Rejected By The Heir, Claimed By The True Alpha

Felicity POV:

The door to the small preparation room behind the altar was ajar, just a crack. Enough for me to see my intended with my stepsister.

Donn Carlisle had Brianda pressed against the ancient oak table, the very one where generations of vows had been signed. His hands were on her, possessive and sure, while her pale ceremonial gown was hiked up to her waist.

For one suspended second, my mind refused to understand what my eyes had already seen.

Donn Carlisle. My intended.

Brianda Tate. My stepsister.

The bridegroom I was supposed to bond with tonight, and the golden daughter my family had always wished I could become.

The scent hit me first. Donn's sharp, clean scent of cedarwood, tangled with the cloying sweetness of Brianda's gardenia perfume. It was the smell of betrayal.

Then Brianda's eyes, those innocent blue pools, flickered towards the door. They met mine.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips.

Her hand moved, deliberately, to rest on her stomach. A stomach that was no longer flat, but held a gentle, unmistakable curve.

A gasp tore from my throat, silent and sharp.

Donn froze. He turned, his face a mask of panic that quickly hardened into arrogance when he saw it was only me. Only Felicity. The Wolfless girl nobody wanted.

He pulled away from Brianda, casually adjusting his trousers.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice laced with the casual cruelty I knew so well. "You're Wolfless. You can't complete a true bonding anyway. This is just a formality."

Brianda giggled again, pulling her dress down. "You should thank me, sister. I'm fulfilling the real duties for you."

The silk of the ceremonial gown suddenly felt like a cage, its seams digging into my ribs.

It had been made for Brianda. Perfect for her delicate frame, her blonde hair, her blue Tate eyes. On me, with my dark hair and green eyes, it had always felt like borrowed skin. A lie.

A reminder that I didn't belong.

Only minutes earlier, I had still been in the bridal chamber, trying to breathe through that lie.

All morning, they had dressed me in another woman's future and called it duty.

The clock on the mantelpiece had ticked past the hour. Donn had been late.

Mrs. Gable, a maid with kind eyes and a perpetually worried expression, had bustled in and whispered, "Just a few more moments, dear. Alpha Euan is confirming the final details with his son."

Her smile had been too bright, too forced. Her gaze had flickered away from mine.

She had been lying.

And I had known.

That was why I had sent her away, slipped out of the bridal chamber, and followed the faint, familiar sound of Brianda's suppressed giggle through the stone corridor.

I had taken off my heels before leaving the hallway, carrying them by their straps so no one would hear me coming. My bare feet crossed the cold marble with the careful silence of a servant moving through a house that had never been hers.

Now I stood at the door and understood exactly what everyone had expected me to swallow.

A coldness, deeper than the marble beneath my feet, spread through me. It wasn't the searing heat of rage. It was the absolute zero of a dead star. The humiliation, the years of being second-best, of being the strange, dark-haired cuckoo in a nest of golden birds-it all coalesced into a single, sharp point of clarity.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I turned and walked back to the main ceremonial chamber. My bare feet made no sound.

Behind me, Donn cursed under his breath. Brianda whispered something sharp and frantic, but neither of them stopped me.

My eyes landed on the altar. Draped over a silver stand was the bonding veil, a cascade of moonlight silk and seed pearls, meant to symbolize purity and fidelity.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips.

Donn and Brianda followed me out, their faces smug. They thought I would accept this. That I would stand there and play my part in their farce.

I walked past them, my gaze fixed on the veil.

I picked it up. The silk was cool and heavy in my hands.

Then I turned towards the tall, ornate candelabra standing beside the altar, its long white candles burning with steady flames.

Without a moment's hesitation, I pushed the beautiful, expensive lie into the fire.

The silk caught instantly.

A whoosh of orange flame shot upwards, devouring the delicate fabric. Black, acrid smoke billowed towards the high, vaulted ceiling.

I held the burning veil aloft, a torch of defiance. A funeral pyre for my own pathetic hopes.

The smoke hit the ceiling.

A shrill, piercing alarm began to shriek through the entire manor.

The smug looks on Donn and Brianda's faces dissolved into pure, unadulterated horror. They understood, too late, what I had done.

I looked at them, my face calm, my eyes dry. There were no tears left for them. Only ash.

I could hear shouting from outside the chamber doors. The panicked cries of guests, the heavy, running footsteps of the guards.

"Put it out, you bitch!" Donn lunged for me, but the heat and flames drove him back.

"Donn, forget it! Let's go!" Brianda shrieked, grabbing his arm, her own self-preservation kicking in.

I let the last, smoldering remnants of the veil drop from my fingers. The black ash drifted down, staining the pristine white of my gown. A perfect mourning dress.

The great oak doors to the chamber burst open.

And the eyes of the entire Silver Moon Pack fell upon us.