Chapter 23
Big Papa
On the morning of Bronc and Juliet’s ceremony, I woke three minutes before the alarm.
My brain was already in battle mode—scanning, prepping, sorting out every variable like the entire pack depended on me not screwing this up.
Some things never changed, even when you finally found the one thing in this world worth living for.
The house was quiet. Aspen’s head rested against my shoulder, her hair a black river tangled around my bicep.
Oscar had found his way into the crook of her knees, the little bastard snoring soft and proper, like a clock wound for royalty.
The bond hummed between us, low and steady, the undercurrent of her warmth telling me she was safe and dreaming.
I slid out from under them and started the coffee, moving quiet as a fox so I wouldn’t wake her.
The world outside was still dark, all star-pricked sky and wind.
I stood at the kitchen window, mug in hand, and watched the first pale smear of dawn edge up behind the barn.
You could feel it in your bones: today was the kind of day that split your life into before and after.
I ran down the mental checklist. Security at the club: tight, no fewer than a dozen trusted wolves running shifts.
Wedding cake: Aspen and Oscar had it covered, a four-tier plus the two sheet cakes to cover all the guests.
Food: Pearl’s had that on lockdown. There will be enough to feed two fifty, easy. The only wild card was the guest list.
Today, Dairyville would see more supernatural royalty than a Vegas casino in October.
Menace and Savannah—now officially King and Queen of the Midwest packs—were due in by 10:00 sharp.
I was looking forward to seeing my brother and his beautiful queen.
After the fight they endured to be together, they deserved every happiness.
Next came the vampire king, Kazimir Kozlov, bringing his daughter Lucia.
He was also the head of the Russian Bratva and ran a successful nightclub in Philadelphia.
But Lucia was our Luna’s best friend, so they were always welcome.
If they kept their numbers small, I’d consider it a win.
On the maybe-list: King Archon Seraphael, angel of the high throne and unholy terror to anyone dumb enough to cross him.
And if rumors were right, Rafe Mayfield, King of the Southwest wolves, would drop by “just to shake the Alpha’s hand.
” That many apex predators in one place would make even the moon nervous.
I drained the first mug, poured a second, and padded back to the bedroom. Aspen had turned over, hugging my pillow, face hidden except for her nose and that beautiful mouth. She looked so peaceful I almost felt bad about waking her. Almost.
I leaned down and brushed her cheek. “Sunshine. Time to rise and shine.”
She mumbled, “Five more minutes,” then surfaced with a long, catlike stretch that somehow made her even cuter. She squinted up at me, hair wild, eyes bright and sly. “What time is it?”
“Quarter past four,” I said. “Busy day ahead.”
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Oscar blinked awake and stood, wearing a Victorian nightgown, paws perched on her thigh.
“Miss,” he said, “I believe today is the day you make history.”
Aspen snorted. “I’m just the cake lady. Nobody remembers the baker.”
“On the contrary,” Oscar replied, “the baker controls the outcome of all major celebrations. I have read six books on the subject.”
“Trust the rodent,” I said. “He’s the best-read mammal in the house.”
I kissed Aspen good morning, and she pulled me down for a second one—sloppy, sleepy, and perfect. “Don’t get into any trouble today,” she said into my chest.
“I’ll do my best. You stay close to Oscar. If you leave the bakery for any reason, you take a wolf with you. Non-negotiable.”
She made a mock salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Oscar nodded, solemn. “We shall be inseparable, sir.”
We dressed quick, Aspen pulling her hair into a messy ponytail and slipping into a lemon-yellow sundress that made her look like the first day of spring, even though it was the third week of February.
I stuck to jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt; we’d come back to dress later.
The ceremony would run the gamut of attire.
Aspen’s bakery was already lit with the overnight lights when we got there. She unlocked the door; Oscar darted ahead to do a security sweep, and I walked her in to help her with the tables and chairs.
“I’ll come pick you up at 2:00,” I said, giving her a kiss at the door. Lock up now. “You need anything, you call.”
She smiled, soft and sure. “Go do your thing, Big Papa. I’ll be ready when you get back. Might even save you a lemon scone.”
I winked. “That’s what keeps me going.”
I left her to it, with Oscar standing guard at the back door, and headed for the compound.
The sun hadn’t yet tried to break the horizon.
The roads were empty, and I let my mind drift as I drove.
Public speaking never got easier, even after years of giving sermons to hard-bitten bikers and soldiers.
I’d written my speech six different ways, none of them good enough for Bronc and Juliet.
So I ran the words again in my head, chasing the perfect balance between “sacred” and “don’t make the vampires puke. ”
At the compound, the place was a controlled frenzy.
Pearl’s crew was already cooking; you could smell bacon and cinnamon from the parking lot.
The pack officers were gathered outside the big house, smoking and sipping from thermoses.
Bronc stood at the center, tall and calm, arms folded across his chest like he was born for this.
Juliet was beside him, glowing brighter than the sun.
You could tell she’d gone all-in on “Luna” mode: elegant green dress, blonde hair perfectly styled, dark brown eyes shining, smile ready for everyone who came within ten feet.
I parked and went to join the crew. Arsenal was first to spot me, giving a tight nod before returning to his scan of the perimeter.
“Hey Papa,” he said. “Things are looking good. All clear on the perimeter.”
“Good. What about the guests?”
“Wrecker and Parker are on comms. They’ll call out when anyone approaches the gate.”
I looked to Bronc, who broke off his huddle with Gunner and came over.
“Papa,” he said, voice low and steady. “You ready?”
“Getting there,” I replied. “Guess we’re gonna run with the big dogs tonight?”
He grinned, a rare flash of mischief. “Why not? Let ‘em see how a real pack does it.”
Juliet joined us, her hand sliding into Bronc’s. “You look nervous,” she said, tilting her head at me.
“I always look nervous when I’m about to officiate a mating ceremony for the Alpha,” I said. “Plus, there’s the whole ‘potential for supernatural war’ thing.”
She laughed. “You’ll do great.”
Pearl stormed up, wooden spoon in hand. “If y’all don’t come in for breakfast right now, I will tan every last one of you. Especially you, Bronc. You can’t get married on an empty stomach.”
Juliet laughed and tugged her mate inside.
I followed, drawn by the promise of food and the scent of fresh coffee.
The kitchen was a madhouse: stacks of pancakes, piles of bacon, eggs done every way you could imagine.
Pearl moved through the chaos like a general, her staff falling in line behind her.
“Eat,” she ordered, planting a plate in front of Bronc. “You too, Big Papa. You’re skin and bones.”
I looked down at myself. Two hundred fifty pounds, six-five, and “skin and bones” was the least accurate thing ever said about me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
We sat, the officers crowding around the big oak table. Wrecker and Parker arrived last, hair windblown from the ride in.
“Perimeter is green,” Wrecker reported, walking in with Parker. “Got the drones up, and Parker’s mapped the entire zone.”
Parker grinned, her cheeks pink. “I even wrote a script to track the guest list as they show up. You should see the spreadsheet.”
Gunner grabbed three biscuits and tried to stuff them into his mouth at once. “I heard that vampire’s bringing his daughter. The tall one with the accent.”
Wrecker snorted. “Focus, cowboy. We’ve got security on the agenda.”
Pearl tapped her spoon on the counter. “You will not start a bar fight before noon, or so help me—”
Arsenal raised his hand. “Permission to address the Alpha?”
Bronc rolled his eyes. “Permission granted, asshole.”
“Recommend a double check on fire protocols,” Arsenal said. “Vampires don’t always appreciate the open flame.”
“Duly noted,” Bronc replied.
Parker chimed in. “The lights are all LED, anyway. No heat. Just ambiance. And the flames are contained in butane patio heaters.”
Doc sat down with a mountain of food piled on a plate. “Fire schmire. Kazimir ain’t scared of shit. Fucker’s a thousand years old. Think a little flame is gonna bother him?”
Arsenal gave Doc the stink eye. “Yeah, ya dick, but Kazimir’s people ain’t a thousand years old. Just tryin’ to be respectful of our guests.”
I butted in to keep a brawl from breaking out and Pearl from bringing in the wooden spoon to paddle their asses.
“Alright, you two. Knock it off. Arsenal, point well taken. As Parker nicely pointed out, there’s nothing to worry about since all flames are contained.
Although a fire pit for s’mores might be nice at some point during the night.
” I used my best soothing tone, and everyone simmered back down.
I watched the room, the way everyone played their role.
It felt like family, chaos and all. Even the nerves in my stomach settled.
Juliet caught my eye, and for a split second, I saw the woman she’d been months before this.
She’d shown up to be Bronc’s bookkeeper without a clue that she had an ounce of shifter blood, much less Omega blood.
Now she was Luna, and the world was about to bear witness.