Page 40 of Collar Me Crazy (Hollow Oak Mates #8)

SONYA

T he celebration began almost without anyone deciding it should.

One by one, doors opened, and townsfolk carried out platters, bottles, and steaming pots into the square until the air itself smelled like cider, roasted chestnuts, and spiced meat.

Children shrieked with laughter, chasing each other through clusters of adults, while fiddles struck up quick, bright tunes that made even the stiffest shoulders sway.

Lanterns hung from branches and porch rails, their light pooling golden against the early night.

Sonya hardly had time to take it in before Moira and Twyla swooped down on her, both with identical expressions of mischief.

“Come with us,” Moira said, tugging on her arm.

“Now? But the celebration?—”

“Will wait,” Twyla cut in, her smile knowing and sly. “Trust us.”

They led her past the laughter and music, down the familiar path toward Moonmirror Lake.

As the trees opened, Sonya stopped short.

The shoreline had been transformed—garlands of scarlet leaves and gold mums trailed along torchlit paths, their flames dancing against the rippling water.

An arch of twisted branches stood at the center, wound with ribbons that caught the breeze like living flame.

The air smelled of woodsmoke, crushed leaves, and faintly of magic itself.

“When did you—” Sonya’s breath hitched.

“We’ve been planning for weeks,” Moira admitted, eyes bright. “Ever since your first vision showed us you and Ryker were meant.”

“Planning what, exactly?”

“Your wedding, silly.” Twyla’s laugh rang like wind chimes. “Did you think we’d let you save the world without proper vows?”

Before Sonya could stammer out a protest, Freya arrived with an armful of fabric that shimmered like starlight on water. “Kaia saw it. We made this for you.”

The gown flowed over Sonya’s hands, warm with woven enchantment. Pale silver fabric gleamed as if it held the moon itself, its folds light and fluid. Just touching it made her heart thrum, as if the dress had been waiting for her.

“This is?—”

“Exactly right,” Sera said, stepping forward with flowers impossibly fresh for November. Their petals glowed faintly, threaded with charm. “You saved both realms. You’ve earned this.”

“What about Ryker? Does he know?”

“The men are wrangling him now,” Cora said with a satisfied smirk. “Pretty sure Callum’s threatening him into a tie as we speak.”

The next hour blurred in a rush of hands, voices, and laughter.

Silver threads and flowers were woven through Sonya’s ebony curls, her skin smoothed with glowing balm, her battle-worn clothes replaced with the gown that flowed like captured moonlight.

Twyla conjured a mirror from thin air, and Sonya almost didn’t recognize herself.

“You look like a fairy tale,” Katniss whispered.

Sonya touched the faint glow of Ryker’s claiming mark beneath the fabric. “I feel like one. But… is this really the time? We just?—”

“Exactly why it is the time,” Leenah said firmly. “Life is short. Love deserves to be honored when it’s won.”

By the time the sun dipped low, painting the lake in copper and silver, they guided her back to the archway. The entire town had gathered—elders in their finery, children clutching flowers, shifters and fae and witches alike, their faces shining with joy.

And there, waiting, stood Ryker.

He looked devastating in a deep green suit that made his emerald eyes blaze, auburn hair catching the torchlight like molten copper. For a man who often tried to disappear into shadows, he looked every inch the mate she had always seen in her visions—proud, steady, radiant.

Sonya nearly stumbled, and Varric appeared at her elbow. “Careful. Can’t have the bride face-plant before vows.”

“You’re officiating?”

“Of course. Legal in both realms.” His eyes twinkled. “Been waiting three decades to see this prophecy end properly.”

The seven couples arranged themselves at the arch—Callum and Cora, Emmett and Katniss, Lucien and Moira, Luka and Leenah, Elias and Kaia, Kieran and Freya, Maddox and Sera.

Each pair shone with bond-magic, forming a living circle of light that hummed around Sonya as she walked the flower-strewn path.

The Veil itself shimmered overhead, not strained now but pulsing with strength, as if it too leaned in to watch.

“Dearly beloved,” Varric began, his voice rich, “we gather to witness the joining of two souls who faced darkness and won. They did not just defeat an enemy—they chose love over fear.”

Sonya barely heard the words. Ryker’s eyes pinned her in place, full of wonder and something deeper: a promise.

When it came time for vows, he took her hands. His palms were rough from work, warm as firelight.

“I spent thirty years running,” he said, his voice shaking just enough to betray the truth. “But you made me see some things are worth running toward. You’re my mate, my home. I promise to be worthy of that every day I draw breath.”

Tears spilled before she could stop them. “Visions always showed me possibilities, not certainties. But this—” she squeezed his hands, “—this is the future I choose. Loving you every day, no matter what paths lie ahead.”

“By the power vested in me by Council and state,” Varric said with satisfaction, “I pronounce you husband and wife. Ryker, kiss your bride.”

The kiss was heat and sweetness, tasting of promise and forever. Around them, cheers erupted, fiddles trilled, children whooped. Torchlight flared higher, and where their tears struck the ground, silver-lit flowers burst into bloom, impossible blossoms glowing like stars at their feet.

“Look,” Sonya whispered.

“Even the earth is celebrating,” Ryker said, awed.

The reception unfolded like magic itself.

Tables laden with dishes from every corner of their supernatural community appeared, conjured with flair.

Music carried across the lake as fae and shifters danced together, their laughter joining the rhythm.

The Veil glowed above, not as fragile shield but as a living dome of safety, stronger than it had been in generations.

Callum elbowed Ryker as he passed, muttering, “Told you you’d wear the damn tie.” Cora swatted him for ruining the romance, but Sonya caught the grin Ryker sent back.

Emmett clapped Ryker’s shoulder with enough force to rattle him. “About time, brother.” Katniss slipped Sonya a bouquet of late-blooming roses she’d charmed to never wilt, whispering, “For luck.”

Moira, already tipsy from glowing fae-wine, announced loudly that she was starting a wager on who’d catch Sonya’s bouquet. Lucien groaned but joined in the betting, muttering about “fae traditions gone rogue.”

Freya and Kieran danced so wildly they almost toppled into the dessert table, saved only by Kaia’s quick flick of magic that levitated the pies back into place. “Some wedding,” Kieran called over, grinning. “Guess we’ll all be telling our grandkids this one.”

When Ryker finally pulled Sonya into their first dance, the town fell into a hush. He bent his head close. “How do you feel? Too much?”

She rested against him, smiling through tears. “Stop worrying. I feel perfect. Complete. We got here when we were ready.”

They swayed beneath the stars, the completed bond between them thrumming like music itself. Around them, Hollow Oak celebrated not just victory, but the power of love made manifest.

And Sonya knew—this was her home, her family, her forever.

The bloodmoon wolf had chosen love over fear, and the world was better for it.