Chapter 6
Marcus POV:
The Grand Hall of the Darkmoon Pack was suffocating.
Thousands of white lilies had been arranged around the dais, their scent thick and cloying. It was supposed to be romantic, but to my wolf, it smelled like a funeral.
I tugged at the collar of my ceremonial tuxedo. The fabric felt like a noose.
"Stop fidgeting," my mother hissed from beside me. "The Alphas from the Eastern territories are watching. You look like a nervous pup."
"I am not nervous," I snapped, my voice dropping an octave. My Alpha aura flared, a wave of dominance that made the nearby servers stumble. "I am impatient."
It was time. The Marking Ceremony. The moment I would officially claim Rachel and secure my legacy through Oliver.
But first, I needed Sarah.
I had sent my Beta, Thomas, to collect her from the cabin. She was to sit in the front row. It was cruel, perhaps, but necessary. The pack needed to see her submission. They needed to see the former Luna bow her head to the new order. It was the only way to stop the whispers about my legitimacy.
I checked my watch. They were twenty minutes late.
"Where is she?" Rachel whispered, sidling up to me. She looked stunning in a white silk gown that hugged her curves, but her scent was spiked with anxiety. "If she doesn't show up, people will think she's protesting."
"She has no wolf to protest with," I muttered. "She has no choice."
Just then, the heavy oak doors at the back of the hall banged open.
The music stopped. The chatter of three hundred guests died instantly.
Thomas stood in the doorway. He was usually the picture of composure, a warrior built of granite and discipline. Now, he was pale, his chest heaving, his dress uniform covered in dust.
He didn't walk. He stumbled toward the dais.
A cold dread coiled in my stomach. My wolf, usually dormant these past few days, paced restlessly in my mind.
"Alpha," Thomas gasped, falling to one knee at the foot of the stairs.
"Speak," I commanded. The word vibrated with power, echoing off the stone walls.
"The transport," Thomas choked out. "We found it near the Northern border. Just past the Grey Ridge."
"Is she late? Did the engine fail?" I demanded, stepping down the stairs.
"No, Alpha." Thomas looked up. His eyes were haunted. "Ambush. Rogues. Dozens of them."
He pulled a tablet from his jacket and held it up.
The image on the screen burned into my retinas.
It was the black SUV I had rented for her. Or what was left of it. It was a twisted skeleton of metal, engulfed in flames. The surrounding snow was stained black with soot and red with blood.
"No," I whispered.
"The driver is dead," Thomas reported, his voice trembling. "Torn apart. And the passenger seat... Alpha, there was so much blood. The scent was stale, but it was hers."
"Liar!" I roared.
I snatched the tablet and smashed it against the stone floor. Glass shattered, skittering across the polished marble like diamonds.
"She is alive!" I bellowed. The force of my voice cracked the champagne flute in a guest's hand nearby. "She is just playing games! She wants to ruin this day!"
I closed my eyes and slammed my mental walls down, focusing all my energy on the Mind-Link. This is the telepathic bond that connects every wolf in the pack to their Alpha. It is usually a hum of voices, a hive mind of emotions.
Sarah, I pushed the thought out, screaming it into the void. Sarah, answer me!
Silence.
Not the silence of someone ignoring a call. It was the silence of a severed wire. A dead line.
There was no static. No faint heartbeat. Just a cold, abyssal nothingness where her presence used to be.
"Marcus," Rachel said, reaching for my arm. "Baby, please. Everyone is watching."
I spun on her, a growl ripping from my throat. My control was fraying. The beast inside me was clawing at the bars of my sanity.
"She is gone," I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.
"It... it's a tragedy," Rachel stammered, her eyes darting to the crowd. "But we must continue. For the pack. For Oliver. We can't let the Rogues win by stopping the ceremony."
I looked at her. Really looked at her.
My mate—my chosen mate—was standing there, talking about a party while the woman I grew up with was burning in a ditch.
"Continue?" I asked softly.
"Yes," Rachel urged, her hand tightening on my bicep. "We need to show strength. Sarah... Sarah was weak. This is just nature taking its course."
My wolf slammed against my ribcage.
Nature?
I looked at the shattered tablet on the floor. I looked at the terrified guests.
And for the first time in three years, I felt a crack in the foundation of my own arrogance.
You may also like
