He takes my hand and strokes it over his fuzzy sheen as he says, “It is hard for me, your protector, but even harder for your fenrir to love you as greatly as we do.”
I understand his words…I think. He’s afraid I won’t want to marry FJ because of the multi-hour silent treatment. But...
“This isn’t about love, this is about living. All I want is for you to live.”
I tell him this, once more trying to make him understand why I did what I did and why I don’t want to participate in this farce of a wedding. But my words only seem to bring Olafr pain. He brings my hand down and rubs it against his chest as if trying to swab out some sad emotion.
Then with a mournful look, he lets me go.
Evelyn quickly takes advantage of Olafr finally breaking our physical connection and hauls me down the stairs. The next thing I know, I’m in the open ballroom with a white leather wall of wolves on either side of me. They’re all shouting, a mix of jeering and laughing, and I can’t tell if they’re congratulating me or shouting their disapproval about my mate switchout.
In either case, the music abruptly switches to “Bag Full of Money,” letting both the haters and the friends know this wedding is happening whether they like it or not. I walk down the informal aisle with Rick Ross crowing about a bitch who looks so good, he not only compares her to a bag of money, but lets her count his cash while she’s riding his dick. Much like the wedding dress, this is the Detroit pack’s off-brand idea of romantic.
I can only wonder what FJ thinks about all this. And as I walk toward the steps at the front of the stage, my eyes bounce everywhere, trying to stay on high alert.
I know my father didn’t just cave. I know, like I know the C++ code for the dragons in Viking Shifters, he still has something up his sleeve. And I can smell the incoming double-cross as sure as the old blood coating the stage’s back wall.
My eyes go to FJ, standing on the stage with my father. But this time I don’t bother reaching out to him, because I can almost feel his staunch silence, resolute and surrounding him like an invisible wall, determined to keep me out.
Still, he’s a sight to behold in our traditional groom’s wear: black leather pants, a suit jacket with leather trim, and a leather tie with our insignia on it. With his crazy hair smoothed back into a neat man bun, and his sword strapped to his back, he should look out of place, but…he doesn’t. In fact, he seems totally comfortable. Like the Mad Max scene unfolding around us intimidates him zero percent.
His gray eyes meet mine and flare, like whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t me in this dress. And for a moment, his wall slips and I can tell…he likes what he sees. Likes me.
That’s when the roar of the Mad Max crowd and Rick Ross’s many bitch-drops fade into the background. Because for one chest-aching moment, it almost feels like this is real. Like we are truly mates fated to be together forever.
“A fated mate cannot be denied.” FJ’s words from the week before whisper across the space between us.
But then FJ seems to remember what I did, and moreover how angry he still is that I did it. And his expression goes so icy, my breath catches.
I’m at the steps now. It only takes a few minutes to climb them, but it feels like a trip of a thousand miles with FJ watching me with his frosted-over eyes. He doesn’t say anything when I finally reach him. He doesn’t even acknowledge my arrival. Just turns to face my father.#p#分页标题#e#
So I do the same, feeling hollow down to my bones. We’re together on stage but it feels like we’ve never been so far apart. Not even when we were in two different centuries.
I find myself looking at my father, willing him to start the damn ceremony already so we can get to the part where he breaks whatever promises he made to FJ.
I don’t mean that. I really don’t mean that. But I don’t realize how much I don’t mean that, until my Dad calls out to the crowd, “I’m going to begin this wedding here today with the story of my father and the Princess of Arkansas.”
No! I scream on the inside, my stomach freezing over with horror. Then I say it out loud. “No, Dad! Please don’t do this!”
But my protest is drowned out by the loud approving yell of the crowd.
You see, there are two versions of a Detroit pack wedding ceremony. One, based in human tradition, and one based on a tradition only our pack adheres to, because it’s based on our founder’s mating story. Also, because it’s truly fucked up.
Back in the day, my grandfather was the son of a poor Arkansas farmer, living in one of the only majority black state packs in the nation. At the time, the pack’s princess was pledged to one of the wealthier members of their pack, the son of the wolf who owned their town’s only bank. Despite his humble background, my grandfather grew up to be big and strong. Because of his size, he was given the job of protecting the princess 24/7, so no one else could claim her when she went into heat. When that time came, my grandfather did as instructed and ran to get the banker’s son. But instead of bringing him back to the princess, Granddad pulled out a shotgun, killed the banker’s son, and then claimed my grandmother as his own. Which is how they ended up mated in Detroit. Because they were hiding out from my grandmother’s father, the Arkansas alpha, who was killing mad that a farmer’s son had claimed his precious daughter.