POV Avery
Walking into Father’s office feels like entering my own execution chamber. The air’s thick with the kind of tension that makes your skin crawl and your wolf pace restlessly under your ribs. The massive oak desk dominates the room like a throne, surrounded by leather-bound books that probably cost more than most people’s cars and territorial maps that look like battle plans from some medieval war council.
Joanna’s been following me around like a guilt-ridden shadow, throwing every argument she can think of at my back. Her footsteps echo mine down the hallway, each one punctuated by another desperate attempt to talk me out of what we both know is inevitable.
“This is insane, Avery. You’re literally sacrificing yourself for someone who was supposed to be your enemy.”
“Drop it, Joanna.”
“I won’t drop it. This is your life we’re talking about.”
I stop dead in my tracks and spin around. She almost crashes into me, her face flushed with the kind of panic that comes from watching your best friend walk toward a cliff. “Exactly. My life. My choice. My consequences.”
“Your suicide mission, you mean.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am walking into a death trap with my eyes wide open. But the alternative is watching Natalie die, and that’s not happening. Not on my watch. Not when I finally found someone who sees me as more than just a political chess piece.
The thought of Natalie in Björn’s custody makes my stomach clench. That psychopath doesn’t just kill his wives—he breaks them first. Slowly. Methodically. Like it’s a goddamn hobby.
Father’s behind his desk, reviewing territorial maps like the world isn’t currently imploding around us. His reading glasses perch on the end of his nose, making him look more like a professor than a alpha capable of ordering mass executions before breakfast. He looks up when we enter, and his expression immediately shifts to that particular brand of disappointment I’ve been seeing since I was twelve.
“Let me guess. You’ve come to tell me you’ve failed again.”
Straight to the point. Classic Father. No “hello,” no “how are you holding up,” just immediate judgment wrapped in barely contained disgust.
“I’m going to marry Björn Bloodfang.”
The words hit the air like a bomb going off. Father’s eyebrows shoot up—the most emotion I’ve seen from him in years. Joanna makes this choking sound behind me, like she’s trying to swallow her own tongue.
“Avery, no—”
“It’s decided.” I keep my voice steady, professional. Like I’m reporting on border patrol instead of signing my own death warrant. “The wedding can be arranged whenever works best for pack politics.”
Father leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m a battle strategy he’s trying to decode. The silence stretches between us, heavy with twenty years of mutual disappointment and unmet expectations.
“I knew you’d fail to bring me a vampire. You’re too weak, too soft for the kind of ruthless decision-making leadership requires.”
The words should sting. They would have, a month ago. Now they just bounce off me like rain on stone. Because I’ve finally figured out the difference between strength and cruelty, and Father never bothered to learn it.
“But,” he continues, and I can see the political calculations spinning behind his eyes, “you’ve made the right decision. The Bloodfang alliance will strengthen our position significantly.”
“Avery, please—” Joanna tries again, her voice cracking.
“Enough.” Father’s voice cuts through her protest like a blade. “The decision’s made. We’ll announce it tonight.”
My stomach drops. “Tonight?”
“No point in delaying. The pack needs to know their future.” He stands, already shifting into political mode, straightening his shirt like he’s preparing for a photo op. “The ceremony will be in three days. Gives us time to arrange the proper… festivities.”
Three days. Seventy-two hours before I become Mrs. Psychopath. Before I trade my life for Natalie’s freedom and hope like hell she’s smart enough to run far and fast.
“Father, this is—” Joanna starts.
“This is what’s best for the pack.” His tone suggests the conversation’s over. “Prepare the announcement. Every pack member needs to be present.”
The dismissal is clear. I nod once, grab Joanna’s arm, and drag her out of the office before she can make this worse for herself.
Two hours later, I’m standing in the great hall while Father addresses the assembled pack. The space is packed wall to wall with wolves in their human forms, the air thick with anticipation and the kind of nervous energy that comes from mandatory attendance at pack announcements.
The words wash over me like white noise—alliance, strength, future, prosperity. All the political buzzwords that make selling your daughter sound like a strategic victory. I tune out most of it, focusing instead on the faces in the crowd. Some look genuinely happy, others confused, a few suspicious.
Marco’s in the front row, his expression carefully neutral. He catches my eye and gives me the smallest nod. Not approval, exactly, but acknowledgment. Like he understands the sacrifice I’m making even if he can’t say it out loud.
“…and so it is with great pride that I announce the engagement of my daughter, Avery Shadowmere, to Alpha Björn Bloodfang. The ceremony will take place in three days’ time.”
The hall erupts. Applause, cheers, the kind of celebration that makes me want to shift and run until my paws bleed. Because they’re celebrating my funeral and they don’t even know it. They see political alliance; I see a countdown timer to my own destruction.
Joanna’s beside me, her hand finding mine and squeezing so hard I’m pretty sure she’s trying to transfer some of her stubbornness directly into my bloodstream.
“It’s not too late,” she whispers. “We can figure something else out.”
But it is too late. The moment Björn took Natalie, my fate was sealed. Three days, and then I become the fifth Mrs. Bloodfang.
May the odds be ever in my fucking favor.