Enemies at the Altar

Prologue

ESMERELDA

“The two of you must marry.”

The words fall from the alpha’s mouth like a death sentence. A collective gasp rings out from both sides of the gallery along with cries of “That’s absurd!” and “This isn’t right!”

I can’t tell who is more shocked by the verdict—my family or the Benyaminas—because the ringing in my ears makes the voices indistinguishable.

My wolf stirs uneasily within me, a low growl vibrating in my chest as if it, too, senses the injustice.

I jump to my feet, ready to add my own protests to the uproar, but my father grabs my arm and yanks me down to my seat.

He shoots me a warning glare, telling me in no uncertain terms to keep my ass on the chair, then slowly stands.

Minerva links her arm with mine, probably to stop me from getting up again, but I can feel the anger and disappointment vibrating off her. My father may have employed her to be my lady-in-waiting, but she grew to be my best friend and quite possibly the only person who knew the real me.

The alpha’s eyes locks on my father’s and flash from navy to black, then back again.

He runs a hand through his thick silver hair that stops just under his shoulders and shimmers against his cobalt blue robe.

Rumor has it that, much like some people’s eyes, his wolf’s coat changes color depending on his mood.

Based on his current mood, I imagine his coat would be black as night instead of its usual gunmetal-gray.

The muscles in my shoulders tighten, my wolf restless beneath the surface.

I feel the prickle of fur against my skin, urging me to act, to run, to fight.

My heart hammers painfully against my ribcage, the sharp thud filling my ears.

My mouth is dry. I swallow hard, trying to push back the tears that are threatening to spill over.

I bite down on my lip until I can taste blood to stop the tears from falling.

No one will understand why I’m crying. They will see it as a sign of weakness, when in reality, these tears are probably sparing everyone’s lives. Especially my fiancé’s.

Bile rises in my throat as I cut a glare at the man I’m supposed to marry.

Marcus Benyamina. The name, although unspoken, is like a curse in my mouth.

Bitter and cloying. The asshole doesn’t even spare me a glance as the room continues to erupt around us.

Leaning back in his chair, ankle resting on his knee and his arm casually draped on the back of the empty chair next to him, he’s the picture of calm.

How the hell can he be so calm? The wolf in me snarls at the sight of his arrogance.

Unless all of this is to his benefit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d hoped for this verdict. In fact, the more I think about it, the opportunity to marry his rival and gain all the secrets to her family business might be exactly what he wanted.

I narrow my eyes as I take in the man I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

His auburn curls are pulled back in a ponytail, giving me an unobstructed view of his sharp, straight nose and chiseled jaw.

But I’m not impressed by his beauty—not even a little—because although Marcus Benyamina is very easy on the eyes, he doesn’t stir anything in me.

Not a damn thing. I do notice his scent, though—fresh and clean, like pine and earth with a hint of boredom and something I can’t quite distinguish…

like a secret. I lean in closer, not because the scent sends my already racing heart into overdrive.

You’d need to be intrigued by someone to want more of them, and I am not intrigued by Marcus in the slightest.

Rumor has it that despite the fact that the entire female population of Eastern America practically trip over themselves to catch his attention, Marcus prefers the company of his books to women.

My wolf snorts in disdain. We don’t trust men who hide behind walls of indifference and intellect.

His aloof exterior doesn’t fool me. There’s something more lurking beneath that perfect mask.

Something dangerous. I might be forced to marry him, but I will never give him my love, especially after what he’s done. It’s unforgivable.

Marcus must feel my stare on him because he slowly turns his head to the side until his gaze lands on me.

I stifle a gasp as his piercing cinnamon eyes lazily rake over me before he turns to Leonard Esuola, his best friend, and whispers something.

Leonard meets my gaze and responds, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

I bristle. It’s obvious they are talking about me.

My father’s voice snaps me back to the present, and to the fact that I’ve been staring at Marcus this whole time.

I hope my derision has at least shown. The slow smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth tells me I didn’t quite hit the mark.

He thinks I was giving him the once-over just like every other woman who has slipped off their seat for him. Sorry, asshole, no such luck.

“Alpha, it’s an honor to speak with you. I appreciate your leadership and insight, however, forced marriage is archaic and cruel, which is why I must petition you to reconsider.”

“Mr. Lovell,” the alpha replies, his voice booming with finality, “I did not make this decision on my own. Every member of the council agreed that unifying the families is the only way to bring about peace. You are disrespecting the council by wasting our time.”

I can’t bring myself to look at the alpha again—or the fourteen other council members who hold my fate in their hands—so I focus on the room instead.

It’s spectacular. If the air weren’t so charged with the magic and energy of so many fae, I might imagine myself in a space like this when I needed to think.

A raised circular platform stands in the center, housing what seems like an echo chamber for the four elements.

A large bonfire burns brightly from its core, crackling with an intensity that defies explanation, as though even if the room was devoid of air, it would still burn.

Around it, a large garden of clovers sprawls and tiny streams trickle toward the fire, meeting right at the base as if drawn to the heat.

Vapor rising from the flames dances in the air, causing the whole space to shimmer with life.

Fifteen high-backed chairs, each carved with intricate designs, occupied by the members of the council, surround the platform. The one in the center stands out—larger, more ornate than the others. The alpha’s chair. The one my gaze avoids the most.

Nine floor-to-ceiling arched windows are spaced evenly along the walls, their frames made of tree roots that stretch up like columns, intertwining at the ceiling to form a canopy of lush leaves and branches.

The effect is beautiful, but it’s the open ceiling that gives me a tiny break from the suffocating anxiety coursing through my veins.

Moonlight filters down from above, casting a silvery glow across the room, and the blanket of stars seem so close, I can almost reach up and pluck one right out of the night sky to make a wish.

It’s so mesmerizing, I hardly notice that sunlight is also streaming through the windows, creating a strange, almost dreamlike blend of day and night. If only this were a dream.

The room is unnervingly silent, the only sound a faint, grating scrape of dry branches rubbing together—like nails on a chalkboard, it sends chills down my spine.

Deciding I can’t keep up this cowardly nonsense of avoidance, I look around the room at the council members.

Orrick, one such member, is looking right at me, the forest dryad’s branch-like fingers steepled in front of him as he locks his bark-like eyes on me.

The soft, incessant scraping sends an uncomfortable shiver through me.

My wolf stirs restlessly, matching his impatience.

A low murmur ripples through the room. My father’s spine straightens just slightly, a subtle signal that he is fighting to maintain control and not let his emotions take over.

“Let him petition, Ezekiel,” Jethro, another councilman sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The shapeshifting fox spirit lounges casually, his eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and disdain. “This is highly entertaining.”

Arrogance pulses off Jethro as he looks down his nose at us, and my wolf bristles.

There’s something about Jethro in his animal form that bothers me.

I’m not the only one—it’s clear the others are uncomfortable with his decision to stay in his fox form during such an important meeting.

But the fact that he uses his human voice while in that form gives him leeway.

Besides, manipulation and cunning are his “strengths”—at least according to those who know him.

I’m sure he’s swayed more than one council member to let him get away with it.

Jethro’s smirk deepens as he leans back in his seat, his golden fur gleaming under the light.

My father’s spine straightens as he makes eye contact with the fox, but he doesn’t take the challenge. My stubbornness comes from my father, but where I often get myself into trouble by shooting my mouth off, my father knows to show respect. Even if he’d rather not.

“Thank you, Jethro. May I have your thoughts?”

The crowd gasps as the fox shifter disappears before our very eyes but reappears just as fast right in his human form, right in front of my father.

To my father’s credit, he doesn’t move, but my mother does let out a restrained gasp.

Minerva squeals as Jethro Cummings appears naked for a few seconds before he conjures up a pair of pineapple boxers.

Cunning should be his last name, more like it.

“You certainly can.” Jethro’s lisp sounds more pronounced as he cocks his head to the side.

“Why should the needs of your kin supersede that of the clans in Everwild?”

“I’m not suggest—”