Chapter 16
Our wedding was nothing like the grand ceremonies told in old pack stories. There were no glittering halls, no silken gowns, no long processions.
It was better.
It was real.
The clearing behind our cabin was draped in wildflowers. The children had picked them themselves, running through the woods for hours, returning with arms full of petals. The younger wolves helped string up vines and weave leaves into crowns. Everything smelled of fresh earth and pine.
I wore a dress made from stitched-together cloth the women had sewn for me—simple, soft, white as the clouds. Around my shoulders, a shawl woven with threads from blankets that had once been used in the cells. A reminder of how far we’d come.
He wore no armor, no weapons. Just a clean shirt, rolled sleeves, and a nervous smile that never left his face.
We stood under a tall tree, its branches arching like a roof above us. The whole village gathered around, their faces glowing with quiet joy. Survivors who had once forgotten how to feel anything now wiped tears from their cheeks.
One of the elders, a man we’d helped rescue months ago, stood between us and spoke.
“There was a time when we lived in chains,” he said. “When love was a luxury we didn’t think we deserved. But today, we celebrate not just freedom—but the courage to love despite the scars.”
He looked at us. “Do you, both of you, promise to choose each other? Not just in peace, but in the storms to come?”
We said yes together.
He slipped a new ring onto my finger—this one shaped like a vine, delicate and strong. I gave him one made from braided leather, worn but sturdy.
When we kissed, the clearing erupted in cheers. Someone howled, then another, until the whole pack lifted their voices to the sky.
It echoed through the forest like a declaration:
We are here. We survived. And we are not afraid anymore.
That night, the celebration carried into the stars. There was food, music, dancing. The fire crackled high, sparks swirling like stars pulled down from the sky.
He and I sat on the edge of it all, his hand resting on mine, his thumb tracing slow circles across my skin.
“I used to think this was impossible,” I whispered.
“So did I,” he said. “But you—we—changed everything.”
“Do you think we’re truly safe now?”
He looked out at the crowd. “Safe? Maybe not forever. But ready? Yes. Whatever comes next… we’ll face it together.”
And I believed him.
Because this wasn’t the end of our story.
It was the start of a new one—written not in fear, but in strength, in healing, in love.
The kind of love worth fighting for.
The kind he left for…
And the kind he came back to finally claim.