Page 42 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

The atmosphere is warm, relaxed, an array of emotions and reactions. Charlotte and Elijah sit close together, their hands clasped tight, her head tilting toward his shoulder every now and then. Behind them, Suyin is scribbling something in a notebook–a supply list, maybe. At the back of the gathering, Will stands watch, his arms crossed, his attention fixedin the other direction, on the field stretching toward the boundary wall.

Peaches doesn’t come to Sunday meetings, but she always helps us decorate. Wildflowers are draped over the music stand we use as a pulpit, their petals fresh and vibrant against the weathered metal. More flowers hang from the posts that hold up the patchy sunshade overhead, scattered here and there on the ground around where I stand. She’s already started decorating for the wedding, and Peaches never does anything halfway.

It strikes me that, In three days, my niece will be married. I’ll be walking her down the aisle.

Everything about this feels surreal.

Tilda sits near the front, next to Charlotte, her hands clenched tight on the log bench until her knuckles turn white. The morning light catches in her red hair, painting her in tones of fire and warmth, but her expression is guarded, tense. I take the homily out of my pocket, smoothing the paper that’s crinkled almost beyond recognition. I’m nervous—even though I do this every week, I’m nervous. Almost as nervous as she looks.

I clear my throat. “Morning, everyone.”

The voices fade, the easy chatter quieting as the pack turns their attention to me. It’s not just respect for the Alpha Prime—it’s a trust they’ve placed in me. A trust I’m not sure I deserve, but one I’ll fight to earn.

“As usual, I’ll keep this brief,” I begin. “But I wanted to talk this morning about the things that we carry with us from before the Convergence. The things that keep us human.”

Tilda’s green eyes fix on me, narrowing slightly as if I’ve personally insulted her. I suppose that’s fair–I turned her, didn’t I?

I keep going, though.

“Many of you probably already know that Elijah and Charlotte are planning on getting married here in a few days,” I say. “Charlotte has given me permission to invite all of you. This will be our first wedding in the den since the Convergence.”

A few murmurs ripple through the crowd, a handful of smiles breaking out. Grant, who’s slipped in late, claps Elijah on the shoulder, earning a sheepish grin from the younger man. Charlotte flushes, ducking her head.

“I’m told my services won’t be needed for the wedding itself,” I continue, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “But I wanted to take just a few moments to talk about love. Yeah, call me sappy, but this legitimately used to be a part of my job.”

A few people laugh; Tilda smiles faintly, and something in me trembles.

“I try to take it easy on the Bible quotes,” I say, my tone light. “But this one really got me thinking this week. Matthew 19:6 says of marriage, ‘So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has put together, let no man put asunder.’”

I let the words settle, resonate. Suyin looks up thoughtfully, then scribbles something else in her notebook.

“In the past,” I go on, “this was often applied to divorce, and I can see where that logic lies, but…I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe it’s because of what I see here. Maybe it’s because of Charlotte and Elijah. Maybe because of all of you, your families, the love you’ve made and nurtured in a world that at times feels loveless.”

I glance at Charlotte and Elijah, sitting together near the front, their hands clasped tight. There’s an ease in the way they move around each other, a quiet rhythm that speaks of something deeper than love—understanding. Partnership.

I feel the words catch in my throat, the weight of what I’m about to say pressing down on me. I know how this is going to sound, especially to someone like Tilda. But I can’t avoid it. Not when every instinct in me screams that it’s true.

“It’s hard not to think about this verse in terms of the way our instincts, due to lycanthropy, lock into place when we meet the person we’re meant to be with. Somehow, against the odds, Charlotte and Elijah found each other. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s something else entirely. But I truly believe there’s something divine about that. About the way two people can find each other and create something whole.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the only sound is the faint rustling of wind through the wildflowers Peaches has draped around the chapel. My gaze flicks to Tilda again, and I see something shift in her expression—an almost imperceptible crack in her armor, a flicker of something that makes my wolf stir, restless and wanting.

She knows I’m talking about her–toher.

It scares the hell out of me.

I grip the music stand harder, grounding myself. “All this is to say,” I add, forcing a lighter tone, “that you’ll probably have more fun listening to Peaches give her speech at the wedding.”

A few more people laugh this time, the tension breaking like glass. I hear the warm buzz of their voices, a chuckle from Grant, even a low murmur of approval from Magnolia. The moment softens, but Tilda doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t join the easy camaraderie of the pack. Instead, she watches me with an intensity that feels like a spotlight, her lips parted slightly as if she’s on the verge of speaking.

I look away, swallowing hard, and glance at the crinkled homily in my hand. “Now,” I say, “on to announcements.”

I scan the crowd, steadfastly ignoring the way Tilda is staring at me. Magnolia stands, balancing an infant on her hip while shushing the toddler clinging to her leg. “I’ve got a quick one,” she says, her voice light but firm. “If anyone finds a stray crayon, it’s probably mine. Tommy, that includes you.”

The lanky boy’s face flushes red as laughter bubbles up from the group. Magnolia gives him a pointed look before taking her seat, the infant in her arms settling with a quiet coo.

Grant leans forward. “Supply run this week. I’ll need volunteers to hit the southern outpost on Thursday. Preferably people who don’t mind getting their hands dirty.”

“That’s all of us,” Will quips from the back, earning a few chuckles.

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