Danae’s POV
Tomorrow, the woman in Eirwen’s mirror would be a bride.
I turned in front of the full-length glass, grinning at my own reflection.
Lounge pants.
An oversized T-shirt.
Nothing remotely glamorous, and yet I had never felt more beautiful.
In a few hours, silk would replace the cotton, Galen would be waiting at the end of the aisle, and the life we had spent five years planning would finally begin.
“Mrs.
Galen Bryneholm,” I said, trying the name aloud.
“That’s going to be me tomorrow.”
My voice rose on the last word.
I couldn’t help it.
Marrying a future Delta meant joining the Ashmoon Pack, becoming part of a world that had once seemed impossibly distant.
Happiness beat so hard beneath my ribs that I felt almost light-headed.
From the doorway, Eirwen watched over the rim of her wine glass.
Short black curls tumbled untidily around her face, and something unreadable lingered in her dark-rimmed eyes.
“Try to sleep, Danae.” She took a sip.
“Tomorrow’s going to be a lot.”
“Sleep?
Like this?” The excitement kept spilling out of me.
“I just wish I could see him.
Who still insists the bride and groom spend the night apart?”
Under the irritation was a simple, aching want.
I missed him.
On the last night before our wedding, I wanted to be with the man I loved.
Eirwen gave a dismissive little sound.
“The Ashmoon, apparently.
Half their traditions make no sense to humans.”
My fingertips skimmed the wedding dress.
The custom-made silk slipped cool and smooth beneath them, another beautiful thing I could hardly believe belonged to me.
Galen had opened doors I hadn’t even known were there.
Even this neighborhood, where I was spending one night at Eirwen’s, would have swallowed my old teaching assistant’s salary.
“It still doesn’t feel real,” I admitted.
“Five years ago, I could barely see past my student loans.
That awful studio apartment…”
“And now you’re marrying up.”
The edge in her voice caught at my happiness.
I turned toward her, my gaze settling on the small crease between her brows.
“You don’t like Galen.
Do you?”
The question tightened something inside me before she answered.
Eirwen sighed and sat on the bed.
“It isn’t that simple.
He’s a werewolf.
You’re human.
His pack doesn’t exactly welcome outsiders with open arms.”
I sat beside her, suddenly fiercely protective of everything tomorrow meant.
“But I’m his destined mate.
They consider that bond sacred.
They respect it.”
Surely she could understand that.
This wasn’t merely a human woman hoping a powerful family would accept her.
Galen and I belonged together in a way his own people believed was extraordinary.
Her expression gentled.
“I know.
I worry about the hierarchy.
Alphas, Betas, Deltas—everybody locked into a rank.
I don’t want you caught in something that hurts you.”
There was no bitterness in her eyes now.
Only concern.
“He wouldn’t hurt me.” I believed it completely.
“And after the wedding, I can help Dad.
Really help him.
His medical bills…”
My voice frayed.
No more weighing treatment against groceries.
No more pretending there was enough money for both.
Eirwen nodded, slowly this time, and lifted her glass.
“Then here’s to tomorrow’s most beautiful bride.”
Her hand brushed my cheek.
I smiled back and turned to my wedding checklist, concentrating on its neat, manageable tasks until the unease she’d stirred settled somewhere I could ignore it.
Then I discovered the necklace was missing.
“Shit.
Shit, shit.”
For the third time, I emptied my overnight bag onto the bed.
Still no pearls.
A glance at the checklist app brought back the memory: after collecting the necklace from its final sizing, I’d left it at our apartment.
My stomach sank.
Then I checked Galen’s social media.
Thirty minutes earlier, he’d posted a gym selfie about his last workout as a free man.
A green dot glowed beside his profile picture.
Still online.
In my impatience, that felt like confirmation enough: he was still at the gym.
I could get there and back before anyone noticed.
Fetch the necklace.
Return to Eirwen’s.
No spoiled tradition, no harm done.
He had been so insistent about tonight apart, explaining that werewolves believed it built anticipation.
Fine.
He needn’t know about a quick trip to an empty apartment.
Eirwen was asleep after her third glass of wine.
I left a brief note and called a rideshare.
Twenty minutes later, summer warmth rested against my skin outside our luxury high-rise.
The doorman nodded me through.
An access card.
Private elevators.
A face someone recognized.
I still hadn’t stopped marveling at the everyday details of this life.
Five years ago, summer school had been how I covered rent; now this building was about to become my married home.
Upstairs, silence greeted me.
Everything bore Galen’s meticulous touch: spotless counters, cushions arranged just so on the leather sofa.
I went directly to the bedroom vanity, to the place where I remembered seeing the ring box.
Nothing.
The closet offered no answer.
Neither did the drawers or the space beneath the bed.
With every unsuccessful search, my pulse quickened.
Where else would we have put it?
His study.
I hesitated outside.
Galen disliked anyone entering without his permission.
His sanctuary, he called it—the place for business calls and Pack meetings.
But I wasn’t prying.
I was trying to find something I needed for our wedding.
I opened the door and switched on the light.
Leather-bound books he never opened.
The expensive walnut desk.
An executive chair worth more than my first car.
Familiar objects, exactly where they always were.
I began with the cabinets where we sometimes stored important things.
Passing the desk, I bumped it by accident.
The laptop woke.
He hadn’t shut it down.
I was already turning away when two words on the bright screen stopped me.
[My darling…]
Darling?
Galen called me babe.
Sweetheart, sometimes, when he wanted something.
Never that.
Never in five years.
This was private.
I knew it was private.
But my eyes had already caught the unfamiliar encrypted messaging app, the contact saved under a single letter.
O.
An hour earlier, someone had written:
[Our usual place after the gym.
I can’t wait to kiss you.]
Pain twisted through my stomach.
My hands shook as I scrolled backward, reading words that grew harder to understand precisely because their meaning was so clear.
[Elric’s private school fees are covered.
Nothing changes after the wedding.
She won’t find out.]
My knees weakened.
Elric.
The only Elric I knew of was Drusilla’s nephew.
Drusilla—my bridesmaid.
O.
The pieces found one another with a horrible, effortless click.
But tuition?
Why was Galen paying to educate her nephew?
I pulled open the desk drawer with unsteady fingers.
Inside, a folder labeled “Personal” held dozens of photographs.
Galen on a beach.
Drusilla beside him.
A boy whose resemblance to both of them made my breath catch.
Elric.
There they were at ski resorts, laughing together.
On Christmas morning, dressed in matching pajamas.
Not a stray meeting or one guilty evening.
A whole life.
A family-shaped absence in everything I thought I knew.
Each picture cut a little deeper into tomorrow.
The dress.
The promises.
The future waiting at the end of the aisle.
Beneath them lay a report card, crisp and official.
No affectionate nickname.
No initial I might explain away.
Just a child’s name in print.
Tears blurred the letters as I read them aloud.
“Elric Bryneholm…”