was nothing compared to the cold horror gripping my chest. Around the clearing, hundreds of Onyxmoon pack members stood frozen in stony silence, their silver and amber eyes fixed on me like predators watching prey take a wrong step. Twenty paces away, four guards hoisted Camilla Danvers's limp body onto a stretcher, tossing a white sheet over her ruined chest. Green, oily residue clung beneath her fingernails, dark and unnatural. Nobody spoke her name. Nobody wept. To them, she was just broken furniture cleared away to make room for the next piece.

The pack priest wiped a bead of cold sweat from his temple. "Alpha, the sacred vows bind two souls beneath the eye of the Moon Goddess. Pack law requires mutual consent before the blood witness."

"She consents," Lucius Ravencroft said.

"I don't," I tried to say, but the words withered in my throat.

I stared down at the dark crimson stains drying on the altar steps, trembling with defiance. Every instinct screamed at me to turn and run into the dark pines where Cleo and Rhea had vanished minutes before. My feet shifted, ready to bolt.

Lucius’s grip on my bare wrist tightened like an iron band. His fingers dug directly into my pressure points, cutting off the blood flow until my fingers went numb. He leaned down, his broad shadow blotting out the torches as his lips brushed against the curve of my ear. His breath was hot against the freezing chill of the terrace, smelling of crushed cedar, mint, and pure danger.

"Your parents," he said in a low whisper that sent ice racing through my veins. "Your two younger siblings asleep in their beds. Those two little runaway friends who just breached my northern ridge. I know their names, their scents, and the address of every single house they hide in. If you utter one syllable of refusal, my enforcers will tear Ashcreek apart. Your family will be dead before the hour ends."

A sick shudder ran down my spine. The ruthless certainty in his tone was not a bluff; he ruled the northern territories with iron claws, and his warriors would rip my family to shreds without a second thought. The air left my lungs in a thin, ragged gasp. I forced my chin up, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I looked straight into his silver, predatory eyes.

"Good girl," he murmured.

His free hand shot out, calloused fingers gripping my jaw with bruising force. He dragged my face up and crushed his mouth against mine.

It was not a kiss. It was a claiming.

His lips were hot, rough, and punishing, pressing down with a raw dominance that knocked the wind straight out of me. The metallic tang of blood lingered on his tongue, mixing with his dark scent. My mind screamed at me to bite him, to fight back, to tear my skin away from his suffocating hold. But deep within my core, something treacherous ignited. A sharp jolt of pure Alpha authority flared between us, sending a pulse of liquid fire through my veins. To my absolute horror, my inner wolf arched her back, whining in submission and clawing toward his aura. She recognized his power, leaning into the searing clash of teeth and lips until my head spun.

When Lucius finally broke the kiss, a faint, mocking tilt touched his lips. He looked down at me, his thumb swiping across my bruised lower lip.

The ceremonial drums suddenly thundered, heavy beats echoing off the granite cliffs. The crowd parted into two rigid lines, their heads bowed low. The pack priestess stepped up to the edge of the altar steps, lifting a massive silver chalice high above her head. White linen robes swept around her ankles, her face painted with geometric ash markings.

"The blood bond is sealed by the Alpha's mark," the priestess declared to the solemn assembly, her voice ringing clear over the drums. "By ancient pack law, the ritual of consummation must take place immediately. The elders and council members shall stand vigil outside the marital chamber until the Alpha presents tangible evidence of a consummated union and a viable heir."

My breath hitched. The blood drained from my face so fast the world tilted on its axis. "Wait," I stammered, looking between the priestess and the stone courtyard. "You expect us to do that now? With all these people waiting right outside?"

"Silence, Ashcreek stray," a sharp, imperious voice cut through the ranks of wolves.

Lady Callista swept through the parting ranks of enforcers. Heavy silver rings clinked on her fingers, and her midnight-blue velvet cloak dragged across the bloodied stones. Her features were carved from the same severe, elegant bone structure as Lucius, but her silver eyes were narrowed in venomous disgust. She stopped five paces away, looking me up and down like a filthy carcass dragged in by the tide.

"Look at this pathetic creature," Lady Callista sneered, turning her gaze toward the council elders. "She smells of river mud, pine rot, and common blood. She is not worthy of standing on Onyxmoon territory, let alone warming the Alpha's bed. She is Ashcreek trash. She will not survive the night, just like the rest."

A low, guttural snarl ripped from Lucius's chest. The air grew heavy, thick with the suffocating weight of his Alpha aura. The surrounding wolves immediately dropped to their knees, baring their necks to the gravel.

Lucius stepped directly between me and his mother, his tall frame shielding me from her icy glare. "You personally selected the last six brides," he said, his voice dropping into a register of lethal fury. "Every single woman you brought to my altar died in agony within days of entering my bed. Forgive me if I no longer value your judgment, Mother."

Lady Callista's chin lifted, though her hands clenched into fists against her cloak. "Your late father established the blood alliances. You bring shame to the Ravencroft line by forcing this mongrel into our sacred bedchamber."

"My father is rotting under six feet of granite, and you are done picking my brides," Lucius snarled, daring anyone in the courtyard to look him in the eye. "This one is mine."

Without waiting for a response, his fingers locked around my forearm like iron shackles. He spun on his heel and dragged me forward. My bare feet stumbled over the sharp cobbles, the hem of the dead woman's wedding dress catching against the stone steps. The crowd kept their heads bowed low, parting like a sea of shadows as Lucius dragged me through the double iron gates of the pack keep and up the grand, winding staircase of dark slate.

Guards lined the wide corridor above, standing at rigid attention with silver-tipped spears. At the end of the long hall stood a massive double door of ancient, iron-banded oak, carved with snarling wolves and thorny vines.

Lucius shoved the heavy wood open and hauled me inside. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind us, and the massive deadbolt slid into place with a hollow, echoing thud.

The sound of the lock sliding home felt like the lid of a stone coffin dropping over my head.

I backed away until my shoulder blades hit the rough stone wall. The marital chamber was cavernous and dim, illuminated only by dozens of thick tallow candles flickering on iron sconces. A four-poster bed draped in dark velvet sheets dominated the center of the room, set beneath a vaulted ceiling carved from black granite. Through the thick glass of the high arched windows, I could see the torches burning in the courtyard below. Outside the heavy door, the rhythmic thrum of the drums continued, keeping time like a ticking clock.

Lucius turned around, unfastening the heavy silver clasp at his throat. He tossed his formal coat onto a leather armchair and stared at me.

"Let's get one thing clear," I said, trying to steady the frantic tremor in my voice. "You threatened my family, so I played along down there. But this ritual is insane. You can go out to the hallway, tell your priestess whatever lie she wants to hear, and let me go."

"No," Lucius said flatly.

"No?" I echoed, my chest heaving against the tight corset of Camilla's gown. "What do you mean, no?"

"The council elders do not take my word on matters of succession," he said, stepping toward the bed with cold calculation. "Tangible physical evidence must be presented to the priestess waiting in the corridor. My seed on the ceremonial sheets. Proof of consummation."

The blunt words hit me like a slap across the face. "I am a virgin," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"I know," he replied without missing a beat.

"How could you possibly know that?" I demanded, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "You don't know anything about me. You can't actually expect me to spread my legs for you because of some barbaric pack tradition."

"The curse consuming my mates is rooted in dark magic," Lucius said, his voice dropping low as he closed the distance between us. "The pure vitality of my Alpha bloodline is the only fighting chance a mate has to survive the infection. If I leave my seed inside you tonight, your wolf might withstand the poison. If I do not, you will end up on a stretcher before dawn."

"The other six women had your bloodline inside them," I threw back at him. "And they're all dead."

"They were weak," Lucius said, reaching for the cuffs of his shirt. "Take off the dress."

"What?"

"We are running out of time. The priestess expects the evidence before the moon reaches its zenith." In one fluid motion, Lucius ripped his formal dress shirt off and cast it aside.

The breath caught in my throat. His chest was wide and carved of hardened muscle, his skin bearing the deep, pale lines of jagged battle scars. Down his left ribcage, intricate black markings had been inked deep into the flesh, ancient runes that seemed to pulse faintly under the amber candlelight. His broad shoulders rolled as he turned, tossing his cuffs onto the nightstand.

"Stop staring," he commanded, his back still turned to me. "Strip."

"You took your shirt off in front of me," I muttered, my fingers shaking as I reached behind my neck. "That's on you."

My trembling fingers found the row of delicate mother-of-pearl fasteners running down the spine of the dead woman's gown. One by one, I popped them free, the cold silk peeling away from my clammy skin. I let the gown slip from my shoulders, watching the heavy, torn fabric puddle at my bare feet like a shroud.

I stood there in only my thin lace undergarments, shivering as the drafty air washed over my bare thighs and waist. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Lucius turned around.

The instant his silver gaze landed on my body, his rigid Alpha composure fractured entirely.

His jaw dropped, the cold detachment vanishing in a heartbeat. His eyes dilated until the silver rims were almost completely swallowed by pitch black. His chest rose and fell in heavy, jagged pulls. For three agonizing seconds, neither of us moved. He looked at me as if the ground had fallen out beneath his feet.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped up to the edge of the mattress and dropped to his knees. The velvet bed creaked under his weight.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"What?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling candles.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand wrapping around the side of my face. His fingers were burning hot, trembling slightly against my cold cheekbone. His thumb brushed across my lips, dragging lightly over the lower curve before tracing the hard line of my jaw.

"You're fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with raw hunger. "That ember fire in your eyes. It cuts right through me."

My breath hitched. His thumb stroked down the column of my throat, pressing right against my fluttering pulse. The heat of his touch was dizzying, sending an electric shock straight down into my belly. His hand didn't stop. His rough palm slid lower, gliding over the hollow of my collarbone, brushing the swell of my breast, and trailing down the flat plane of my stomach. Every nerve ending lit up like dry tinder caught in a wildfire. My wolf pushed forward, leaning into his heavy, masculine scent, desperate for more of that searing heat. His pupils were entirely blown, dark with a primal, possessive need that made the room spin.

His fingers reached the lace band of my briefs, dipping slightly beneath the edge.

Then, without warning, Lucius froze.

The heat in the room died instantly. His hand went rigid against my hip, his fingers snapping still as if he had just touched white-hot iron. The dark haze in his eyes cleared, replaced by a wall of glacial, calculating ice.

He dropped his hand and pulled back, rising to his feet in one sharp movement.

"Get dressed," he barked.

I stood there, dazed and flushed, cold air rushing back over my heated skin. "What?"

He snatched the dead bride's torn dress and underclothes off the floor, balling them up and shoving them roughly into my chest. "Put them on. Now."

"Are you insane?" I demanded, clutching the silk against my front as humiliation burned through my cheeks. "Five seconds ago, you said the elders were waiting outside. You said your seed was the only thing keeping me alive against the curse. What happened to the ritual?"

"I am the Alpha," he said coldly, turning his back on me to grab a pair of dark trousers from the bench. "I answer to no one. The elders wait until I tell them to leave."

"You said without the bloodline, I have no fighting chance," I pressed, stepping forward despite my shaking knees. "You're just going to leave me here to rot?"

Lucius paused at the threshold of the chamber. He turned his head, his silver eyes flashing with a chilling, predatory menace that froze the marrow in my bones.

"Maybe I don't want you to fight it," he said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "Maybe I want you dead."

He stepped into the corridor, slammed the heavy oak door shut, and turned the heavy brass key in the lock from the outside.

The deadbolt snapped into place.

I stood alone in the center of the dim chamber, listening to the sound of his heavy boots echoing down the stone corridor. Beyond the thick wood, the rhythmic thump of the ceremonial drums slowly stuttered and fell deathly silent. The elders were leaving. The pack was dispersing.

I was locked in a gilded tomb.

Humiliation burned behind my eyes, but I swallowed the tears down. I was not going to curl up in a corner and wait for whatever killed the other six brides to take me. I pulled the torn dress back over my head, roughly tying the loose ribbons around my waist. If Lucius Ravencroft wanted me dead, he was going to have to do the job himself.

I began tearing the room apart.

I checked the tall windows first, but the heavy glass panes were set into iron-reinforced casements, locked tight with a mechanism hidden deep inside the stone. I moved to the carved wardrobe, flinging the doors open, searching for an iron poker, a knife, anything sharp enough to pry at the deadbolt. There was nothing inside except heavy fur cloaks and silk shirts. I tore through the nightstand drawers, scattering rolls of wax paper and silver quills onto the rug.

My bare foot kicked against a solid corner beneath the heavy velvet bed skirt.

I dropped to my knees on the wooden floorboards, lifting the dark fabric. Pushed far into the shadowed corner against the headboard was a thick, leather-bound sketchbook.

I dragged it out into the candlelight. The brown leather was scuffed and worn at the corners, smelling of old paper and charcoal. I flipped open the front cover.

The pages were filled with horrifying, grotesque sketches. Charcoal drawings of wolves caught mid-shift, their bones twisted at unnatural angles, jaws elongated into monstrous maws dripping with black ink. In the margins, tight, erratic handwriting recorded lunar cycles, herbs, and dark symbols. Intricate runic circles were drawn over and over, crossed out with heavy, angry slashes of lead. It looked like the work of a madman trying to dissect a nightmare.

My fingers turned the rough parchment faster, searching for answers.

Near the very back of the book, a crumpled page caught my eye. The edges were creased, as if someone had torn it from the binding, crushed it in their fist, and then carefully smoothed it flat again.

I flattened the paper against my knee, and the breath left my lungs in a sharp, strangled gasp.

Sketched on the page in delicate, obsessive detail was my own face.

The tilt of my stubborn chin, the small arch of my left eyebrow, the exact curve of my parted lips, and the fierce, defiant fire in my eyes. It wasn't a vague likeness; it was an exact portrait, drawn with an intimacy that made my skin crawl.

My trembling thumb moved to the lower right-hand corner of the page.

Marked in faded black ink was a date.

Ninety days ago.

Three months before I had ever crossed the river. Three months before I had ever crashed that wedding or laid eyes on Camilla Danvers. Three months before I even knew the name Lucius Ravencroft existed.

Outside the heavy stone walls, the wind howled through the dark pines, carrying the distant scent of snow. I clutched the book against my chest, an icy dread sinking deep into my bones.

My fall onto the altar had never been an accident.