MAEVE
I was still reeling, my mind spinning from the images that had clawed their way into my head. My body felt foreign, too heavy, as if the weight of the vision had left me physically drained. I could barely keep myself upright, and Siobhan's worried face only deepened the fog of confusion that clouded my thoughts.
I couldn't dwell on it. Not here. Not now.
Before I could find my footing, I sensed him.
Ronan.
His presence filled the space even before I turned to see him striding toward me, his eyes sharp, scanning me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. The air between us crackled with tension, the strange, overwhelming pull that had been building ever since the rituals. I could feel him—his concern, his authority—pressing down on me as if the air itself thickened around him.
"Maeve," Ronan's voice was low, commanding, but there was an edge of something else. Worry? His hand gripped my arm lightly, but firmly enough to steady me, as if he knew I was about to topple over. "What's going on?"
I froze under his touch, my heart racing. He must have sensed the change in me, the way my energy had shifted after the vision. He had to feel the panic rolling off me in waves, even if I tried to hide it. He was the Alpha, he probably could smell every fucking feeling on me. And yet, I couldn't tell him everything.
"I'm fine," I lied, as convincingly as I could, which, let's be honest, wasn't very convincing at all. The odds of him buying it and walking away were practically zero. The last thing I needed was to unravel in front of him, to let him see just how deep the fear really went. Honestly, I could barely wrap my own head around what had just happened, so how was I supposed to explain it to him?
"Don't lie to me, Maeve," Ronan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I can feel it—something's wrong. What aren't you telling me?"
"What's wrong? Let's see—being married off like a bargaining chip ranks pretty high on the list."
Not to mention this freaking vision I just had.
I looked away, pulling my arm from his grasp. As I did, my gaze landed on Siobhan, standing just a few feet away, watching us like a hawk. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable but tense, and it suddenly hit me—I'd completely forgotten she was still there.
Just moments ago, I had been speaking with her, leaning on her for support as I tried to make sense of the vision. But the second Ronan came close, his presence had consumed everything, pulling me into a storm I couldn't escape.
Her eyes darted between me and Ronan, suspicion etched in every glance, and I could see exactly how this must look to her. From the outside, the tension was palpable, and I was painfully aware of just how fragile I seemed. It hit me then—I was still unraveling, still reeling from what I had witnessed.
But Ronan didn't seem to notice her presence at all. His focus still locked on me, waiting for an answer I couldn't give.
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, and I could feel the heat of him—how the bond between us seemed to tighten with each passing second.
"Maeve, I get it. I was right there with you, remember?" His tone was steady, but there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes. "I know this isn't what any of us wanted, but we have to make it work, at least for now. And don't think I haven't noticed you're hiding something from me." His voice softened, though the authority in it was unmistakable. "Don't shut me out. If something happened, I need to know. We're in this together, whether we like it or not."
Together.
The word clung to me, heavy and complicated. I didn't want to be in this with him. This was supposed to be temporary—a stand-in wedding, a political patch. But now, with the rituals that had bound us more tightly than either of us had expected, there was no easy escape.
I shook my head, trying to find some semblance of composure. "I'm just… tired. It's been a long night."
Sure, just "tired." Not "my-life-is-spiraling-out-of-control" tired or anything.
Ronan's eyes searched mine, and I knew he didn't believe me for a second. He could sense my hesitation, the fear still thrumming beneath my skin. But he didn't push. Not yet.
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the Alpha mask slipped. "You don't have to handle this alone," he said, his voice quieter. "If something's happening to you… we'll figure it out."
I felt a knot tighten in my chest, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Not that I didn't want his help—I didn't know how to trust it. Ronan was bound by duty, by his pack's needs, by this whole mess we'd been thrown into. He didn't care about me. Not really. Not beyond what this cursed bond demanded of him.
And yet… his concern felt real.
"I need some air," I said, this time without hesitation. I turned away from him, trying to smile. His closeness was suffocating, not because of what he was, but because of what he represented—a world I was being pulled deeper into with every passing moment.
Without waiting for a response, I slipped through the crowd, ignoring the murmur of voices around me. My heart pounded in my chest, the remnants of the vision still flashing behind my eyes, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.
I felt his gaze on me, even as I moved farther from him. He was watching. Always watching.
But I wasn't ready to let him in. Not yet.
As I stepped into the cool night air, the sounds of the reception faded behind me. The moon—blood red and looming—hung overhead like a sinister omen. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady my breathing, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. But the weight of the vision clung to me, dragging me down.
Isabelle's face… the blood… the darkness. I couldn't shake it.
And Ronan… I could still feel his presence, even now, as if he was a part of me.
But I couldn't trust him with this.
Not yet.
***
I found myself at the edge of the clearing, far enough away from the reception to be swallowed by the shadows of the trees. The cool breeze should have calmed me, but it did nothing to still the tremor in my hands. I tried to shake off the vision, tried to push Isabelle's blood-streaked face from my mind, but it clung to me like a second skin.
I rubbed my temples, willing the memory to fade, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the terror of that vision. I could still feel the slick warmth of blood on my hands, the metallic scent clogging my senses.
What does it mean? Isabelle was missing, yes, but what was I seeing? Was it a warning? Was it happening right now? Or was it something else entirely?
A twig snapped behind me, and my heart lurched. I spun around to find Ronan, his broad silhouette framed by the faint glow of the moonlight. His presence was steady, grounded, like an anchor amidst my swirling chaos.
He approached slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You're not okay, Maeve." His voice was softer now, the hard edge replaced by something gentler, something I didn't expect. "Whatever happened to you back there, it's not just exhaustion."
I sent him a look that said Well, look at you, Captain Obvious.
But I'm not even sure if he could see that through the shadows.
I could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unrelenting. He wasn't going to let this go—he couldn't. The bond between us was still raw, still pulling us together in ways I didn't fully understand, but I knew he felt it as much as I did. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed help—help to figure out what the hell was happening to me. There was no escaping that now.
"I saw something," I finally admitted. The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. "Something terrible."
His brows furrowed, concern deepening the lines of his face. "What did you see?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words stuck, tangled in my throat. How could I explain the vision without sounding like I was losing it? How could I describe seeing Isabelle, drenched in blood, her face twisted in terror? I could barely make sense of it myself, unsure if I could even trust what I saw. And telling Ronan... that felt like stepping over a line I wasn't ready to cross. Not yet.
"I don't know what it was," I said, shaking my head. "But it was about Isabelle. I think she's in danger."
Ronan's jaw tightened, and I saw the flicker of something dark pass behind his eyes—anger, maybe? Or fear? His hand found my arm again, the warmth of his touch grounding me in the chilly night air.
"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" His voice was measured, but I could hear the frustration beneath it. "If something's happening to Isabelle, I need to know now."
"I don't know what I saw, alright? And it's not like we're super close or trust each other completely," I snapped, taking a step back, needing space. "I don't even know if it's real. It could be a vision, a nightmare, or—" I cut myself off, my voice growing stronger. "I don't know."
Ronan was quiet for a moment, his eyes locked on mine, unblinking. "The rituals…" he hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost like he was talking to himself. "But it doesn't make sense—you're just human. This shouldn't be possible."
I swallowed hard. The rituals. Of course. The damned rituals that had done more than just bind us together—they'd awakened something in me. Something I didn't understand. The fucking rituals I have no knowledge about at all… what had they unleashed? What had they made me capable of seeing?
"I can't make sense of it," I whispered. "I just... it felt so real, Ronan."
He stepped closer, his expression determined, his eyes searching mine as if looking for something. After a moment, the coldness in his blue eyes softened. "I believe you."
Those words, so simple, hit me harder than I expected. I blinked, surprised by the sudden warmth in my chest. He believed me. He wasn't dismissing it as some kind of overreaction or misunderstanding. He was taking me seriously. I smiled, just barely, but still. It was the first time I had really smiled all night.
I exhaled shakily, my eyes drifting back toward the forest, the shadows stretching long and dark beneath the trees. "I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice barely audible.
Ronan reached out, gently lifting my chin until my eyes met his. "We're in this together. We have learn to trust each other."
The word hung between us, heavy with meaning. I wasn't sure I wanted to accept what that meant, but I could feel the truth of it settling into my bones. There was no avoiding this now. Whether I liked it or not, Ronan and I were bound. Our fates tangled together in ways I couldn't begin to unravel.
For better or worse, we were in this together.
If I hear 'together' one more time, I might start believing we actually have a chance in this
I nodded slowly, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction. "Okay," I whispered.
But even as I said it, the flicker of Isabelle's blood-soaked face lingered in my mind, haunting me, warning me that whatever this was… it was far from over.
MAEVE
The next morning, I woke up in the room that was never meant to be mine.
I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me like an oppressive, invisible hand. The bed beneath me was new, too soft, and unfamiliar—an odd comfort that felt foreign, much like everything else about this place. My fingers brushed against the plush blankets, tracing the fine stitching of the silk comforter, each stitch a reminder of the life I didn't choose but was now thrust into. This room—this entire situation—wasn't meant for me.
My eyes traveled the length of the room. It was large, but not cozy. The walls were lined with shelves, each crammed with political tomes, volumes on pack history, and wolf lore. Scrolls about magic and documents lay scattered across a large desk in the corner, as though someone had left in a hurry, abandoning the room in mid-study. The dark wood furniture was imposing, heavy, and far too serious for someone like me. My presence in this room felt like an invasion, a bitter joke.
This was Isabelle's study. No—it had been Isabelle's study. Now it was mine, apparently. Someone had even thought to place a bed in the center of the room, an enormous thing with a headboard that nearly scraped the ceiling, draped in heavy, royal fabrics that made the space feel even more suffocating. It was a grand gesture, sure, but in a room like this? The bed felt out of place, much like I did.
The whole situation was just as absurd as the bed. Everyone at the wedding had seen I wasn't Isabelle. It wasn't exactly a subtle switch, and yet here I was, pretending to be the Alpha's new wife as if we were pulling off some grand illusion. But the truth? It wasn't fooling anyone. The guests knew. The pack knew. And you could bet the press had already picked up on how strange it all was. Why were we even pretending at this point?
For those on the outside looking in, I was supposedly adjusting to pack life, sharing a bed with my husband, Ronan. But the truth was far from that. Ronan slept next door, in the real bedroom—the one he had shared with Isabelle. That space was still drenched in the life they had built together, and thank God for that. The idea of sharing a bed with him made my skin crawl. I still loved Liam, and no rituals or political schemes were going to change that.
But why were we even playing this game? Why keep up this charade of living together when it was clear to everyone that I wasn't his chosen wife? None of it made sense anymore. This whole farce of a marriage—this wedding that shouldn't have even taken place—was unraveling in front of me, and I was starting to see just how pointless it all was.
But the real question? How were we supposed to explain this to the rest of the world? One minute Ronan was supposed to marry Isabelle, and then—ta-da—Maeve, standing in her place in a white dress. What happens when Isabelle comes back? Are we supposed to say, "Oh, sorry for the confusion, folks, just a little detour on the way to happily ever after"? Would Isabelle just slide back into her rightful place at Ronan's side, and I'd quietly exit stage left with Liam? Would the pack accept that without questioning the entire charade?The thought of that inevitable, awkward transition hung over me like a storm cloud, but strangely enough, it was the most comforting thing I had to hold onto. This wasn't real. Soon, it would all be over, and things would go back to the way they were supposed to be. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. But then there were the rituals—the ones that had bound me to Ronan in ways I still didn't understand. And let's not forget those mind-blowing visions that seemed to hijack my brain at the worst possible moments. I couldn't just wait this out; I had to figure out how to break free from all of it.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the thick fur rug beneath. It was too soft, too luxurious, and yet it irritated me. I missed the roughness of home, the little apartment I shared with Siobhan and her wife, Nimah. The floors there were wooden, creaking underfoot, and everything was small, lived-in, and messy in a way that felt like life—real life. Not this polished, grand display of status and control. Here, everything was pristine, cold, and suffocating in its perfection.
Living with Siobhan and Nimah had always been a chaotic comfort. Siobhan, my anchor, always had her arms open, ready to share a bottle of wine or to give me the pep talk I needed after a long day of wedding planning. And then there was Nimah. Brilliant and a bit reckless, always tinkering with something magical, leaving the scent of herbs and flickers of wild energy in the air.
Nimah, with her dark eyes, olive skin and wicked smile, who I once trusted implicitly—until everything fell apart with this damn wedding.
I just knew that Nimah's Coven had something to do with it. I just felt it in my bones. At the very least, they had to know more than they were letting on. I need to check if Siobhan shares my suspicions. But how could she not? She is my sister, after all, and she knew what Nimah was capable of. On the other hand, Siobhan loved Nimah—and despite everything, so did I. Nimah wasn't just my sister's wife; she was part of the family. And now she was part of the mess.
A mess that got more tangled with every passing day.
A quiet knock startled me from my thoughts, followed immediately by the door creaking open. He didn't wait for an invitation. Of course.
"Maeve."
Liam's voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a blade, bringing with it a flood of emotions I wasn't ready to deal with. My heart clenched at the sound of his voice—a voice I'd always found comforting, warm. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his blond hair messy and tousled, as though he hadn't slept either. His blue eyes, usually so bright and playful, were shadowed with something darker—anger, confusion, desperation. He looked... lost.
He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound ringing louder in the room's silence than it should have. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He just stood there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his tall frame leaning against the door as if the weight of what was unspoken between us was too much to bear standing upright.
Liam crossed the room in three quick strides, his movements tense, almost frantic. His presence seemed to fill the space, overwhelming me with the memories of all the times we'd spent together—happy, carefree moments that now felt like they belonged to someone else's life. His hand reached out before I could stop him, cupping my face, tilting my chin upward until my gaze locked with his.
"Maeve," he murmured, his voice hoarse, thick with something I couldn't quite name. Desperation, maybe. Or fear. His thumb brushed against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Maeve, please."
The look in his eyes was almost unbearable.
Before I could say a word, before I could even think, his lips were on mine, soft and familiar, pulling me into a kiss that was so painfully Liam. For a second, I leaned into it, craving the comfort of what we used to be, the warmth of his touch, the way everything had felt right when we were together. But then I felt the smell of alcohol in his breath, and it brought me back. Everything was wrong. So, so wrong.
"Liam, stop," I whispered against his lips, pushing him back gently, though my heart ached at the words.
He pulled back, his brows knitting together in confusion, frustration flashing across his features. His hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped away, though the distance felt more like a chasm. "Why not?" he asked, his voice tight. "Maeve, I love you."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I opened my mouth, but the words that came out felt hollow. "I know, Liam. I love you too, but—" My gaze flickered to the adjoining door, the one that led to Ronan's room, and all the unspoken weight of that connection.
Liam followed my gaze, his jaw tightening as he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. His blue eyes turned hard, colder than I'd ever seen them. "So that's it, then?" His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it that made my stomach twist. "You just... accept it? You just go along with this sham? Let them control you like this?"
I bristled at the accusation, the sharp edge in his voice cutting deep. "I didn't have a choice, Liam! Do you think I wanted any of this?" My voice was louder than I meant, the frustration bubbling over. "And you're the one talking about letting them control me? Where were you when Jean made that offer? Standing right behind her, like a good little puppy!" I could feel the tears of rage burning in my eyes. "You stood there, silent! You didn't say a word, didn't fight for me! You didn't even have the guts to look at me!"
His jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles turning white as his hands balled into fists at his sides. "So this is my fault now?" His voice cracked as it rose, trembling with barely suppressed rage. "I didn't agree to this shitshow, Maeve! But you—" He shook his head, pacing back and forth like a caged wolf. "You didn't fight it either."
I stood up, my pulse pounding in my ears as the anger simmered just below the surface. "Don't you dare put this on me," I spat, my fists clenched at my sides. "I didn't ask for any of this, Liam! But here we are, and I can't just keep pretending like nothing's changed. This is my reality now, whether I like it or not."
Liam stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me, his voice low and dangerous. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you're just going to let them win." His words were sharp, cutting, and they sliced through me, leaving me raw. "You're just going to be Ronan's wife now?"
His words hit like a physical blow, and I recoiled, my breath catching in my throat. "What do you want me to do, Liam? Huh? Keep sneaking around like this? Pretend I'm not someone else's wife now?" My voice wavered, but I forced myself to keep going, even though my throat felt tight. "This isn't forever. You know that! It's just temporary until we find Isabelle, and figure out what the hell is going on. But right now, this is my reality, whether we like it or not. And the worst part is that the Coven isn't finished with us yet, I just know that."
Liam's expression darkened, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy blond hair, the strands falling back into place, giving him that effortless, disheveled look he always had. But now, his usual charm was gone, replaced by something darker, angrier.
"Temporary? Really, Maeve?" His voice was dripping with disbelief, his eyes narrowing further. "How do you even know that? Do you honestly think this is just going to go away? You're his wife now, whether it's some sham or not. You're tied to him in ways I'll never be. And what then, huh? When Isabelle comes back? What's your brilliant plan for after all this?" He stepped closer, the bitterness in his laugh growing.
"I don't have it all figured out yet, but I am working on it. What have you done so far, huh? Besides drinking, of course, and blaming everyone around you—me included—but never yourself? You were there, remember? You could've said something! And now you're throwing a fit because I can't just pretend nothing happened."
"Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Maeve. Be his wife. Temporary or not. I hope it's worth it."
His words were venomous, laced with hurt, but I didn't flinch. I couldn't. Instead, I watched him turn on his heel and storm out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence, leaving me standing there, breathless and seething.
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GOT IT