It was sunrise when they brought her to the temple.
Not the one deep in the mountains, used only for ancient rites—but the smaller stone structure nestled at the edge of the territory, wreathed in silver mist and morning light. The sky was still streaked with pale violet, the chill of night clinging to the air, heavy with dew and incense.
Celine’s slave dress had been replaced. She wasn’t sure by whom—she hadn’t dared ask—but it hadn’t been her idea. The new gown was simple, ceremonial, the fabric a pale grey that shimmered faintly with golden embroidery when it caught the light. It felt soft against her skin but made her feel more exposed than clothed.
Leon had tossed the bundle at her feet earlier without a word, watching her with that cool, unreadable gaze.
“Don’t get ideas,” he said as she lifted it. “I don’t like filthy things standing too close to me.”
She hadn’t replied.
Now, she tried not to fidget as the priestess spoke—her voice rising and falling with well-rehearsed reverence. She talked of fate, of the sacred bond between mates, of the Moon Goddess’s divine will. But Celine barely heard any of it.
At the altar, Lilith stood beside Luke, her golden hair woven into intricate braids, her ivory gown shimmering with every slow, calculated movement. She looked every bit the perfect Luna—regal, composed, untouchable.
And yet, her eyes never stayed on Luke for long. Celine felt them on her, sharp and unrelenting, lingering like a blade waiting to be plunged between her ribs.
Lilith wanted to see her break.
Celine knew it as surely as she knew the weight of the stares pressing down on her, the whispers curling in the air around her like smoke. She knew Lilith was waiting for the moment she faltered, waiting to catch the slightest flicker of pain in her expression, waiting to see if Celine would finally, after everything, shatter beneath the weight of her loss.
The air inside the temple was cold, sacred, and unbearably still. Sasha and Reese fidgeted in their places uncomfortably, impressed by all the splendor, but always thinking of their position first. Felix was nowhere to be seen, perhaps assigned for guarding the ceremony from outside.
The priest stepped forward, robed in deep green, his voice echoing through the stone archway. “We are gathered here today for the union of Lilith Quinn, future Luna of the Midnight Crest Pack, and Luke Arden, the future Alpha of the Midnight Crest Pack.”
Celine’s hands tightened in her lap.
“If anyone is against this union,” the priest continued, “speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
A hush swept through the crowd.
No one moved.
But Celine’s body did—just barely. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles went white. Her back remained straight, her lips pressed together, but her chest rose too quickly, too sharp.
Her heart and mind screamed at her to stand. To say something. To tear through the distance and drag Luke away from the girl who had taken everything.
Leon, seated at her side, didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
But he saw it. The tremor in her hand. The sheen in her eyes, just shy of falling. The way she held herself so tightly together that it looked like breaking would be easier.
He said nothing. Because there was nothing to say.
Silence.
The priest resumed.
Attendants stepped forward, handing the ceremonial rings to Luke and Lilith. Gold, engraved with the Midnight Crest sigil. Celine didn’t blink, didn’t look away—but the sound of metal clinking against Luke’s palm felt louder than anything else in the room.
Luke took one of the rings. He didn’t look at Lilith right away, but then his voice rang out—measured, sure.
“I, Luke Arden of Midnight Crest Pack, take you, Lilith Quinn, as my mate and Luna.”
His tone was strong. Public. Perfect.
But Celine saw it. The twitch of his fingers as they pressed into Lilith’s hand. The too-slow swallow. A pause—just a beat too long.
A hesitation no one else except Celine caught.
The smirk that curled at the corners of her sister’s mouth was slow, victorious.
She could have left it at that, could have let the moment stand as it was, but that was never enough for Lilith. Celine saw the decision flicker in her eyes before she moved, before she turned her face up toward Luke, before she lifted herself onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was longer than necessary, deliberate in its slowness, meant to draw the moment out, meant to drive the dagger deeper, meant to watch as it twisted. The crowd erupted in cheers, wolves howling their approval as the bond between Lilith and Luke sealed before them. Celine sat perfectly still, not allowing herself to look away but refusing to let herself feel anything at all.
A hand settled over hers beneath the table.
It was warm, steady, grounding in a way she didn’t expect.
Leon.
His grip was brief, his touch light but deliberate, the kind that spoke without words, that commanded attention without effort. His fingers curled around hers just enough to ease the tension she hadn’t realized had locked her in place, and when he spoke, his voice was so quiet that no one but her could hear.
“Now you can stop pretending.”
She exhaled slowly, keeping her gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge whatever was unraveling inside her chest.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Now I can.”