บท 2: Chapter 2: The Substitute Bride
MAEVE
The dress fits me like a vice. Each breath feels heavier, like the weight of the moon itself is pressing down on my lungs. I can feel the soft brush of lace against my skin as the attendants make their final adjustments, whispering hurriedly around me. Their voices blend into an incomprehensible hum, but all I can focus on is the ceremony that's about to begin.
A ceremony I shouldn't even be part of.
The clearing is eerily silent now, the guests no longer whispering. They know something's wrong. They're wolves, witches, and all manner of supernatural beings—they can sense the tension crackling through the air like lightning before a storm. The band stopped playing long ago. And now, all eyes are on me.
Great, just what I wanted—being the center of attention at a wedding that isn't even mine.
I step out of the bridal tent, my fingers curling into fists to hide the shaking. Ronan stands at the altar, his back straight, his face a calm mask of indifference. But I know better. I see the tightness in his posture, the way his eyes flicker with something darker as I approach.
Liam stands just behind him, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. I meet his gaze briefly, but he quickly looks away, his discomfort palpable.
Oh, now you're nervous, Liam? A bit late for that, don't you think?
The ceremony begins with little fanfare. The officiant, some ancient-looking witch from Isabelle's Coven, mutters incantations under her breath. Not that I would understand any of that; my mind is spinning. This isn't real. It can't be real. I'm not supposed to be here. Isabelle is supposed to be here.
Ronan offers me his hand, and for a moment, I hesitate. His fingers twitch ever so slightly, a silent question in his eyes. Do we go through with this?
Well, at least someone's asking questions, even if it's non-verbal.
I have no choice. I place my hand in his, and a strange warmth floods through me. He's steady, solid—everything I'm not right now. The sensation shocks me, like touching fire, but I hold on, even as every instinct screams to let go.
The priestess motioned for Ronan to speak first. He glanced at me—just a quick, almost pitying look—like a man walking to his execution. Then he spoke in that calm, detached voice of his.
"I vow to protect the pack, to lead with honor, and to respect this union."
Union. Such a neat little word for the fucking disaster we were in. But at least he was smart enough not to use the vows he'd written with Isabelle—those ones had been full of love and all that romantic bullshit. Honestly, I was grateful. I didn't think I could stomach hearing that.
And then it was my turn. Fantastic. Every single set of eyes was on me, burning into my skin, just waiting for me to trip over the altar or say something ridiculous. What the hell was I supposed to vow? "I promise not to ruin your pack's reputation while accidentally becoming your wife?"
Yeah, this was going to go well.
Instead, I somehow managed to keep my voice steady. "I vow to support you and the pack, and… not mess everything up."
Smooth. Real smooth, Maeve.
Ronan's expression didn't change, but I swore I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was that a smirk? A rare Ronan Westwood almost-smile? Well, shit. We were making progress.
The officiant continues, her words a blur. I feel like I'm watching everything from outside my own body, like a marionette being guided through the motions. The formal vows are exchanged, but they sound hollow in my ears. This wasn't supposed to be my life. I'm just a wedding planner, thrust into a role I didn't ask for. Especially with my boyfriend's brother!
And yet… here I am.
Ronan's voice is calm, but there's an edge to it. His words, though spoken for the benefit of the guests, feel rehearsed, automatic. He doesn't look at me as he speaks, his eyes instead fixed on something far away, something I can't see.
Then, just as I think we're nearing the end—thank God—it happens. The energy around us shifts, a sudden charge in the air that prickles at my skin. I glance around, trying to understand what's happening. It feels… wrong. This wasn't part of the plan.
The officiant's chanting changes, growing louder, more intense. Ronan's grip on my hand tightens, and his eyes dart toward the Coven elders. My stomach drops.
No. This isn't just the official ceremony.
The whispers spread through the crowd as a sudden gust of wind whips through the trees. It's like the whole forest is holding its breath. I feel my heartbeat hammering in my chest, the sensation almost painful as the witch's voice echoes through the clearing.
There's something wrong—something beyond just the tension in the air. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it. The rituals. The magical ones. I know they weren't supposed to happen. Ronan knows it too. Hell, even Liam knows it, and he's barely spoken two words since this whole disaster started. But it's happening. The energy around us shifts again, growing heavier, like something ancient and dangerous is stirring beneath the surface.
The officiant raises her hands, her voice echoing with an authority that sends a chill down my spine. The words are unfamiliar, filled with meaning I don't understand—because I never cared to learn about the magic behind all this. That was Isabelle's domain, her responsibility. I was just the wedding planner. I wasn't supposed to be involved in this. It wasn't my job to know what the hell these rituals even entailed.
But now, I wish I had.
I glance at Ronan, his expression a mask of calm, but his grip on my hand tells a different story. I don't know what's coming, but I can feel it. I feel the pull—an invisible force between us that wasn't there before, something raw and overwhelming. It's like I'm being dragged into something far bigger than myself, something I don't understand.
I try to pull my hand away from his, but the energy between us holds firm, locking us together. My heart races as the officiant's chanting grows louder, her words taking on a rhythm that makes the ground beneath me hum with power. My blood runs cold. Whatever this is, there's no going back. No stopping it. And I have no idea what it means.
But one thing is clear—this was never supposed to happen, and I'm not sure anyone can stop it now.
My mind races, screaming at me to stop this. I need to stop this. If this ritual completes, it'll change everything—more than just political alliances or public facades. It'll bind us in ways I can't even begin to understand.
Ronan's jaw clenches, and I can tell he's thinking the same thing. But his hand remains steady, even as the energy between us crackles, threatening to spiral out of control. For a brief second, our eyes meet, and I see it—his fear, his anger, his helplessness.
He can't stop it either.
I want to scream, to demand that someone, anyone, stop this madness. But no words come out. The officiant's chanting grows louder, more forceful, and I feel the world around me begin to fade, as though everything is slipping away into some otherworldly realm.
Then comes the second ritual—another one I don't understand.
For fucks sake, Maeve, how stupid can you be?
A sudden surge of energy floods through me, intense and overwhelming. It's like being hit with fire and ice at once, burning and freezing every inch of me. I gasp, my knees buckle, but I force myself to stay upright. The power is too much, too wild. I can feel Ronan's strength merging with mine, something primal and raw clawing its way through my body, threatening to tear me apart.
My breath quickens, and I grip his hand harder, my pulse racing out of control. Anger bubbles up inside me—hot, fierce. I wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to feel this. Every nerve is screaming, every muscle trembling under the weight of it. I fight to keep my footing as the energy surges again, unstoppable, like a force of nature.
When I look up, Ronan's eyes meet mine, and the fear in them mirrors my own. We're trapped in this now, and there's no way out.
And then, the priestess's voice cuts through the air.
"You may now kiss the bride."
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