Page 17

17

REYES

I ’m not one to avoid my problems, but I sure as hell avoid Tilda.

I throw myself into the garden plot, working from dawn until my muscles ache and the sun dips below the horizon. The rhythm of it—the digging, the planting, the watering—keeps my mind steady. Or at least, it tries to.

But I don’t speak to her. Not directly. Not if I can help it.

Tilda is always there, always in my periphery, her presence pulling at me like the tide. She’s quick to help, a constant blur of motion as she drags the heavy tarp across the field or kneels in the dirt to pull weeds. She’s good at this—better than I expected. But I can’t let myself look at her for too long, can’t let my thoughts linger.

So I don’t.

Instead, I stick to Peaches and Suyin. If there’s a task that needs a second pair of hands, I call for them. If Tilda has a question, I let them answer. It’s not exactly subtle, but no one calls me out on it—not even Tilda, who seems content to ignore me right back.

It’s safer this way. For both of us.

Still, she’s impossible to avoid completely. Every now and then, I catch a flash of her—her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, the way her tank top clings to her back as she works, the flash of green in her eyes when she glances my way. Each glimpse is a fresh ache, a reminder of the one thing I can’t have.

And then there’s her scent. Blackberries and leather, warm and wild, catching on the breeze and hitting me square in the chest. It’s enough to drive me mad.

I keep my focus on the dirt. On the garden. On the work. It’s the only way to stop myself from crossing the distance between us, from giving in to the pull that’s already so dangerously strong.

Because if I let myself fall into her orbit, I don’t think I’ll be able to pull myself out.

She’s temptation incarnate, and I can’t risk slipping up.

By the time Charlotte’s wedding rolls around, Tilda has somehow wormed her way into the fabric of the pack. She spends evenings in the common room with the others, laughing over old board games and swapping stories. She picks up shifts in the kitchen, works tirelessly in the garden, and even manages to charm Mateo into helping her with some farm repair project. Frankie still looks at her like she’s one wrong move away from a fight, but everyone else has settled into an uneasy truce. And even Frankie , of all people, seems to have taken on a grudging respect for Tilda.

She’s making friends. Finding her place. Fitting in.

But she can’t stay.

The wedding is on the new moon, and that leaves just two weeks until the alphas go into rut and the omegas into heat. She has to leave by then. She has to.

Even if I’m starting to like her.

Even if everything in me screams to keep her here.

I remind myself of the plan. She finishes up the garden plot, we give her some of our small store of insulin…she goes home. Some of the pack think we should keep her as leverage, but I can’t stomach the idea. She’s not a prisoner. When she leaves, she’ll go as an equal.

Still, when Charlotte’s wedding day arrives, the weight of it all presses heavy on my chest.

Here too soon. She grew up without her family…and now she’s getting married.

I pour myself into the role of father of the bride, doing everything I can to make the day special. The handfasting rope Charlotte requested gets my full attention, as I wind golden thread and dried flowers around the coil, attaching my mother’s rosary for a final touch. Wedding coins—gathered from the pack and polished until they gleam—go into a wooden box Mateo and I painted in bright colors. It’s not the kind of extravagance we had in the old world, but it’s something.

It’s enough. It has to be enough.

By the time I step out of my room, the quiet hum of preparation has shifted into a celebratory mood all over the den. Mateo’s guitar echoes softly through the halls, guiding me toward the outdoor chapel. As I walk, I adjust my collar–no priest’s collar tonight, just a plain white shirt–trying to calm the nervous energy buzzing in my chest.

When I step outside, the world seems to hold its breath. The stars blaze against the deep navy sky, their brilliance unfiltered by pollution or the celestial curtain. The Milky Way sprawls overhead like a cosmic road, its beauty almost surreal. The scent of wildflowers drifts on the cool night air, mixing with the sound of laughter and soft voices from the chapel ahead.

For a moment, I forget everything else—the Convergence, the Heavenly Host, the burdens we’ve carried for years. In this small bubble of time, with music and light and life all around me, it feels like the world hasn’t ended after all. It feels like the beginning of something.

And then I catch her scent: blackberries and leather.

Tilda steps into view, and the world shifts.

She’s wearing a green dress that hugs her figure, her hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders, a hint of gold brushed across her eyelids. It’s soft and feminine, so different from the rough-edged woman I’ve come to know—and yet, somehow, entirely her.

She’s stunning. Breathtaking.

I’m doomed.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, a sly smile tugging at her lips. Her voice is low, teasing, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. “You look nice–just for me?”

“Of course,” I say, grinning despite myself. “All for you.”

Her laugh is light, playful, and it tightens the knot in my chest. “Well, I’m flattered,” she says, stepping closer. “You gonna sit down?”

“I’m part of the wedding,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Guess I’ll see you later, then,” she says, her smile knowing as she turns to walk away. Her dress swishes around her ankles, the soft fabric trailing behind her like a whisper. I can’t tear my eyes away, even as every rational part of me screams to look anywhere else.

I’m in so much trouble.

Peaches steps to the front of the chapel, her usual easy grin replaced by something softer, more solemn, as Elijah joins her behind the wildflower-draped music stand. His hands fidget at his sides—barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it. I am. I know the kid well enough by now to see the nerves he’s trying to mask.

Just inside the den, Charlotte waits, her fingers trembling as they grip the lace of her gown. Her face is flushed, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears, but there’s no doubt in her expression—just a quiet, steely determination.

“You okay?” I murmur as I step up to her.

She exhales shakily, a small laugh escaping as she nods. “I’m ready.”

I offer her my arm, and she takes it, her fingers light but firm against my sleeve. Her grip steadies as we move toward the chapel, the murmur of the pack fading into silence. Mateo’s guitar begins to sing, the melody soft and clear, carrying across the warm night air like a prayer.

The stars seem impossibly bright, the lack of pollution giving us an unfiltered view of the Milky Way spilling across the sky. Wildflowers perfume the air, their scent mingling with the faint, earthy smell of the den behind us. It feels sacred, this moment, the kind of rare beauty that cuts through the chaos of the world and makes you believe in something bigger.

As we step into the clearing, all eyes turn to Charlotte. I feel her tighten her grip on my arm, the smallest intake of breath as she takes it all in—the flowers, the glowing faces of the pack, the soft hum of anticipation. Her dress shimmers faintly in the lantern light, the lace catching and reflecting the warm glow like it was made for this moment.

And then there’s Elijah, standing tall at the end of the aisle. His shoulders square as he catches sight of her, but it’s his face that hits me. The smile that spreads across his lips is radiant, unguarded. His eyes shine like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it’s so damn pure that I feel something shift in my chest.

Pride. Sadness. Hope. It’s all tangled together, sharp and bittersweet. This is the girl I’ve barely had the chance to know, but she’s my brother’s legacy, my blood. And here she is, starting something new, something I never thought any of us could have in a world like this.

The walk feels too short, but we reach the end of the aisle, and I find myself hesitating as I take her hand in mine. Her fingers are trembling again, but her eyes are steady. I glance at Elijah, whose breath seems caught in his chest, and I can see it—he loves her, completely, recklessly, without hesitation.

I place her hand in his, my fingers brushing against theirs for the briefest moment. I step back, the pang in my chest sharper than I expected, but I let it go. This is her moment, their moment.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like maybe there’s a future worth fighting for.

The ceremony is simple, beautiful. Peaches stands at the front, her hands resting lightly on the music stand as she looks out at us, her smile so big I think she might just burst into laughter.

"Love isn't about grand gestures or fairy tale endings," she begins. "It’s about trust. It’s about showing up, day after day, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."

She glances back at Charlotte and Elijah, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You two know that better than most."

Charlotte squeezes Elijah’s hand, her fingers trembling just slightly. Elijah turns toward her, brushing his thumb across her knuckles as if to say I’m here. The gesture is so simple, so deeply grounding, that it tugs at something raw in my chest.

I chance a look at Tilda.

She’s looking right at me.

Peaches picks up the golden-threaded rope, holding it reverently as she steps forward. “This handfasting symbolizes unity,” she says, winding it gently around their joined hands. “A bond that’s both fragile and strong, woven with love, trust, and respect. May it remind you of the promises you’ve made today. Did you bring your vows?”

Charlotte and Elijah exchange a small, nervous glance before each reaches into their pocket. Charlotte pulls out a piece of paper, neatly folded, her hands trembling just slightly, and Elijah produces one as well, though his is crumpled up.

Charlotte’s voice quivers as she begins, but she steadies herself quickly, her eyes locking onto Elijah’s.

“Elijah,” she says, her voice carrying across the quiet chapel, “I promise to stand by your side, no matter what life throws at us. I promise to fight for us—for the life we’re building together—even when it feels impossible, even when it hurts.” She pauses, her hands trembling in his, but she squeezes them lightly, grounding herself.

Her eyes soften, and her voice dips into something more intimate, more vulnerable. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but when you stood up for me…when you got me out of Dallas, saved my life more than a few times, I was shocked at how kind you were. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to do something so selfless for me. But you did. You showed me what it meant to be loved.”

Her words falter for a moment, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She takes a deep breath and continues, her voice cracking but resolute. “You saved me, Elijah. You risked everything to bring me here, to give me a chance at a life I thought was impossible. And I promise I will never stop being grateful for that.”

The faintest smile touches her lips, her hands tightening around his. “I promise to listen to you, to learn with you, and to grow with you every day. To laugh with you when times are good, and to hold you when they’re not. And…I promise to play my violin for you, as long as we both shall live. Even if I get tired, even if you’re sick of hearing the same songs over and over again.”

The crowd chuckles softly, but Charlotte’s focus remains on Elijah, her expression luminous with love.

“I promise to love you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion, “not just in the moments when it’s easy, but especially in the moments when it’s hard. Because you are my home, Elijah. My safe place. My partner. And I promise that will never change.”

A murmur of approval ripples through the pack, but Elijah doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze is fixed on Charlotte, his smile slow and radiant. He takes a breath before unfolding his paper, glancing down at it briefly.

“Hey Sunshine,” he says–and the nickname is what makes her cry, Charlotte swiping at the tears on her cheeks. Elijah chuckles as if to say gotcha . “I promise to honor you, to protect what we build together, and to love you, always.” He looks up, meeting her eyes as his voice dips into something almost reverent. “No matter what.”

His gaze softens as he forgets about his notes and takes her hands, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. “When I first got my blessing, I thought it was a curse. I didn’t understand why this happened to me, why I was still standing when everyone I loved was gone. My family, my home…everything that tied me to the life I knew was ripped away. I spent years walking through this world feeling like a ghost. Like I wasn’t even really alive anymore.”

He pauses, his throat working, and his grip tightens on her hands. “Then I found you.”

The words hang between them, and for a moment, he’s too overwhelmed to continue. He looks down, collecting himself before meeting her gaze again, his expression raw and open. “I didn’t think someone like you could exist for me. I didn’t think I’d ever find my mate—much less someone who would look at me the way you do. Like I’m worth saving. Like I’m worth loving.”

His voice cracks on the last word, but he keeps going, his words coming faster now, like he’s been holding them back for too long. “You’ve been my light in all of this. You’ve shown me that even in the darkest places, there’s still something worth fighting for. That we can rebuild, even when it feels like there’s nothing left.”

He takes another deep breath, his jaw tightening before his expression softens again. “I promise to stand by you, to fight for you, to protect the life we’ve fought so hard to create. I promise to listen to you, even when I don’t have the answers, and to never stop learning how to be the man you deserve.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment where the air seems to still, their words hanging between them like something tangible. Then Peaches steps a bit closer, grinning like a madwoman through the tears.

“Now kiss already!” she says.

Charlotte hesitates for just a moment, her eyes searching Elijah’s face. He leans in first, his hands steady on hers, and when their lips meet, the kiss is soft, tender, like they’ve been waiting for this moment their whole lives. It’s not rushed or showy; it’s deliberate, grounding.

For a moment, the whole world seems to hold its breath.

And then someone lets out a sharp whistle, breaking the spell. A cheer rises from the pack, quickly followed by laughter and applause. Mateo strikes up a bright tune on his guitar, the celebratory notes spilling into the night as the field fills with voices and energy.

Elijah pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Charlotte’s, his hand still cradling hers. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the noise.

Charlotte laughs, brushing at her cheek. “Better than okay.”

Grant whoops loudly, slapping Elijah on the back as the newlyweds turn to face the pack, a ton of people already on their feet. “You did good, man!”

Charlotte beams, her cheeks flushed as she leans into Elijah’s side. The pack crowds around them, offering hugs, congratulations, and jokes about “surviving the first five minutes of married life.”

I stand at the edge of the chapel, my gaze drifting to Tilda in the pews. She’s clapping along with everyone else, but when our eyes meet, her hands still. There’s something unspoken between us, something that sets my wolf pacing in my chest.

Something I can name…desire.

Temptation.

The reception begins, a feast laid out beneath the stars. I watch from a distance as Charlotte and Elijah cut their cake, her laughter bright and unrestrained. The pack dances, drinks, celebrates. It’s a rare moment of joy, untouched by the weight of survival.

And then I feel her hand–my mate’s hand, the woman who will undo me–slip into mine, warm and sure.

“Hey, Father,” Tilda says, her voice low, a teasing edge to her words. “Dance with me?”

I’m helpless to resist.