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The remote and rural location reminded me of my stepfather’s Compound. I supposed that Pack Leaders liked to be out in the country, away from prying eyes where their wolves could Shift in peace.
Before we finished our walk, Crenshella took me to a small cemetery located in a remote corner of the estate. It was surrounded by a wrought iron gate and at first I thought it might be a family plot—which wasn’t unusual to see with extremely old houses like Moncrieff’s restored Antebellum mansion.
“Is this where Pack Master Moncrieff’s ancestors are buried? Or the people who owned the house before him?” I asked.
Crenshella shook her head.
“Oh no, dearie. These are all the sweet girls who came before you—all the Master’s other brides.” She sighed sadly as she looked at the neat grouping of tombstones. Some looked older than others but one was bright new white marble that didn’t look even six months old yet.
“These…this is where he buries his wives?” I asked through numb lips.
“Yes, poor little lambs.” Crenshella sighed again. “I took care of each and every one of them, you know. Just as I’m taking care of you.” She gave me a sad smile and then took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “But never fear—I really think those wide hips of yours are going to let you have the Master’s baby. This time he’s finally going to get an heir and then all the pain and sorrow will have been worth it.”
I thought the five dead girls buried under the white marble headstones might think differently, but I didn’t say so. I was too shaken to say much of anything.
“Can we go back inside?” I asked. “It’s really hot out here.”
“Oh yes—of course, dearie. Come inside and we’ll get you some nice, iced tea to cool you down.”
She led the way back to the house but I kept throwing glances over my shoulder at the little graveyard. Was I destined to end up there? There was room for more graves—was mine going to be one of them?
I wanted to say no—to deny it. But there didn’t seem to be any way out of this situation and I felt stuck. Every day I looked out my window, watching for my stepbrothers to come rescue me and every day they didn’t come. Had they forgotten me? Decided they didn’t want me after all?
Oh Gabriel…Christopher…where are you? I thought as tears burned my eyes. Why don’t you come for me? When will I ever see you again?
As it turned out, I didn’t see them again until the day of my wedding, but by that time, it was too late.
THIRTY-TWO
Which brings me back to me standing in a white wedding gown looking in the mirror while Crenshella fussed with my hair and veil.
“You look just beautiful, dearie,” she said to me, lifting the veil to hand me a teacup. “Here—drink this to calm your nerves.”
“What is it?” I asked, looking down into the cup. It was filled with pale amber tea and the steam rising from it was sweet and slightly floral. It reminded me a little of the “special tea” my mother had made me drink all those years.
“Just something to settle your nerves and get you ready for your wedding night,” Crenshella assured me. “It’s an herbal remedy passed down through the generations—the main ingredient is rose hips.”
I thought about refusing the tea but anything that might help me get through this Joining ceremony would be welcome. Downstairs, everyone was bustling. The house was as “busy as a hive full of bees making honey,” as Crenshella cheerfully put it. The large parlor of the Antebellum mansion had been transformed into a reception hall with a head table for the families and a few smaller tables for the guests—mainly Alphas from Moncrieff’s and my stepfather’s packs and their mates. There was even space in the middle for a small but functional dance floor, as Crenshella had excitedly told me.
There were also guards at the front door, checking everyone for weapons, which weren’t allowed during this “happy celebration.” So at least I didn’t have to worry about a gun fight breaking out in the middle of the reception, I thought dryly. Probably Moncrieff just wanted to be sure none of his enemies caught him off guard during this special occasion.
The ceremony itself was going to be outside. Rows of folding chairs with a white carpet running down the center of them had been set up. At the end of the carpet was a wire arch that had been decorated with lots of fake white flowers and plastic green vines. When I saw them, I wondered if maybe Moncrieff got married so often, he didn’t want to pay for fresh flowers every time. Probably he had decided it was cheaper just to get fake ones and store everything away until the next wedding…and the next…and the next…
