Gwyneth said. “I promise.”
That was the name that Rylie’s dad used to call her. Hearing it again reminded her of him, and his reassuring smile, and it filled her with warmth.
Rylie swallowed hard and kept walking.
She brought her gaze up the aisle. Bekah had spread rose petals over the snow where Rylie was meant to walk, and her path through the audience was marked with crimson ribbon. Snowflakes caught on her veil so that she could see the tiny crystals just beyond her nose.
Her gaze focused on who was waiting for her at the altar—and the rest of the world dropped away.
Seth’s hands were folded in front of him, and the sight of him in his suit made her heart give a funny flop. His shoulders and chest were broad, filling out the tuxedo until it looked like he strained the seams. The white material offset his dark skin. That charming, slanted smile made his face glow—and glow for her .
Rylie hesitated a few steps away, heart beating in her chest like a caged animal.
Ever since she had first seen Seth, she had known that she loved him. But she had been such a different girl then. So much younger. Rylie was a different person, and she didn’t know if the change was for the better, but Seth was the same.
He still loved her. It showed in his eyes, his smile, the way he held himself. He didn’t care that she had killed more than a dozen people while sick with silver poisoning. He didn’t care about her position in the pack. He only cared about the woman he had loved for years, and in his eyes, she felt like all her sins were forgiven.
Rylie faced her aunt, who used one hand to lift the veil. Gwyn was still cradling the shotgun under her wrap.
She bent down, and Gwyn kissed her cheek. “Love you, babe,” she said.
Rylie gave a tearful smile. “I love you, too,” she whispered back.
Gwyn stepped away, leaving Rylie nothing to do but take Seth’s outstretched hand. His fingers were warm. She wished that she could kiss him now, instead of waiting for the end of the ceremony. She could have used the comfort.
“You okay?” he whispered as everybody in the audience sat.
Rylie nodded, unable to speak.
His hands tightened on hers.
“Dearly beloved,” Scott said to her left, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Rylie Gresham and Seth Wilder in holy matrimony…”
She was so on edge that she barely heard him. Blood roared in her ears.
Rylie thought she was going to faint.
Her wolf was struggling to emerge from within, making her gums ache and fingertips itch. She could smell the pack surrounding her, the stink of gun lubricant and silver bullets, hear distant footsteps on snow…
Wait. Footsteps.
Rylie’s ears perked up, and she tuned out the drone of Scott’s voice so that she could listen closer.
It sounded like someone was approaching. Running hard. Panting, gasping, staggering.
A faint breeze lifted, making her veil flutter behind her. Rylie let her eyes close so that she could take a sniff of the masculine smell of sweat and gunpowder.
“Will the bride please repeat after me?” Scott said, stirring Rylie from her daze.
She opened her eyes. Seth was looking worried.
And then his eyes focused over her shoulder.
“It can’t be,” he breathed.
Rylie gathered her skirts and turned, but she already knew who was approaching the gazebo.
Abel sprinted up the snowy hill. He was in a black tank top and jeans, completely unarmed, and looking exhausted. His foot caught on a rock under the snow, and he spilled onto the ground.
She sucked in a gasp. “Abel!”
Everyone in the audience stirred, craning to see him. Rylie heard guns drawn from holsters, safeties released, the soft growl of werewolves on the alert.
Rylie didn’t even realize that she was running until she reached Abel’s side. She dropped beside him.
“Oh my God,” she said, hands hovering over his body. She wanted to touch him, but he was looking so pale—was he injured? “Abel, what are you doing
That was the name that Rylie’s dad used to call her. Hearing it again reminded her of him, and his reassuring smile, and it filled her with warmth.
Rylie swallowed hard and kept walking.
She brought her gaze up the aisle. Bekah had spread rose petals over the snow where Rylie was meant to walk, and her path through the audience was marked with crimson ribbon. Snowflakes caught on her veil so that she could see the tiny crystals just beyond her nose.
Her gaze focused on who was waiting for her at the altar—and the rest of the world dropped away.
Seth’s hands were folded in front of him, and the sight of him in his suit made her heart give a funny flop. His shoulders and chest were broad, filling out the tuxedo until it looked like he strained the seams. The white material offset his dark skin. That charming, slanted smile made his face glow—and glow for her .
Rylie hesitated a few steps away, heart beating in her chest like a caged animal.
Ever since she had first seen Seth, she had known that she loved him. But she had been such a different girl then. So much younger. Rylie was a different person, and she didn’t know if the change was for the better, but Seth was the same.
He still loved her. It showed in his eyes, his smile, the way he held himself. He didn’t care that she had killed more than a dozen people while sick with silver poisoning. He didn’t care about her position in the pack. He only cared about the woman he had loved for years, and in his eyes, she felt like all her sins were forgiven.
Rylie faced her aunt, who used one hand to lift the veil. Gwyn was still cradling the shotgun under her wrap.
She bent down, and Gwyn kissed her cheek. “Love you, babe,” she said.
Rylie gave a tearful smile. “I love you, too,” she whispered back.
Gwyn stepped away, leaving Rylie nothing to do but take Seth’s outstretched hand. His fingers were warm. She wished that she could kiss him now, instead of waiting for the end of the ceremony. She could have used the comfort.
“You okay?” he whispered as everybody in the audience sat.
Rylie nodded, unable to speak.
His hands tightened on hers.
“Dearly beloved,” Scott said to her left, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Rylie Gresham and Seth Wilder in holy matrimony…”
She was so on edge that she barely heard him. Blood roared in her ears.
Rylie thought she was going to faint.
Her wolf was struggling to emerge from within, making her gums ache and fingertips itch. She could smell the pack surrounding her, the stink of gun lubricant and silver bullets, hear distant footsteps on snow…
Wait. Footsteps.
Rylie’s ears perked up, and she tuned out the drone of Scott’s voice so that she could listen closer.
It sounded like someone was approaching. Running hard. Panting, gasping, staggering.
A faint breeze lifted, making her veil flutter behind her. Rylie let her eyes close so that she could take a sniff of the masculine smell of sweat and gunpowder.
“Will the bride please repeat after me?” Scott said, stirring Rylie from her daze.
She opened her eyes. Seth was looking worried.
And then his eyes focused over her shoulder.
“It can’t be,” he breathed.
Rylie gathered her skirts and turned, but she already knew who was approaching the gazebo.
Abel sprinted up the snowy hill. He was in a black tank top and jeans, completely unarmed, and looking exhausted. His foot caught on a rock under the snow, and he spilled onto the ground.
She sucked in a gasp. “Abel!”
Everyone in the audience stirred, craning to see him. Rylie heard guns drawn from holsters, safeties released, the soft growl of werewolves on the alert.
Rylie didn’t even realize that she was running until she reached Abel’s side. She dropped beside him.
“Oh my God,” she said, hands hovering over his body. She wanted to touch him, but he was looking so pale—was he injured? “Abel, what are you doing
Similar Books
