Page 146 of Never Submit

Which is part of the reason why I haven’t allowed myself to think about her since I left the cabin office, not fully. But she’s there regardless, lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow I can’t shake. I remember the fire in her eyes as she stared up at me with my cock in her mouth. I feel the warmth of her skin beneath my hands.

I clench my fists, the memory of her threatening to take over me again.

No. I can’t think about her. I can’t let myself want her.

This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need to do.

Straightening my tie, I force myself to focus. Catarina and I might not have love, but we’ll have strength. Unity. Purpose. In this world, that’s what matters.

If that means sacrificing a piece of my soul, so be it.

My wolf growls low, a rumble of defiance that echoes in my chest. He doesn’t agree, and he never will.

This isn’t his decision. It’s mine.

With one last deep breath, I walk out of my dressing room and stride into the main part of the church. The scene before me feels surreal—white flowers arranged in towering displays, delicate white ribbons draped across the pews, candles flickering with soft, golden light.

It’s pristine, soft, elegant, but sterile. Perfect in the way only Catarina would demand.

The bridesmaids are dressed in sleek black gowns, a stark contrast to the purity of the rest of the décor. The groomsmen from Catarina’s pack are clustered near the altar in their matching tuxedos looking like they’ve stepped out of a magazine.

It looks damn near perfect—something I would have loved once upon a time, before meeting Ren.

The worst of it is that I don’t recognize any of the people filling the pews. Not one familiar face.

The realization hits me harder than I expect. My pack isn’t here. Of course they’re not—they’re holed up in the camp, hiding from Andras, licking their wounds. Still, I’d hoped for something. Forsomeone. Noble, at least.

But he’s not here, either. Did I push my beta so irrevocably he decided not to show up?

It’s better this way. He might have tried to convince me not to go through with it.

He doesn’t understand.

I shove the thought aside and walk up the aisle, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The weight of the surroundings bears down on me. The chatter of the crowd dims as I pass, a sea of strangers turning their heads to watch me. Their eyes are polite, their smiles practiced, yet none of themknowme.

None of them understand what this wedding really is.

At the front of the church, I take my place before the altar and feel the groomsmen shifting uncomfortably at my arrival. I keep my face expressionless. My shoulders are thrown back and my head high. I suddenly feel like I’m walking into a grave. Pre-dug. No one else can see it. I did it to myself.

I force myself to stand still, to focus on the ceremony ahead. Catarina will walk down that aisle any minute now,radiant in her dress, no doubt—the perfect image of a bride.

I should feel something.

A hollow ache twists in my chest, and I push it down. This is what’s best for the pack. What’s best for all of us.

I tell myself that over and over again as I wait for Catarina to appear at the other end of the aisle and seal my fate for better or for worse.

Ren

The church looms ahead, pristine and immaculate and picture-perfect, its white stone exterior glowing in the setting sun like some kind of holy beacon.

I hate it. The sight of it makes my stomach churn.

The nauseatingly perfect decorations start in the courtyard—white roses spilling over every surface, delicate ribbons trailing from pillars, and an archway so overdone it looks like it belongs on a wedding cake. Leading the guests into the bowels of the church and the sham waiting for them there.

It’s lush, expensive, and absolutely sickening.

The wolf in me wants to destroy it all and trample those white roses until the dirt gives them color.

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