Chapter Twenty-Five
Here Comes the Bride
IMOGEN GALLAGHER
Each step toward the floral arch feels like a stone sinking into my chest. I can’t look at Aiden. Not yet.
My father’s hand on my arm is both an anchor and a shackle—tight, hard, and devoid of any parental warmth. My heart beats a rapid staccato against my ribs.
But there will be no freedom for me.
This is the moment before I lose the life I should have with Liam.
My gaze sweeps the audience, my neck rigidly facing forward. I search for Liam among the sea of faces. And yet a part of me hopes I don’t spot him, because the sight of him might shatter the fragile composure I’m holding on to.
My father can never know about Liam. Ever.
Instead of the face of the man I love, I see Meredith, and Emma, and Finn, and... Lucas? My oldest brother hasn’t been back to Colorado in years. He looks the same, maybe a few specks of early gray in his beard. But otherwise, he has the same hard jaw. The same coldness in his eyes. He hates my father. Hates me. Blames me, my birth, for our mother’s death.
Why would he show up now? And why would he be standing with my uncle and his wife?
The distraction makes me trip.
My father’s grip tightens painfully, his fingers digging into my flesh as he jerks me back into the funeral march toward my future. “No more mistakes, Imogen.”
The threat in his voice is obvious.
Next, I lock eyes with Aiden’s mother. Her face is smiling, but I only see the sympathy in her brown eyes. She knows this isn’t a fairy-tale wedding. It’s a business transaction. She knows her son doesn’t love me.
Aiden is driven by honor, a trait I deeply respect. And he is a kind man, but he doesn’t understand my father. Aiden thinks he’s saving his pack with this marriage, and we are significantly delaying an all-out pack war between my uncle and my father. But they’ve been playing this competition with each other for over two decades.
This wedding isn’t a simple peace treaty. It’s a game to my father, a slow, methodical hunt leading toward his ultimate prize.
And Oliver Gallagher never leaves a hunt empty-handed.
The scent of roses and lilies drowns my senses with a cruel sweetness. It’s a scene from a dream, ethereal and beautiful, but laced with an insidious dread.
My father releases my arm and passes me off to Aiden.
Aiden’s grip is far gentler, his large hand enveloping mine.
I finally force myself to look up at him. He’s in a striking black tux. His eyes, though, that’s what really captures me. His gaze is a warm brown and...sparking with the gold of his wolf near the surface. His anger simmers below the surface.
I assume he feels as trapped by this marriage as I do.
The preacher, a stern man with a bushy white beard and gentle voice, starts to speak. His words paint a picture of unity, love, and devotion. Words that should bring comfort, but instead stoke my rising panic.
“Do you, Imogen Agatha Gallagher, take Aiden...”
I have to do this. This is what we agreed to. Liam and I agreed. We promised each other this was for the best.
The world shrinks down to the sound of my name. I turn my gaze back to Aiden, the words “I do” perched on my trembling lips.
But they never fall.
He shakes his head. “Stop,” he says, his voice clear and loud. The command carries clearly across the small group of seated wedding guests.
The preacher blinks, his mouth snapping shut as Aiden turns toward the crowd, tucking me behind him in one liquid movement.
My heart, previously a frantic bird in my chest, now stills, every beat suspended in the silence following Aiden’s declaration.
The guests stand in a flurry of movement. Whispers ripple through the gathering.
I can’t believe Aiden stopped me. I don’t understand.
Then my father rises to his feet.
Fuck. No. He’s going to hurt me. Aiden. Rachel. Someone will pay for this.
My heart leaps in my chest. My first instinct is to flee, but that response has been beaten out of me over the years. Better to stand tall and take the hit. Then the punishment is less.
But his face is emotionless and flat, almost like he was expecting this... He raises his hands, a motion meant to calm, but it does nothing to eliminate the unease that prickles across my skin.
“Everyone, please.” The velvety calmness of his voice is all too familiar. “No cause for alarm. Aiden is merely feeling the weight of this monumental day.”
I peer around Aiden’s shoulder.
My father catches my gaze briefly and then sets his attention on Aiden.
Gooseflesh rises along my arms. My hands grow cold.
I can see it. The glint in my father’s eyes, the one that spells danger. The one that says I’m ten moves ahead and you’re already in checkmate.
“You don’t have a choice, Aiden.” The razor-edged whisper slices through the tension, just loud enough for Aiden and me to hear. “Finish this ceremony, or I’ll start with eliminating a man you both care deeply about.”
My father looks at me again, hellfire burning in his black gaze. “Either way, Liam will feel pain for your defiance, Imogen. It’s up to the both of you whether or not his pain is brief or extended.”
The world spins, my legs threaten to give out.
Liam. He knows. He knows. He knows.
I grab fistfuls of my dress and bite back the scream rattling in my throat as reality collapses around me.
Then the world erupts into chaos.
A rapid-fire sound cuts through the air— pop, pop, pop —before being drowned out by a resounding explosion. Then smoke rises from the street on our right.
“Looks like it ended quickly. Lucky boy,” my father says, his tone laced with annoyance. Liam dying was an irritation. Him not having the opportunity to torture Liam was merely a disappointment.
“Liam!” His name wrenches from my throat, tearing out a piece of my heart as it does. I lunge forward, a desperate need to reach him searing through me, but Aiden’s arm is a steel band around my waist, imprisoning me against his hard chest.
I writhe and thrash against his grip, my limbs tangling in the heavy folds of my dress, vision obscured by a veil of tears. My chest tightens with a profound sense of loss. My lip trembles and a mournful howl rings out within my soul, my wolf grieving the loss of our mate.
“Mother!” Aiden shouts behind me. Pandemonium takes hold as he issues orders, his mother and several men rushing around us. “Take them inside . Now.”
My legs fail me as Aiden hands me off, and I’m suddenly cradled in the arms of a stranger. I let him. They can do whatever they want with me now.
He dashes toward a truck, the world blurring past in a shroud of color and noise.
The other man helps Aiden’s mother into the back seat and then I’m shoved beside her. My dress is stuffed inside, billowing up nearly to my face. They slam the door and we’re driving, but I’m consumed by a single, devastating thought.
I’ve lost him.
It’s not the chaos, not the ruined alliance, not the aborted wedding I focus on—it’s only the selfish realization that the one person who mattered the most to me is gone. Wolves are resilient but that explosion wasn’t small.
I’ve cost Liam everything because of my love for him. If only I’d denied the connection, pretended it didn’t exist. I could have saved him.
I knew better.
Tears burn down my cheeks, and I sob. Big, loud, ugly grief-stricken sobs shake me like a rag doll.
Aiden’s mother reaches over, brushing her slender fingers over mine in a hesitant show of comfort. But even that slight touch burns like a brand.
I don’t want to touch anyone but Liam.
“Gen...” she begins, her voice soft and wavering.
I turn away from her, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window, hoping the chill might numb the agony coursing through me.
With every turn of the wheels, every mile that passes, the remnants of my hope slip away. I cling to the slivers of the memories I have of Liam from the last few days—his laughter, his warmth, his unwavering love. The more I hold on to those pieces, the sharper they seem, each one a bitter reminder of what I’ve lost.
Of what my father has taken from me.
How could I have thought I could hide something from my father—from the great all-seeing Oliver Gallagher? How could I have been so arrogant?
Eleanor’s hand reaches out again, resting atop mine, her grip firm yet gentle. “You’re not alone, sweet girl. Whatever happens.”
My gaze drops to our intertwined fingers. Her hand, marked with the fine lines of age and experience, holds a strength that I find myself yearning for...
The comfort of a mother is something I’ve never felt.
Slowly, reluctantly, I let my fingers curl around hers, taking solace in the unspoken promise to weather this storm together.
I look away again, out the window. I squint through my tears, trying to focus on the landscape. We’re off the road and driving through the forest, straight into the ash trees...again.