Page 15

WILLOW

T he limo glides through the streets of New York, the city’s skyline a blur of steel and glass outside the tinted windows.

I fidget with the delicate beading on the cuffs of my wedding gown, the fabric whispering against my skin.

The dress is perfect—elegant, timeless, and just a little bit daring with its low V-back.

But it’s hard to focus on how I look when my stomach is doing somersaults.

Captain Pyke sits across from me, his massive frame taking up most of the seat.

His red scales gleam under the soft interior lighting, and his sharp, ridged features are softened by the smile he’s wearing.

He’s dressed in a tailored suit that somehow manages to make him look both imposing and refined.

“You look beautiful, Willow,” he says, his deep voice warm and steady. “When Raekon sees you, it’s going to be game over.”

I glance up at him, my fingers stilling on the beadwork. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He leans forward slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That man’s been head over heels for you since the moment you walked into his office. And today? He’s going to be completely undone.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck, and I duck my head, smoothing the fabric of my skirt. “Thank you, Captain. That means a lot coming from you.”

He waves a hand dismissively, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes my chest tighten. “It’s an honor to be here, Willow. Truly. Though I’m sorry your father couldn’t be the one to give you away.”

I stiffen at the mention of my father, my hands clenching in the fabric of my dress. “I’m not,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “I’m not sad at all.”

Pyke tilts his head, his brow ridges furrowing. “No?”

I shake my head, my gaze fixed on the city outside. “He always blamed me for my mother drinking herself to death. When he passed on, it was more of a relief than anything else. Sometimes I feel like a terrible person.”

There’s a long pause, and then Pyke clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Willow. I didn’t mean to?—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I interrupt, turning back to him with a small smile. “You’ve been more of a father to me than my real dad in the year we’ve known each other. I can’t think of anyone who deserves to give me away at my wedding more than you.”

Pyke blinks rapidly, his eyes suspiciously bright. He turns his head away, pretending to adjust his cufflinks. “Damn allergies,” he mutters, his voice gruff. “They’re terrible this time of year. My eyes are watering like crazy.”

I laugh softly, the tension in my chest easing. “Sure, Captain. Allergies.”

He shoots me a look, but there’s no real heat in it. “Watch it, or I’ll tell Raekon you’re already giving me lip on your wedding day.”

“He’d probably just say it’s about time I started standing up for myself,” I reply, grinning.

Pyke chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re probably right. That man’s got it bad for you.”

I lean back against the plush seat, my fingers tracing the intricate lace of my dress. The limo slows as we approach the venue, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Today’s the day. Today, I become Willow Keong. And I couldn’t be happier.

The limo pulls up to Penthouse 45, and I’m immediately hit with the surreal realization that this is it.

My wedding day. Pyke steps out first, his massive frame towering over the doorman, who barely manages to keep his composure.

He offers me his hand, and I take it, the coolness of his scales grounding me as I step onto the curb.

“Ready?” Pyke asks, his voice low and steady.

“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, smoothing my dress with my free hand.

Inside, the wedding planner, a man named Julian, descends on us like a tornado in a sequined blazer. “There you are!” he exclaims, flapping his hands like a distressed bird. “We’re already behind schedule. Come, come, we need to get started on the photos.”

I shoot Pyke a look, but he just shrugs, his lips twitching in amusement. “You’re the star of the show, Willow. Better get used to it.”

Julian herds me toward the photographer, a wiry man with a camera slung around his neck and a perpetually harried expression.

“Stand here,” Julian instructs, positioning me in front of a floor-to-ceiling window with the Manhattan skyline as the backdrop.

“Chin up, shoulders back, and smile like you’re about to marry the man of your dreams.”

I oblige, but after the first dozen shots, my patience starts to wear thin. The photographer keeps adjusting the lighting, the angle, the position of my hands. I’m starting to feel like a mannequin.

“Okay, one more,” the photographer says, crouching down for a low-angle shot.

I stick my tongue out.

He lowers the camera, blinking at me. “Uh… could you not do that?”

“Do what?” I ask innocently, giving him the middle finger this time.

Julian gasps, clutching his chest like I’ve just committed a cardinal sin. “Willow, darling, this is your wedding . These photos will be cherished for generations!”

“Then they’ll be cherished with my personality intact,” I shoot back, grinning.

Pyke chuckles from the sidelines, his deep laugh rumbling through the room. “She’s got a point, Julian. Let her have some fun.”

Julian throws up his hands. “Fine, fine. But one more shot, please. With Captain Pyke. The father of the bride.”

I glance at Pyke, who’s already striding over. The photographer frowns, looking between us. “Uh, the height difference is… a bit extreme.”

Before I can respond, Pyke scoops me up like I weigh nothing, cradling me in one arm like a child. I burst out laughing, and Pyke joins in, his deep chuckle vibrating through me. The photographer snaps a few shots, capturing the moment perfectly.

“There,” Julian says, clapping his hands. “Now, it’s time to get ready for the march. Willow, follow me.”

I glance out at the gathered guests as Julian leads me away.

Most of them are Vakutan, their human disguises flawless but their sheer size giving them away.

A handful of Keong Industries employees are scattered among them, looking slightly out of place but no less excited.

I make a mental note to introduce myself properly after the ceremony.

As the music begins to play, Julian fusses with my veil, his hands trembling slightly. “You’re going to be stunning,” he says, his voice softer now. “Raekon’s a lucky man.”

I smile, my heart swelling with anticipation. “I’m the lucky one.”

Julian steps back, giving me one last appraising look. “Ready?”

I nod. “Let’s do this.”

The music swells, and I’m ready, my arm looped through Pyke’s.

The aisle stretches before me, lined with towering Vakutan guests, their human disguises flickering slightly under the weight of their excitement.

They’re loud—cheering, clapping, and shouting in a mix of Vakutan and English.

One of them, a burly guy with a voice like a foghorn, bellows, “Raekon, you’re the luckiest Vakutan in the galaxy! ”

I blush furiously, my cheeks burning as Pyke chuckles beside me. “They’re not wrong,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” I whisper back, grinning despite myself. My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo through the room.

And then I see him.

Raekon stands at the altar, his human disguise flawless—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, that clean-shaven head I’ve come to love.

But it’s his eyes that undo me. Those deep, crimson eyes, the one part of him the image inducer can’t hide.

They’re fixed on me, burning with a intensity that makes my knees weak.

His lips curve into a smile, wide and unrestrained, and I feel like I’m the only person in the room.

Pyke gives my arm a reassuring squeeze as we reach the altar. “Take care of her,” he says to Raekon, his voice thick with emotion. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

“Always,” Raekon replies, his gaze never leaving mine. He takes my hand, his grip firm and warm, and I swear I can feel the faint texture of his scales beneath the hologram.

The Vakutan priest steps forward, his human disguise flickering slightly as he begins the ceremony.

He talks about the Precursors, about souls and Jalshagar, but I’m not really listening.

I’m too busy staring at Raekon, memorizing the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his thumb strokes the back of my hand.

“Willow,” Raekon says, his voice steady and sure. “I vow to protect you, cherish you, and love you, for as long as I live. You are my Jalshagar, my soul, my everything.”

My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. “Raekon,” I begin, my voice trembling. “I vow to protect you, cherish you, and love you, for as long as I live.” I pause, a mischievous smile tugging at my lips. “And I just want to say—you’re the bravest man in the galaxy, marrying me.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Raekon’s grin widens. “Brave, maybe,” he says, teasing. “But also the luckiest.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me, and it’s just the two of us, lost in each other’s eyes.

The priest says something about rings, but I barely hear him.

All I can think about is how much I love this man—this alien, this warrior, this impossible, wonderful, infuriating Vakutan who’s about to become my husband.