POV Avery
The accusation hits the room like a fucking nuclear bomb. Everyone whips around to stare at Björn, who’s standing there in his thousand-dollar suit looking like someone just accused him of drowning puppies for entertainment.
Which, knowing this absolute psychopath, he probably does in his spare time between murdering wives and orchestrating species-wide genocides.
“That’s a pretty bold fucking accusation, Natalie,” I say, because apparently my brain has decided that now—right fucking now—is the perfect time to process the fact that she just walked into a room full of people who want to tear her apart. For me. She escaped torture, survived in the woods, and crashed my wedding knowing she’d probably die here. All to save me from marrying a monster.
The realization hits like a sledgehammer to the chest.
“You would believe the enemy over me?” Björn’s voice carries exactly the right amount of wounded pride and righteous indignation. Oscar-worthy performance, really. The man should switch careers from serial killing to acting. “Over your own kind? Your future husband?”
Future husband. The words taste like poison in my mouth.
The room explodes again. Voices raised in furious agreement, pack members nodding along with whatever manipulative bullshit he’s selling like it’s the fucking gospel. Because of course they’d side with the wolf over the vampire. Species loyalty trumps logic every goddamn time.
“She’s manipulating you, Avery!” someone shouts from the crowd.
“Don’t trust the bloodsucker!”
“She’s poisoned your mind!”
The mob mentality kicks in fast. Fifty werewolves turning into a single organism of hatred and suspicion. It’s fascinating and terrifying and exactly what Björn was counting on.
But not me. Not anymore.
“Yes,” I say, and my voice cuts through the noise like a blade through silk. “I believe her.”
Dead silence. You could hear a pin drop, or a heart break, or the sound of a daughter finally choosing herself over family expectations.
Every single eye in the room snaps to me. The blushing bride in her perfect white dress, defending the vampire who just crashed her wedding like some kind of supernatural rom-com gone completely sideways. Definitely not the optics Father was hoping for when he planned this political theater.
“Avery, no—” Joanna whispers, but I’m already committed to this trainwreck.
“You’re a horrible creature, Bloodfang,” I continue, because fuck it, we’re already in free fall. Might as well go all in and see where we land. “A manipulative piece of shit who preys on—”
His fist connects with my face before I can finish destroying his reputation.
The world tilts completely sideways. Pain explodes across my cheek like a fucking supernova, and I taste blood—metallic and sharp and real. The wedding dress—that beautiful, expensive symbol of my imprisonment—tears at the shoulder as I stumble backward, thousands of dollars of silk ripping like my old life falling apart.
“You fucking bastard!” I gasp, hand flying to my face.
“AVERY!”
Joanna’s voice, sharp with panic and pure, undiluted rage. Then she’s moving—a blur of protective sister fury launching herself at Björn like a guided missile designed specifically for destroying assholes who hit her family.
They go down together in a spectacular tangle of claws and violence and fifteen years of pent-up big-sister protective instincts. Joanna’s half his size, but she’s got something he doesn’t—genuine love and the kind of rage that comes from watching someone hurt the person you’d die for.
“Get off him!” someone screams.
“Stop her!”
“She’s lost her mind!”
Blood spatters the altar. Wedding flowers get trampled. The perfect ceremony becomes a battlefield in about three seconds flat. Peak Shadowmere family entertainment, really.
“STOP!” Father’s voice booms over the chaos like the wrath of God himself. “ALL OF YOU, STOP THIS MADNESS IMMEDIATELY!”
The room freezes. Everyone goes completely still, like someone hit pause on the world’s most fucked-up home movie.
Joanna and Björn separate, both breathing hard. He’s got four parallel claw marks down his neck that are bleeding pretty impressively. She’s got blood on her knuckles and murder in her eyes. Standard wedding reception violence.
“This vampire,” Father continues, pointing at Natalie like she’s a particularly offensive piece of furniture that someone left in his sacred space, “has disrupted our ceremony, poisoned my daughter’s mind, and spread dangerous lies designed to destroy our most crucial alliance.”
“They’re not lies—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look that could freeze hellfire and make Satan himself reconsider his life choices.
“She represents everything wrong with vampire-werewolf relations,” he declares, really getting into his political stride now. “The manipulation, the deception, the complete disregard for our way of life.”
The pack starts murmuring agreement. Heads nodding. The hive mind clicking back into place.
“Guards!” he barks, and suddenly there are armed pack members moving through the crowd like sharks through water. “Lock that creature up before she destroys everything we’ve built.“