Page 16 of Mated to the Kingpin

The full moon is higher now, bold and watching, a solemn witness painted across the dark sky. Shadows stretch across the yard, long and flickering. Higher members of the pack are assembled, seated in the front. Behind them, each pack member who matters stands witness. Even Ronan fucking Lynch. Thesound of murmurs fades like wind through tall grass as music gently shifts.

I look up, and Claire appears at the far end of the path. My pulse slams into my ears. Everything and everyone else falls away.

She’s framed by lanterns and honeysuckle, moving with a poise that makes the world tighten around her like a held breath.

She is absolutely unreal. That dress wraps over her in ways that swallow the air from my lungs. The pale ivory glows under the moonlight. Wildflowers stitched across the hem flirt with her steps. Her hair is swept partially up, exposing her neck, the very place I ache to put my mark. She doesn’t look like a glowing bride. She looks like she’s choosing to walk to the stake and be burned with her dignity intact. And still, she’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever seen.

I hold her eyes as she reaches the altar, ignoring the tremor in her breath, the slight stiffness in her shoulders. She stands beside me with her jaw tight and eyes blazing, but something in her softness flickers when my fingers sift gently over hers. She doesn’t pull away.

Words are spoken. Rituals I’ve known since I could crawl: lineage and loyalty repeated in cadence around us. But I barely hear them.

My vows are quiet but firm when the moment comes.

“You cannot own me, for I belong to no one but the wild and the gods. Yet while the fates will it, I give to you all that is mine to offer. My claws, my teeth, my blood, my soul. I shall serve you in your needs and defend you in every danger. I vow to stand before every threat, a shield at your back and a blade at your side. From this day forward, it shall be your name I howl into the night, and your eyes I seek each dawn.

“You will have the first bite of my meat, the first drink from my cup, the warmth of my fire, and the strength of my hunt.What is mine will feed and shelter you. What is yours will be honored and protected as sacred, by myself and my pack. I vow to you my living and my dying, the fury of my rage and the depth of my mercy, both bound in your care.

“This bond is not made by man nor law, but by claw and heart, breath and bone, hallowed beneath the full moon’s eye. This is my vow to you, my mate, my equal, my home.

“Let the gods mark this promise. Let the pack remember this oath. Let the wild know: we are one.”

Her lips part. Her stare stabs me like something sacred. Then she repeats a version, stripped and hesitant, eyes steady. No embellishment. Just survival cloaked in grace.

The air thickens. The hush that descends over the pack seals something.

Our bond isn’t complete yet, not until my wolf sinks his teeth into her skin, but as she accepts the diamond eternity ring I slide onto her finger, the pack bows its head as one. Respect, even if with gritted teeth. Claire O’Reilly. It lands heavier in my chest than I thought it would.

Afterwards, there’s applause. A few men howl, a scattering of claps and exclamations beneath the vaulted sky. Reception unfolds in controlled chaos. Music swells in the lower level of the house. Tables of food and whisky are devoured. Claire and I are ushered forward, sitting at the long table reserved for us before we leave for the final part of the night. She grips her champagne like a blade.

Across the room, Ronan stands near one of the ornate columns, his suit dark as bruised pride. His gaze meets mine once. He lifts his glass. I nod once, all ice.

The wedding cake is cut. A small round tiered thing with violets and white chocolate layers. I didn’t pick it, but I made sure the bakery was local, one Claire once tagged on a socialmedia story five years ago. Her smile is reserved but sincere when I pass her a piece without asking. Small victories.

Later, after my brief toast about pack loyalty and sacrifices and a new era rising, I lift Claire’s hand and press a kiss to her knuckles under the flicker of gold lights and a dozen eyes.

“To my wife and mate,” I say softly enough that only she hears.

“By blackmail,” she mutters back. But she doesn’t pull her hand away.

The crowd howls as we retreat. The primal tide of voices rises into the night as we leave the ballroom behind. I pull her gently toward a winding path behind the manor, where the lights thin and the trees spill into sloping meadows and wild space uninterrupted. She walks beside me, her body tight but quiet, her fingers curling ever so slightly inside mine.

“Your mother said you picked out my dress?” she finally murmurs.

“Yes?”

“You remember the cornflowers.”

I nod. “I remember everything about you, Claire.”

“Tell me,” she says, voice low and firm, “what happened the night Seth died. Why did you abandon me when I needed you the most?”

My gut clenches. I’ve stared death down more times than I can count and I’ve never felt terror like this. We’re on the edge of a truth I’ve feared since the night I killed my best friend.

“Tell me what happened that night, Liam.”

She takes a single step back, putting just enough space between us that I feel it like a bruise. “Because if you don’t?” Her voice sharpens, each word laced with heat. “I swear, I will do everything in my power to reject your mark under this moon you think binds us so tightly. And being your wife won’t stop me from making your life hell until the day one of us dies.”

Her eyes blaze, no longer just demanding but daring me to deny her.

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