Kaelen's POV
Minutes before I raised that veil to claim my bride's lips, I believed myself the most fortunate alpha alive.
The moon goddess had granted me something extraordinary. A genuine mate bond. Such gifts were so scarce that I never dared hope for one myself. She had examined this union of politics and convenience between Daphne and me, then decided we were suited enough to bind together with her blessing.
My mother would find peace knowing I had secured a mate. The thought brought me some comfort. She had only weeks left before the sickness consuming her from within claimed her completely. Every healer I consulted delivered the same verdict. No cure existed. Her failing health was precisely why I had traveled to Willow Brook Pack in the first place.
Her final wish was to witness my wedding. She needed to depart this world believing her son would not face the future alone, that someone would stand beside him after her passing. She craved the assurance that pups would eventually arrive to continue our bloodline, securing our legacy before her body surrendered. That drove me to Willow Brook, the most vulnerable and smallest pack, bearing an offer they could never refuse. I accelerated every wedding arrangement, rushing through traditions that typically took months.
I had sworn to bring my bride to her bedside immediately following the ceremony, allowing her to bless our union with whatever strength remained in her frail form.
Yet the instant I lifted that veil, my entire existence shattered, recreating the devastation I felt when learning of my mother's diagnosis.
My bride was not Daphne. She was her sister. The bridesmaid I had noticed earlier.
Daphne Sinclair, the woman I was meant to marry, stood directly before me with her face battered and bloodied, accusing her sister of stealing her rightful place.
"She struck me unconscious," Daphne sobbed, her fingers barely grazing her swollen features. "I awakened trapped in the storage closet. I spent twenty minutes fighting to escape."
My gaze shifted to Lyra. Every trace of color had drained from her face. She stared at her sister as though looking at a complete stranger, her jaw slack with disbelief.
"That cannot be..." Lyra whispered, her voice so fragile I almost missed it.
The truth was assembling itself before me, creating an image I refused to accept. An Omega driven to such desperation that she would assault her own blood and claim her position at the altar. These situations occurred occasionally. Wolves committed unthinkable acts when desire consumed them completely. When they would destroy any obstacle to achieve their goals.
Yet studying Lyra's expression, witnessing the authentic bewilderment and horror etched there, uncertainty began growing within me.
Then I experienced it. Her emotions. The bond was transmitting them directly to me.
Not with crystal clarity like a fated mate bond would provide. But sufficient to grasp the general nature of her feelings.
Terror. Bewilderment. Betrayal. Desperation.
No victory. No satisfaction. None of the emotions I would anticipate from someone who had successfully executed such deception. Even fear of discovery should carry traces of achievement beneath it. Instead, all I sensed from her was complete confusion, as if she could not comprehend how she had arrived at this moment.
Perhaps that was intentional.
Perhaps this comprised part of her act.
You expect me to believe in your innocence, I thought with icy calculation. You want me to doubt myself.
She possessed remarkable audacity to assume I would fall prey to such obvious manipulation.
Did she consider me a complete fool?
The evidence was undeniable. Daphne, beaten and bruised. Lyra, positioned at the altar in her sister's stead. The mother, horrified and shocked. An explanation that made complete logical sense even though something felt fundamentally wrong about it.
Perhaps the artificial bond was clouding my judgment and reasoning. I scowled. I needed to sever it immediately.
This disaster had barely begun making sense when Daphne's accusing finger fell. Her legs gave way and she crumpled to the floor.
"Daphne!" Luna Helena shrieked, lunging forward to catch Daphne before she struck the ground. "Someone help me! Daphne!"
The great hall erupted into pandemonium. Voices rose in shouting, bodies surged in movement, demands for answers mixed with calls for vengeance.
They lifted her away, her head hanging limply, her bruised face slack with unconsciousness. Helena pursued them, weeping, and half the assembled guests rushed after them.
I remained at the altar with the binding rope still connecting my hand to Lyra's. The bond pulsed between us, and through it, I experienced everything she was feeling.
Strangely, genuine concern for Daphne flowed through the connection. I supposed it could be fabricated. Or perhaps she simply feared the consequences if she had accidentally caused her sister's death.
No. This was deliberately orchestrated, I reminded myself coldly. Displaying concern was safer than appearing indifferent.
Liar. I growled quietly, furious that the chosen mate ceremony had become a complete farce. My pack shared my sentiment, their voices rising in angry chorus, overlapping with sharp outrage and bitter insults.
"Release them from their binding," one of my pack members shouted. "This is blasphemy."
"It constitutes an assault against Ironfang," another snarled. "An insult we cannot overlook."
I turned deliberately, allowing my stare to sweep across the assembled crowd.
The Ironfang wolves had already risen, bristling with aggression, hands positioned near weapons with eyes blazing with fury that required only my permission to unleash.
Elders huddled together, exchanging urgent whispers in tight formations.
On the opposite side, the Alpha of Willow Brook appeared completely devastated. Like a man watching the earth collapse beneath his feet.
"What explanation does your pack provide?" I demanded.
My voice reached further than intended. Or perhaps the hall was simply waiting for those words. The noise ceased, leaving tension so severe it felt capable of drawing blood.
The Willow Brook Alpha swallowed with difficulty. "Alpha Kaelen, we had no knowledge of any deception. I give you my solemn oath, this was not authorized."
A harsh laugh escaped me, brief and bitter, containing no trace of amusement. "A chosen mate ceremony was desecrated at the altar," I stated, "and you stand there claiming it was unauthorized. Perhaps Willow Brook should cease existing under your leadership."
"Alpha Kaelen," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "Please show mercy. I swear to you, we were ignorant of this plot."
I felt Lyra flinch beside me, like a wounded creature preparing for another strike. All color had fled her face, and her eyes appeared glassy, unfocused, as though she was lost in some distant memory. Her hands trembled where they hovered near the binding rope, fingers curved as if expecting to be slapped away.
"She is merely an Omega," someone growled from the crowd. "And she dared occupy a Luna's rightful place."
Her terror spiked so abruptly it crashed into my chest. The bond ignited with it, and my jaw clenched as I fought the impulse to attack every voice in that room that generated such fear in her. But I restrained myself.
This was not entirely my own reaction, I told myself. She was somehow manipulating this through the bond. Using it to her advantage in some calculated way.
This catastrophe was her creation, and I refused to resolve her problems. Regardless of the conflicting emotions battling inside my mind.
"Silence," I commanded.
The word fell into the hall carrying the full weight of my authority. The room obeyed instantly, even the elders falling quiet. Lyra stiffened beside me, as though bracing for a physical assault.
The bond pulsed again, uneasy, frightened, hyperaware of every change in my demeanor. I needed this cursed bond destroyed. It was contaminating my judgment with something weak and disgusting. It attempted to force me to experience emotions I had never chosen for myself.
Like sympathy for this deceiver. Like the compulsion to shield her. I refused to be burdened with a manipulative, scheming omega. The moon goddess must have committed an error.
I would not be swayed by artificial and amplified feelings.
I looked down at her one final time. This woman who had deliberately positioned herself at the altar in her sister's place, made a mockery of me, and expected to escape consequences.
My rage was no longer consuming. It had transformed into something much colder.
"Elder Helga," my words were ice. "Sever the bond."