Page 27 of Ruthless Moon

“I’m losing a mate,” I snap, the bitterness in my voice cutting harshly. “It’s not like I won’t be able to call and talk. I just—”

“Won’t be able to ever come home,” Bast finishes for me, the finality of the statement hanging heavy in the cab.

“Yeah. That.” The crushing weight of reality settles over me like a suffocating blanket. The thought of a future without her is an empty abyss, a cruel and lonely path endlessly stretching out before me. No mate. No family.

She was right. I was lying.

This isn’t going to get easier.

Chapter Nine

Being the Honorable Woman Sometimes Sucks

IMOGEN GALLAGHER

I’m in a fancy bridal boutique, surrounded by a sea of white, trying on dresses for a wedding I don’t want. The shop is filled with luxurious fabrics that beg to be touched. Even the air sparkles with the brilliance of countless accessories gleaming with deceptive promise.

The aroma of roses unfurls around me and each dress I try on weaves another bitter thread into the tapestry of my melancholy.

Aiden wouldn’t care about the dress. Why should I? He’s marrying me to save his pack. I’m marrying him to keep the peace. It’s a political alliance. Nothing more. The bitter taste of reality is hard to swallow.

A soft knock on the stall door draws my gaze to the mirror. The image reflected back is of a woman draped in a stunning dress, a would-be bride whose eyes are empty, devoid of the joy they should hold. Even the lovingly crafted lighting, designed to bathe the wearer in an ethereal glow, fails to pierce the veil of my desolation.

Running my hands over the satin of the skirt, I’m momentarily swept away by its seductive smoothness. The dress is truly breathtaking, its fitted bodice adorned with intricate lace appliqués. My fingers glide over the tiny beads that edge the sweetheart neckline, hugging my figure with deceptive affection.

Every bead, every stitch, every delicate fold should be for Liam, not Aiden. I should be revealing this stunning dress to a man whose heart syncs with mine. But that’s a dream struggling to stay afloat in the sea of my harsh reality. Yet my fantasy refuses to lose hope. Its ghostly presence only serving to deepen the ache throbbing in my heart.

“Gen, how are you doing in there?” Meredith’s voice filters through the door, tinged with an unmistakable note of concern. “Can we see the dress? Or do you want me to look for something else?”

I stand there, silent, while my fingers continue their mindless journey over the lace, lost in their own rhythm. The physical weight of the dress is nothing compared with the emotional burden of my impending marriage.

“Hang on,” I croak, the words scraping their way past the bullfrog-sized lump in my throat.

Stepping out of the stall into the private suite fitting room, I’m met with Meredith’s and Rachel’s gasps of awe. Their eyes widen, drinking in the sight of the dress that’s too stunning to cast in my somber narrative. It’s a waste of its potential.

“Gen,” Rachel breathes, “you’re breathtaking.”

But Meredith’s eyes search my face. “You do look absolutely beautiful, Gen, but...are you going to be okay?”

She can see straight through my facade. Unable to meet her searching gaze, I focus on the carpet beneath me, a field of rose-pink acting as the sole buffer between me and the cold, hard truth.

“I can’t help but think about how this should be for someone else,” I admit. They’re both safe. They both know how my heart is breaking.

Meredith steps closer, placing a gentle hand on my bare arm. “I know,” she whispers. “But Aiden is a good man. He’s honorable. He’ll care for you, Gen.”

Honorable. Caring. Each word hits like a slap. He may be those things, but he’s not therightman. He’s not Liam.

“You’re doing the right thing and that takes a lot of strength.”

Tears swell in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I know. But it’s still...it’s still not fair.”

Pulling me close, she envelops me in a warm embrace. “I know, sweetheart.”

I rest my head on her shoulder, drawing a shuddering breath. Her words echo in my ears, their truth doing nothing to lessen the piercing pain.

As Meredith pulls away, her eyes hold mine captive once more. Turning briefly to Rachel, she whispers, “Could you cast a soundproofing spell and lock the suite door? We need to talk freely.”

Rachel’s response is an unintelligible string of words, a language that dances on the edges of my awareness, hauntingly similar in cadence to the bonding vows exchanged by wolves.

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