Alyssa
The wedding gown is a cage of silk and pearls. It feels heavy, a suit of armor for a battle no one else knows is being fought. I stand opposite Ethan on the ceremonial dais, the scent of white moonpetal flowers thick and cloying in the air. He is smiling. It is the smile of a king who has just won his prize. He thinks I am that prize.
The Pack Elder drones on about unity, strength, and the blessings of the Moon Goddess. The words are meaningless noise, the buzzing of flies over a corpse. My eyes are fixed on Ethan’s. I let him see adoration. I let him see a hint of bridal nerves. I let him see everything except the truth. The wolf inside me is not kneeling in submission. She is perched, waiting, her teeth sharp.
“...and now, the vows, binding Alpha and Luna, binding the pack’s future,” the Elder concludes.
Ethan takes my hands. His are warm and strong. The same hands that held Lyra close while I bled out on the forest floor. The memory is so sharp I feel a phantom ache in my side.
“I, Ethan, son of Fenrir, Alpha of the Silvermoon, take you, Alyssa, daughter of Marcus, to be my mate and Luna,” he begins, his voice resonating with power. “I pledge my strength to protect you, my heart to cherish you, and my life to our pack. I will lead with you by my side. This I swear.”
It is my turn. The entire hall is silent, hanging on my reply. I take a breath, letting it steady me. This is a performance. The most important one of my life.
“I, Alyssa, daughter of Marcus, of the Mountain Crest line, accept you, Ethan, son of Fenrir, as my mate and Alpha,” I say, my voice clear and unwavering. It sounds like the voice of a girl I no longer know. “I pledge my wisdom to guide you, my loyalty to support you, and my life to our pack.”
I pause, letting the traditional words sink in before I add the poison.
“As agreed before this council and our people, I accept this union with the sacred codicil to our vows.” I turn my head slightly, my gaze sweeping over the assembled elders, ensuring they are listening. “I will command my personal guard, their swords sworn to me. I will hold the keys to the pack treasury, its wealth managed by my hand, so that my Alpha may lead unburdened by trivialities. I accept these duties to better serve him and to fortify our future. This I swear.”
I turn back to Ethan. His chest is puffed out with pride. He hears my words not as a seizure of power, but as a public declaration of my servitude to his grand vision. He thinks my ambition is a tool for him to wield. The fool.
The Elder, looking slightly bewildered but bound by Ethan’s public acceptance, nods grimly. “The vows are spoken. The terms are sealed. I now pronounce you Alpha and Luna of the Silvermoon Pack.”
Ethan leans in and kisses me. His lips are firm, possessive. It feels like being branded. I force myself not to recoil. I kiss him back, a whisper of a promise against his mouth. A promise of the ruin I will bring upon him. The pack roars its approval. The sound is deafening.
The reception is a masterpiece of deception. I smile until my cheeks ache. I laugh at the elders’ tired jokes. I dance with Ethan, my body moving with a grace that feels utterly alien, my hand resting on his shoulder like a viper coiled to strike.
“You see?” he murmurs into my hair as we sway to the music. “This is how it should be. You and I, leading them together. They adore you.”
“They adore their Alpha,” I reply, my voice a perfect imitation of a devoted wife. “I am merely the moon reflecting his sun.”
His ego drinks my words like fine wine. “A beautiful thought, my love. A beautiful thought.”
Across the room, I see Finn leaning against a pillar. He is not celebrating. He is watching me, his brow creased with that familiar worry. He raises his glass to me in a silent question. *Are you okay?* I give him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. *I’m fine.* It is a lie, but for now, it is the only shield I can offer him.
And then I see her.
She moves through the edge of the crowd like a wraith. A plain brown dress, hair the color of straw, and eyes that are wide and perpetually startled. Lyra. She carries a silver tray of wine goblets, her movements intentionally clumsy, designed to make her seem harmless, a creature of no consequence.
She is making her way towards the head table. Towards us.
My heart does not pound. My breath does not catch. A profound, icy calm settles over me. The first move of the new game is about to be made.
Ethan has his back to her, laughing at something one of his captains said. I watch her approach, her path a carefully calculated line of intersection with mine. She ‘stumbles’ over the edge of a rug, a small, theatrical gasp escaping her lips. It is exactly as I remember.
The tray tilts. Time slows.
A single goblet of deep red wine arcs through the air. It seems to hang there for an eternity before it splashes across the pristine white silk of my gown, right over my heart. A bloody stain on a virgin sacrifice.
A collective gasp ripples through the hall. The music falters. Every eye is on me.
Lyra drops the tray with a clatter, covering her mouth with her hands. Tears, perfect and instantaneous, well in her eyes. “Oh, Luna! Oh, my goddess, I am so sorry!” Her voice is a pathetic, trembling thing. “I am so clumsy. Please, forgive me! I’ve ruined your beautiful gown.”
Ethan spins around, his face contorting into a mask of fury. “You worthless girl! What have you done?” he roars, taking a step toward her. In my first life, his rage had fed mine. I had turned on the girl, my sharp words giving her the opening she needed.
This time, I place a gentle hand on Ethan’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Ethan, please,” I say, my voice soft, but carrying a strength that makes him pause. All eyes are on me, waiting for the verdict. They expect anger. They expect a display of dominance from their new Luna.
I give them something else entirely.
I turn to the weeping omega. I offer her a smile. It is the kindest, most serene smile I can conjure. “Hush now. It is no matter.”
Lyra looks up at me, her tear-filled eyes wide with shock. This is not the reaction she was prepared for. Her script has just been thrown into the fire.
“But your gown…” she whimpers, playing her part to the hilt.
“It is only a dress,” I say, my voice loud enough for the nearest tables to hear clearly. I take a napkin from the table and, instead of dabbing at my own ruined gown, I reach out and gently wipe a stray drop of wine from Lyra’s cheek. “And a dress can be cleaned. No real harm has been done.”
I keep my hand on her arm, a gesture of comfort that is also a trap. I can feel the slight tremor running through her, the tremor of a predator whose prey has refused to run.
“What is your name?” I ask, my tone gentle.
“L-Lyra,” she stammers.
“Lyra,” I repeat, as if tasting the name of my own executioner. “There is no need for tears. Today is a day of celebration, not of accidents. Please, stand up.”
I help her to her feet. The pack is watching, rapt. The elders look on with expressions of profound approval. I can see Anya at the edge of the room, a flicker of understanding in her stormy eyes. She is seeing the same strength I saw in her, just a different form.
I turn to Ethan, who is staring at me with a mixture of confusion and awe. “My love, would you ask someone to bring me a shawl? The air grows a little cool.” I am giving him something to do, reasserting my control of the scene with perfect grace.
He nods, still slightly dazed, and signals a servant.
I turn my full attention back to my quarry. “You work in the kitchens, Lyra?”
“Yes, Luna. Sometimes,” she says, her eyes downcast. She is trying to regain her footing, to understand how the power dynamic has so completely inverted.
“The kitchens are a loud and busy place,” I say thoughtfully. “It requires a quick and certain step. Perhaps a calmer environment would suit you better.”
I let the offer hang in the air. Lyra’s head snaps up, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“I find myself in need of a personal attendant,” I announce, my voice carrying through the quiet hall. “Someone to help me organize my new chambers, to care for my wardrobe. The work is quiet. It requires a gentle hand, not a swift one.”
I smile at her again, a picture of benevolence. “I believe you would be perfect for the position. Would you accept?”
A servant arrives with a deep blue shawl, and I drape it over my shoulders, covering the wine stain completely. The crisis is over. The gown is forgotten. The only thing left is my magnanimous offer.
Lyra is trapped. To refuse would be an insult. It would seem ungrateful and bizarre. She came here tonight to paint me as a cruel and impatient Luna. Instead, I have painted myself as a saint, and her as the fortunate recipient of my boundless grace. She has no choice.
“Yes, Luna,” she whispers, the words tasting like defeat. “Thank you, Luna. I… I accept.”
“Wonderful,” I say, patting her hand before releasing her. “Report to my chambers in the morning. We will have much to do.”
I turn away from her then, dismissing her as Ethan returns to my side, his eyes shining with a new kind of pride.
“That was…” he begins, searching for the word. “That was worthy of a Luna. You were magnificent.”
“She was just a frightened girl,” I murmur, leaning into him, playing my part to perfection. “It is a Luna’s duty to be gracious.”
He puts his arm around me, pulling me close. The music swells, and the celebration resumes, louder and more joyful than before. My pack believes they have witnessed the heart of their new Luna. They have seen her kindness. Her mercy. Her grace.
They have no idea they just watched me welcome the serpent into my home. And I have her exactly where I want her. Close enough to watch. Close enough to poison.
