Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 3
An invisible clamp tightens around my throat.
Her desertion those years ago make my circumstances more disliked. That is the nicest way of putting it.
I stand alone in a canopy tent planted on a short wooden platform outfitted as a makeshift bridal suite. December's icy touch is impeded by two sets of mini heaters at their full strength in the cozy space, and lush cashmere blankets adorn most of the allotted furniture. A pair of chairs are left unoccupied at the back of the tent near its zipper door. My cousins refuse to wait inside the outdoor bridal suite in favor of the warmer indoors, even if the suite is right next to the ceremony venue.
If the bridal suite is anything to go by, our winter ceremony will be the epitome of rustic chic—heavy on the chic.
I smile softly. For all her bark and bite, my mother did an exquisite job in planning the wedding.
The wedding is held on Adolphus land as a gesture of goodwill, and as both a symbolic and literal gesture of me leaving the Blanc pack to join another. Yesterday, I spent the day sequestered to my hotel room as my mother set off with my cousins and aunts to oversee the last of the wedding preparations.
It wasn't until the rehearsal dinner that I got to spend time with Atticus before the ceremony. Even then, I had been kept away from him as much as possible by my pack mates. The experience would have been far lonelier if my soulmark had not taken the less-than-subtle snub in stride and snuck me winks and smiles throughout the night. When I returned to my room last night, I discovered a batch of warm apple cinnamon morsels delivered courtesy of Atticus from Baudelaire Patisserie and Café.
The sweet treat melts in my mouth, accompanied by an appreciative moan. A simple note had been left near the plate. It read:
Life is about to become immeasurably sweeter. Counting the seconds until tomorrow.
-A
At this very moment, the note lay hidden among one of the many suitcases traveling with me to my new home. Hidden because, if any were to see the unauthorized communication, a scene would inevitably be made.
I force my gaze away from the analog clock perched atop a small pine dresser. The time to wed is inching closer and closer, but I won't be escorted out until the clock strikes eleven. I suppress a yawn. Lycan weddings are held at night, and ours will be no different. Our ceremony will take place at eleven, followed by a midnight feast. And feast, I will.
When my eyes wander over to the tall mirror propped up in the far corner of the tent, I give pause. My dress is like something out of a dream. Lace hugs my torso and arms, while a skirt of tulle pools out around me like I'm royalty. The dress reminds me of some fanciful ballgown with its rose appliqués and natural waistline. But my favorite element is the lace and how it overlays the simple bustier and hugs the caps of my shoulders all the way to the edges of my wrists.
The back is just as stunning, showing off the lace's floral pattern against my bare back before disappearing into the tulle skirt. I give a small spin and glimpse the pearl buttons that line the skirt’s long train. Every piece fits perfectly together. I don't just look beautiful, I feel it too. I relish in the thought before it can be taken away from me by some cruel comment by my cousins later in the night.
My hair is half up and woven with ivy and greenery. The rest cascades down my back in billowy curls. The foliage is a necessary interjection of color, but it's not the only one. My bouquet is an elaborate display of red roses, which are far more cumbersome than they ought to be. The deep crimson is mirrored in my lipstick.
The last piece of color resides on my wrist. Staring down at it brings a spot of color to my face. A gift from my soulmark on our wedding day. It was delivered to me in the evening from my father as my winged eyeliner was being finished by the makeup artist.
A bracelet made of diamonds and emeralds. The sight of such a gift left me breathless. I missed the look of approval on my father's face at my look of awe, but my makeup artist assured me how sweet it had been to witness. I don't bother to inform her that our relationship is strained at best. He does not approve of my new rank in the Adolphus pack as a beta.
If I married within the Blanc pack, there is no doubt in my mind my parents meant to groom me to be the next female alpha.
"Vanity is unbecoming, Winter."
My mother's voice startles me from my deep reverie, and I turn sharply to see her entrance. A cold draft follows in behind her, but she secures the tent's flaps closed behind her quickly enough.
"Mother," I greet cautiously with a healthy dose of surprise tossed into my tone for good measure. I glance at the clock. There's still five minutes left until 11:00. "Where's Father?"
"He'll be here soon enough. I wanted to give you this." She holds out a square jewelry box.
I blink back, then take the offering from my mother before I can be scolded.
"Don't open it yet," she snaps as I go to do just that. I sigh and set the jewelry box near the clock. "Open it later. In private," she stresses. The alpha in her voice is undeniable, and her order rolls over my spine like a grindstone pressing into my bones.
"Of course, Mother," I agree and swallow past the discomfort of such an onerous order.
"Good," she says with a relieved sigh that is most unnatural coming from her. I look over my shoulder to see her expression. It is foreign to me. The gentle joining of her brows and the soft pout on her lips makes her look almost... nostalgic. Again, I swallow. "You look a vision, Winter."
"Thank you, Mother," I reply, my voice just above a whisper.
For a moment we linger in peace and silence, as daughter and mother alone. Then her sweet facade breaks, and her shoulders jerk back as she straightens her spine. "Your father is walking up now. Grab your bouquet, Winter. It's time."
++
Unacquainted faces trump the familiar as I am marched down the aisle. A violin quartet serenades from somewhere in the massive glass building that hosts our ceremony, and, in unison, the crowd stands to greet my father and my entrance as we walk the silk-lined aisle.
I attempt to keep my eyes from wandering too far around the glamorous room or become too distracted by the scent of evergreen, mint, and the strong presence of the guests' perfume. After all, the man at the end of the aisle is looking at me. A shaky breath rattles out my lungs as I avert my gaze to the aisle runner halfway into our voyage. A warm hand smooths itself across my own, and I peek up at my father. He looks solemn and proud and ready to carry out this arrangement made so long ago. He doesn't spare a glance back in my direction, but I believe it for the better.
As I sweep my gaze back toward the ground, I am caught by heavenly blue eyes. I draw my shoulders back and stand taller at his intense regard. My lips draw to a part as I sweep my gray eyes over his frame.
Beautiful.
The closer we get, the more in awe I am of the man I'm meant to take as my husband. Even in my preposterously high heels, he stands an inch or two above me. He's muscular, but not overly so. The three-piece suit he wears is tailored expertly over his broad chest and thick arms, but the growing smile upon his face turns my cheeks to red.
Strong, clean-shaven jawline.
A not-too-wide nose.
Perfect lips.
Joyful eyes.
Counting down the seconds....
I duck my head in embarrassment steps before my father brings us to a halt in front of the grand altar. Pictures of Atticus I had sought out over the years through social media did the man no justice. He's too handsome for words.
"Who here gives this woman to this man to be wed?" the officiant asks, a man of small stature and hair as white as mine.
"I do," my father replies. His lips brush the warm apple of my cheek before delivering a brisk nod toward Atticus who takes a step forward. As my father retreats, Atticus advances, his hand outstretched for me to take. I lift my eyes to him in a flutter of lashes derived from the butterfly wings waving around in my stomach.
He smiles back at me, a dazed expression settling on his face as I slip my hand into his palm. We settle ourselves before the officiant, Atticus smiling like it's Christmas morning, and me, in turn, as red as the roses in my hand.
"Please, be seated. I am Jackson Walters, and I will be the officiant for today's ceremony. Welcome family and friends. We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the marriage of Atticus and Winter. We are not here to mark the start of a relationship, however; we are here to recognize a bond that already exists. Atticus and Winter discovered their souls in one another at the start of their lives, ages eight and five, respectively.
"What shock must have run through these two fine wolves at the contact. They were both far too young to understand the gravity and precious gift they received that day. Now, twenty years later, and the two may finally begin their journey together on this night."
Jackson’s steady cadence stands in stark contrast with his elderly form. Atticus, who still holds my hand in his, squeezes it lightly.
"Let us not forget, the soulmark is our kind’s most precious gift. Tonight, we have been given the privilege to witness its beauty. Much like in the way we stop and stare in amazement at the beauty of nature, we find ourselves here, together, to revel in the emotions their union evokes. Let us be thankful we need not traverse valleys or climb mountains to experience something so indescribable.
"Tonight, let us celebrate love. Let us celebrate the joining of souls as they were always meant to be—as one. Lucille, Winter's cousin and maid of honor, will now read for us an untitled poem by R.M. Drake."
Lucy's heels tap sharp and succinct against the polished wood floor that spans the ceremony hall. She ascends the raised pulpit seated several feet behind the short line of my bridal party. My cousins wear long maroon dresses and hold a small bouquet of white roses. Lucy passes her bouquet off to her sister as she goes by to stand at the pulpit without her floral accessory. She looks the picture of perfection, and pride gleams in her eyes.
"You will be the clouds
and I will be the sky.
You will be the ocean
and I will be the shore.
You will be the trees
and I will be the wind.
Whatever we are, you and I
will always collide."
Whispered sighs and gentle sniffles trickle into my ears during Lucy's reading. I've heard it practiced a dozen times since my mother decided upon it over a month ago, but the words still fill me with longing. I center my focus on Atticus, only to catch him staring unabashedly at me in return.
His thumb swipes across the back of my palm, bringing the hair on my arms to stand on end. And then he mouths a single word. Hi. A short laugh threatens to burst from my lips at the genuine and friendly greeting. I bite at the inside of my cheek before coyly mouthing my own "hello" in return.
Anticipation curls in my stomach, stirring the butterflies there into a frenzy. I cannot pull my eyes away from the man before me. A tingling erupts along my lower back, my soulmark aching in reminiscence.
"—As long as you honor the promises that you will make to each other today, you will create a life of love and happiness." I suck in a sharp breath at the officiants ringing words. Atticus slips forward a step, re-earning my attention and wide eyes.
The officiant prattles on, but there is nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat. It drums on at a pace far faster than any other in the room.
Atticus turns my hand in his and presses his thumb into my palm. My fingers latch around it with greed, and I find comfort in the small act.
"Atticus, do you take Winter to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Atticus's chest puffs up. "By the moon, I swear it."
"Winter, do you take Atticus to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
I hesitate, my lips parting but no words passing by them. Atticus waits patiently in return. No worry or doubt crossing his features as I summon my courage.
"By the moon," I say at last, "I swear it."
"It is now time for the exchanging of rings," Jackson announces, far more upbeat than before. I twist and pass my bouquet to Lucy who takes it without a word. When I straighten, Atticus is accepting a pair of rings from his best man, the Adolphus pack alpha.
"Wedding rings have long been a symbol of love," Jackson tells the crowd gayly. "They are a tangible symbol of the vows you have just made to each other. Atticus and Winter, let these rings be a sign that love has substance as well as a soul. And despite its occasional sorrows and hardships, love is a circle of happiness, wonder, and delight. It is my hope, and that of those who surround you today, that you and your family are always encircled by love.
"Atticus, repeat after me: with this ring, I thee wed."
"With this ring, I thee wed."
A glimmering emerald winks back at me in the abundance of candlelight and soft overhead lighting. The pear cut stands alone against a white-gold diamond band. Atticus slips the ring over my finger, and a well of emotion stirs in my heart. Instantly, my eyes become glossy at the sight of the beautiful ring, and a moment later, Atticus presses the band onto my finger.
"Winter, repeat after me: with this ring, I thee wed."
"With this ring, I thee wed."
There is no hesitation this time around, only the strongest urge to put myself in this man's arms as I slip his simple band over his finger.
"Atticus and Winter, you have come here today of your own free will and, in the presence of family and friends, have declared your commitment to each other. You have given and received a ring as a symbol of your vows. By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now share your first kiss. Congratulations! Friends and family, I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes."
Those in attendance burst into applause as Atticus winds his arm around the small of my back and ushers me forward into his strong embrace.
"May I?" he murmurs. I nod, a lump in my throat forming as he bends his head toward me. Our eyes remain open and focused on one another until we are mere inches apart. My eyes close, and the sweet press of his lips to mine comes a moment later. They are gentle in their insistence, dragging themselves over my lips, once and then again before capturing my full bottom lip.
A pleasurable sigh escapes me as Atticus pulls back, tilting his forehead to rest against mine.
"Hello, Mrs. Hayes," he whispers once more for only me to hear.
++
What happens next is nothing but a blur of motion. We thank our guests as they leave the ceremony hall toward the parade of horse-drawn carriages meant to take them to the reception at a private and secure venue. Pictures with our families and the prominent wolves of our packs occur next. Then they too are ushered away to the reception for Atticus and me to have a short set of photos taken. Just the two of us.
As silly as it sounds, stars remain in my eyes even when the flash photography ends.
Our carriage ride over is passed in relative silence. A bashful shyness engulfs both of us as we hold hands in our carriage and sit close together to share warmth beneath our thick lap blanket.
"Did you enjoy your gift yesterday?" Atticus asks as we turn into a long winding drive off the main road. In the distance, a large, wooden building stands in the distance. Old-fashioned lampposts light the lane, bringing a magical ambiance to the midnight air.
"I did," I tell him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "It was delicious and had just the right amount of caramel."
Atticus squeezes my hand back and keeps his voice low as he answers. "Good. Zoelle will be happy to hear it. Unfortunately, I'm not much of a cook, but Zoelle is. I, on the other hand, am pretty good at being able to convince her to make something for me."
I laugh at his admission and peer at him through my lashes.
"Don’t worry, I'm not the best cook either," I tell him. "I could eat sweets all day."
"I'll have to remember that," Atticus murmurs as we reach our destination.
Warm hands rest on my waist to escort me from the carriage's belly. But as my feet land safely on the snow-covered ground, they remain. A strange nervousness keeps my eyes trained on the pretty pearl tie pin he wears, instead of looking into his sapphire blue eyes.
"I know our relationship isn't what most consider normal, but I want you to know that I've been looking forward to this day for a long time. To be quite frank, I'm thrilled it's here. And although we are technically husband and wife... I think we should keep things pretty slow between us." Atticus clears his throat as his cheeks turn a little pinker. "Does that sound all right to you?"
I nod. It's all I can manage with the knowledge of how close his fingertips are to touching my soulmark. I release a slow and calming breath even as my thoughts whirl. His sentiments are appreciated, but I can't help but wonder how long we will be able to stand by this rule. It isn't just his innocent touch that makes my body stir. There is a hunger he tries and fails to keep out of his eyes, and our bodies continue to angle toward one another in each other’s presence.
There is an unspoken suspense building between us, one we won't be able to ignore forever—despite my parents’ wishes.
Atticus clears his throat, and I avert my gaze to the reception hall ahead of us.
"I guess we should head inside," he says and pulls away. Atticus takes my hand, and together we walk inside as husband and wife.
++
The night's activities far surpass my expectations. The dinner is wonderful, the speeches are heartfelt, and the band plays all the right songs. Ryatt, Xander's younger brother, and Quinn, his soulmark, make sure my glass is never empty.
