The Werewolf’s Bride: The Pack Rules #1 (4 page)

“I know what Grey wants,” Neela managed between gritted teeth, “you don’t have to remind me.”

“Apparently, I do.” Aunt Lila waved her hand—a gesture that said,
you first
.

Neela tossed me a look of such hatred, I flinched. I quickly straightened, but she noted the miniscule reaction and smiled. Now, she believed I was afraid of her, and that’s how she wanted me to feel. Well, feelings were one thing and actions another. Truth was she scared me. But that didn’t mean I had to show that fear. Next time, I wouldn’t.

She stalked past Aunt Lila, who watched the werewolf’s long, angry strides. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and sadness. She shook her head slightly, and then she reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Take your time.”

“Thank you.” I took her hand and squeezed it gently between mine. “For everything.”

“Of course, dear.” Sorrow flashed in her gaze—a dolorous lightning strike so quick, I wasn’t sure if I interpreted it correctly. Then Aunt Lila walked away. Had I imagined her anguish? If I hadn’t, why would she feel such distress when she looked at me?

“Arabelle!”

My mother’s voice rang out, and I turned. My parents met me with double hugs—their arms drawing me close into their warmth, into their love. I held on to them both, soaking in the feeling of safety they invoked. For this moment, I didn’t feel so alone or so afraid.

They let go, and as they stepped back, I saw the tears shining in their eyes. My father was a teacher at the school—one of three instructors who taught all the students in our town. My mother, like many mothers in Bleed City, stayed at home and took care of the house and the family.

“We’re so proud of you,” said Mom. She grabbed me and embraced me again. “You have been such a good daughter.” Her arms tightened around me even more, and I knew she was thinking of Carolyn, and how she should’ve been standing here at this moment. I don’t think Mom ever understood my twin’s resentment about the Choosing. Carolyn’s suicide had left my parents mired in shock and confusion. Even three years later, they seemed befuddled by her actions.

My father touched Mom’s back, and she let go of me, putting her arms at her sides stiffly as though trying to control her hugging urges.

“Are you all right?” asked Dad. “The alpha came to the house and told us you tried to save Mr. Sanders.”

“I was too late.” I bit my lower lip. “Grey came to see you personally?”

Dad shared a look with Mom and then he smiled. “He was very impressed by the way you handled yourself. He…he asked for your hand in marriage.”

Shock reverberated through me. Grey had asked my parents for permission before he’d told me I was his chosen bride? What if they had said no? Would he have backed off? Freed me from the ceremony? I couldn’t imagine the outcomes, because they were as far-fetched as the moon being made of cheese. My parents fully expected me to participate in the Choosing. And the alpha could have me whether my parents liked him or not. Whether I liked him or not.

Why had he gone to my parents first?

“It was such an unexpected thing,” said Mom, her voice filled with wonder. Her gaze found mine. “I know there’s not much between you now, but he’s a good man. He’s honorable.”

Honorable
was my parents’ highest compliment. They were no doubt thrilled that I would soon be the alpha’s mate, which brought all kinds of esteem in our community. But I knew them too well to believe they sought supercilious compliments or favors. They loved me. As bound by laws and God and the pact as they were, they ultimately wanted the best for me, for everyone. Daily they prayed for me to find harmony in this life—just like they still prayed for Carolyn to find peace in the afterlife.

“I love you both,” I said. “Very, very much.”

“We love you, too,” said Dad.

“We’ll keep you in our prayers, Arabelle,” said my mother. “May God hold you in his arms when you need His comfort. And may the alpha bring you happiness.” She cupped my face. “You will do fine. Just fine.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m a Winton.”

They smiled. After a final hug, they moved past me and toward the main entrance into the ceremonial grounds. I watched them until they reached the carved arch of the Shadow Pack’s temple.

They turned—their arms around each other, smiles on their faces. Dad gave me a thumbs-up, and Mom blew a kiss.

Then they were gone.

I
DIDN’T REALIZE
I was crying until I felt the tears roll down my neck. Apparently, the emotion held so tightly within me, tied up in those gnarled balls of dread and hope, had burst without my knowledge. I stopped, digging into my purse for my compact. I had to assess the damage to my make-up. Lord forbid I show up to the ceremony looking like a crazed raccoon. Not to mention the surety of Neela saying something nasty about my smeared mascara.

I peered closely at the compact’s tiny mirror. It was too dark in the narrow natural-stone hallway for me to see my reflection.

I looked behind me, studying the sliver of yellowish-orange light that denoted the setting sun. Should I go back out into dying light of day and try to fix what my tears had destroyed?

No. It was probably wiser to forge ahead. I would endure whatever unkind words flowed from Neela’s mouth. Aunt Lila would help me repair my make-up before I had to take my place within the Choosing circle.

Decision made, I traipsed forward, only to trip over—something. I grabbed at the wall, my palm dragging across its sharp, rough surface. I barely managed to keep from falling onto my face. My heart skipped a beat as I righted myself.
Merciful heavens.
What had I stumbled over? Rock? Brush? Dirt pile? It didn’t seem too far a stretch to believe Neela might’ve left an object in my path in the hope I’d fall and break my neck. Well, then. I guess that thought showed what a low opinion I had of her.

I usually carried a small flashlight with me, for the night walks home from the diner, but I’d downsized to a smaller purse to match my shoes. There’d been no room for the flashlight or for a dozen other items I liked to have with me. The passageway was too dark for me to see much else than the sliver of light ahead—the entrance to the temple.

The scrape on my hand stung.

And I’d dropped my compact.

A banner day, Arabelle.
I sighed—and trudged onward.

A
UNT LILA WAITED
for me
. To my relief, Neela was nowhere around. Aunt Lila took one look at my face and ushered me to a more private location. Private being a relative term, of course—and in this case, it meant a shadowed corner just a few feet away. I got the briefest of looks at the carved stone seating and brightly painted rock walls of the ceremonial grounds. The quick peek left me with an impression of a Roman theatre built within an Egyptian temple.

“My goodness,” said Aunt Lila as she whipped out a package of tissues and a make-up compact. “What happened to you?”

“I’m afraid I cried against my will.” I showed her the scrape. Blood welled in skin-torn rivulets. “Then I tripped and almost kissed the dirt hello.”

Aunt Lila tsked. “Both your poor hands have suffered injuries now.” She pressed a tissue into my hand and then applied one to my cheeks, no doubt rubbing off the mascara streaks. My other palm had been injured the night before when I’d used a jagged piece of glass to fend off the scruffer who’d attacked me. The stitches itched underneath the cotton wrapping.

“I’m a mess,” I said. “Inside and out.”

“We all are, dear. The way life comes at us—it’s a wonder any of us get up in the morning.” She dotted my cheeks with a light beige powder. She studied my face and smiled. “There now. All fixed. Not that you need enhancement. You’re pretty as a spring flower, Belle.”

It was nice of her to say, but I really fell into the “average” category. No dimples in my smile, no slanted cheeks, no plump lips. My best feature, or so I’d been told, were my hazel eyes. The color wasn’t unique—my twin, my mother, and both my aunts had it, too.

I peered into the compact’s tiny mirror. Aside from the fact my eyelashes had less mascara now, my make-up seemed otherwise intact. I shut the case and handed it to Aunt Lila. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, we need to get to you to the waiting area. It’s nearly time for the bride procession.”

I followed Aunt Lila around the long rows of stadium seating that had been carved out of the canyon walls. On the other side of the canyon were huge, brightly painted wall reliefs with scenes from werewolf mythology. Given that werewolves held mating and breeding in high regard, (and were far more comfortable with sexuality than humans) several of the painted enactments featured brazen, sexual acts. I found myself blushing to the roots of my hair, but unable to stop sneaking looks at the fantastical scenes. Even so, I was relieved when we reached a small set of rock steps. Aunt Lila led the way, and I soon found myself in a small underground chamber.

A dozen or so Bleed City brides chattered excitedly in clusters of brightly colored dresses and clashing perfume scents.

“Here, honey. I’ll take your purse and make sure it gets to your mating den.” Aunt Lila gave me a quick hug before disappearing up the staircase.
Mating den.
I shivered. What would it be like when Grey took me for the first time?

“Belle!” My friend and co-worker, Cacie Lynn, rushed to me. She looked a picture in her pale purple dress with its off-the-shoulder ruffle and knee-length swirl. Her blonde hair had been French-braided with tiny lavender flowers. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!” She threw her arms around me.

I returned her embrace and then stepped back. “You look beautiful, Cacie Lynn.”

She smiled, pleased by the compliment. “You’re sweet.” She narrowed her gaze as she put her hands on her hips. “But I heard you’re taking home the prize. How on earth did you snag the alpha before any of us have seen him?”

“All she had to do was murder a werewolf,” said an asinine female voice from behind me.

“Have you met Neela?” I asked Cacie Lynn, who’d gone wide-eyed. “She’s a real peach.”

Neela snorted, bumping hard into my shoulder as she passed us, striding through the crowd of suddenly quiet women.
A wolf in the hen house.

As soon as Neela disappeared into a hallway on the opposite side of the room, conversations burst forth like popped balloons expelling confetti.

Cacie Lynn looked like she’d swallowed her tongue. She grabbed my shoulder. “Who was that? Did you really kill a werewolf?”

“Neela is in charge of the enforcers. Stay as far away from her as you can. She’s not real enamored of humans.”

“Hmph. I won’t put her on my Christmas card list,” sniffed Cacie Lynn. She wagged a finger at me. “Now answer question number two.”

“Mr. Sanders was murdered by a Blood Pack scruffer,” I said in a low voice. “He attacked me, too, and I defended myself.”

Cacie Lynn sucked in a shocked breath and placed a hand against her bosom. “Good lord, Belle. You could’ve been killed!”

“Line up!” Neela’s strident command cut through the room like a sharp blade, instantly silencing all of us. We turned toward her, and I noticed Colt was standing beside her. The blond-haired man had been with Grey when they came to Mr. Sanders’ home last night. They’d been tracking the scruffer, but I got to the beast before they could. Colt’s gaze found mine, and he winked at me.

The silly gesture soothed my nerves, and I smiled in thanks.

“Everyone was given a number,” said Neela. “Number one needs to stand here.” She pointed at a spot in front of the hallway. “Then two. Three, and so forth. Let’s go!”

“I’m number five,” gushed Cacie Lynn. “Wish me luck!”

“Luck,” I called as the girl hurried to take her place.

I stayed where I was, waiting for everyone to queue up before I became the caboose of the bride train.

“I’m number ten!”

“No, Sally. You’re number eleven!”

The girls began to squabble, and Neela stomped over to handle the conflict. Colt took the opportunity to sidle up to me. He bumped me with an elbow.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” I answered honestly.

He chuckled. “You’ll be all right, Belle.”

“Really? Is Grey’s bark worse than his bite?”

“Nope. His bark is pretty bad-ass, but his bite is worse.” He grinned at me. “I have a feeling you’ll like it, though.”

No doubt he was referring to our first mating, and that subject was not something I wanted to discuss with anyone. “Don’t you need to be lined up with the other grooms?”

He shook his head. His long blonde hair had been braided into a thick rope that draped over the sword strapped to his back. “I’m an alpha. If I choose a bride tonight, that’s the same as saying I’m going beta. No can do. As soon as you and Grey make a baby, I’ll move on to find my own pack to lead.”

“So the pack has two alphas?”

“Not technically. I’m Grey’s half-brother. Grey’s mom died in childbirth and the alpha re-mated a year later to my mother. Then I was born. I’m younger by two years. Right now, I’m Grey’s heir.”

“Until he has a son.”

“Or a daughter. A pack alpha doesn’t have to be a man, you know.”

Surprised, I turned to him. “It doesn’t?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Werewolf packs tend to be patriarchal because so few females are born full shifters. But everyone can earn the right to be the alpha—doesn’t matter what’s between your legs.”

“Oh.” I felt heat rush up my neck and flood my cheeks.

“Whoops. Sorry, Belle. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to speak to a proper lady.”

“It’s all right, Colt,” I said. “Bleed City’s daughters tend to grow up sheltered.”

He slung his arm around me and squeezed—the same affectionate way a brother would try comfort his little sister. “I think it’s adorable.”

“Colt!”

Neela’s strident tone had us both looking toward the annoyed werewolf. She stood ram-rod straight, her arms crossed. The pinched expression on her face made her look like she’d sucked on a lemon. The girls in the queue looked from Neela to the two of us, their gazes wide and curious.

“Are you going to tell me that Neela’s not so bad?” I whispered.

“Hell, no,” Colt whispered back. “She’s a complete bitch.” He gave me one last squeeze and moved away, joining Neela at the head of the bridal line.

She offered a heated, pointed gaze at Colt, which he completely ignored. He grinned widely—dare I say wolfishly—at the ladies. “This way, my beauties,” he said. “Let’s get your marry on!”

Excited twitters and giggles emitted from the nervous girls and then they were moving, following Colt and Neela into the hallway.

I trailed behind the last girl—Mary Stiller. She was probably the most naïve, the most sheltered daughter in Bleed City. She’d only turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago. Her parents had homeschooled her. She’d never had a job, and had never gone to any town socials. The only place I’d ever seen her was in church and at the diner’s Sunday brunch, but always in the company of her parents. I noticed the slight tremor of her shoulders as she walked forward jerkily, almost like she was being yanked forward by an invisible rope. She didn’t exude the enthusiasm of the other women.

I eased up behind her. “Mary.” I reached out and gave her arm a brief squeeze. “You’ll be all right. We all will.”

She didn’t respond, maybe she couldn’t with all the tension she was keeping boxed in, but she gave me a slight nod.

We walked up a short set of stairs that led directly into the
orchestra
. This semi-circle of stone—and the risers of carved seating called
cavea
behind it—were the most reminiscent of an ancient Roman theatre. I’d had something of a fascination for the Romans in high school and once wrote a paper about this type of structure for a history class. The other half of the huge space was the most like an Egyptian temple, with its brightly painted reliefs and tall red-rock columns carved with symbols only known to the werewolf culture.

Above us, the night sky looked like diamond-studded velvet. It was an appropriate dome for this cathedral created from nature. Torches with large, flickering flames dotted the entire place, giving off plenty of light for both participants and observers.

Once the first girl took her spot, the rest of us spread out beside her. Five feet away, a similar line of werewolf males faced us. There were nearly twice as many of them.

I couldn’t help myself. I sought out Grey and found him immediately. He stood in the middle of the pack, slightly in front of the other grooms, his long, black hair loose and flowing. He wore black slacks with a blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His dress shoes gleamed in the torchlight.

I could feel the heat of his gaze on me before I gathered enough courage to meet his eyes. His stare telegraphed the intensity of his lustful desires.
Oh, mercy.
I felt the breath leave my lungs in a sudden, anxious
whoosh
. I couldn’t deny that he was handsome. He stood taller, stronger than the men around him. I felt my belly quiver in anticipation, in fear. A foreign heat gathered between my thighs and my nipples tightened. Unnerved by my reaction, I looked at the ground and tried to slow the rapid beat of my heart.

Werewolves chose brides based on their pack ranking. The alpha went first, then the beta, and so forth. A werewolf had the right to forfeit his choice if he found none of the brides to his liking. It was possible higher ranked werewolves would take a pass, allowing one of the lesser ranked to find a mate.

The brides, however, didn’t get the same opportunity. We were the tributes. Though the pact ensured that we would be treated well and given all that we needed to create family and home within the pack, no one was guaranteed emotional connections.

The Choosing was not about making love matches.

It was about completing business transactions.

But despite the coldness of such an exchange, more than one true mating had come from the Choosing.

I did not, however, believe that would be my experience.

I knew very well there was a difference between physical pleasures and soulful bonds. I couldn’t expect more from Grey than what the pact promised. Yet, I felt some regret that I would never have the opportunity to fall in love. It sounded like such a wonderful experience—certainly more pleasant than being mated and bred with a werewolf.

“We are gathered tonight to honor the pact between the Shadow Pack and its protectorate, Bleed City.” Aunt Lila stood on a raised podium behind the werewolf grooms. Her voice projected easily throughout the theatre—yet another aspect that could be traced to Roman ingenuity. “As we have done since the time our saviors arrived and gave us shelter and sustenance, we offer our eldest daughters to the males of the Shadow Pack. We give you our greatest treasures in gratitude for your protection of our community.”