Serena reached the end of the corridor, whirled around, and jogged back to give Camila a quick hug.

"Oh, and have fun," she whispered in Camila's ear. "At least one of them will be decent." Then she was off, hurrying in low heels to the servant's quarters to triple check that everything was ready.

Camila risked a glance at Alex.

Her heart skipped a beat.

With hair the color of sunlit wheat and eyes like two slices of sky, Camila thought Alex might be the most handsome man she'd ever met. He reminded her of a statue: sculpted by a talented hand, towering over everyone around him, his face as expressionless as stone.

He didn't glance at her dress, the intricate makeup she'd spent hours applying. Not that she cared. 

"Hi Alex," she tried. Her voice sounded thin, maybe even shy. Camila shook herself and raised her chin. "Are you excited for the ceremony?"

If anything, he winced. "Sure." His gaze stayed fixed on the ornamental wallpaper beside her head. 

"...Good."

Camila didn't know what to say. Perhaps she didn't need to say anything—if he didn't want to be friends, that was his choice. She wasn't about to beg for attention.

She walked forward, her heels clicking against the hard marble floor. 

"Camila."

She froze.

"Good luck."

Camila swallowed and bobbed her head. A flush spread across her cheeks. "Thank you," she said and kept walking forward.

Except for the faint tapping of her heels against the floor and the soft rush of her breathing, the walk to the throne room was silent. Alex walked several steps behind her, as a bodyguard should and Camila had to fight the urge to ask him to walk beside her.

"Finally!" Her mother, Alpha Queen Isabella hurried over, tottering in four inch stilettos. "Camila. Remember. You do not want to be late for these things!" Her hair was frazzled. She picked at a few fraying strands on her own.

"Mom..." Camila pulled her mother's hands away from her hairdo. "You look beautiful."

"Well, thank you, although I'm sure I'd look better if I hadn't been quite so worried you were going to be late. You look lovely, by the way. Love the dress. Very fitting."

"Thank you."

"There's been a slight change of plans. That's why I was so- worried. I didn't want you to be surprised. You know the Vindicators?"

"The Vindicators? Of course."

The Vindicators were a thorn in the side of the aristocracy. They were responsible for a series of thefts across the eastern seaboard and the midwestern United States, as well as almost twenty assassinations. Camila's childhood friend Lucia had run afoul of them last winter. They'd found her body in shredded ribbons, recognizable only by a ripped purple bow clinging to a ponytail stiff with blood.

It was yet another reason Camila needed to marry. Without proper funding, her pack couldn't protect the people from the Vindicators. Even the stray vampires in the north were a threat they couldn't defend against.

Camila brought her mind back to the present. Her mother was speaking.

"We've captured one of their leaders. We're going to show him off, offer the alphas something to chew on, if you will, remind them we're a strong family even if we're desperate to marry you off for money. Anyways. It'll be after the suitors introduce themselves. I wanted you to- to not be worried. Or scared."

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"Breathe." 

Her mother let out a short, high pitched laugh. "I'm sorry dear. Are you excited?"

"Does ready to get it over with count?"

"Camila-"

"Sorry, Mom." Camila smiled, hoping her mother would relax before the majority of their political allies and enemies entered the room. "I am taking this seriously. I promise."

"Great!" A deep baritone voice rang out. Her father was a large man, built for battle, his hair peppered with grey. He radiated power, but years of leading a struggling people have taken their toll: heavy shadows lurked beneath his brown eyes. He wrapped an arm around Camila's shoulders. "So...are you looking forward to flirting with fifty different men in front of your entire family?"

"Dad!"

"Sorry. I'll be serious too."

Camila's mother sighed. "Let's all take this seriously. Fernandez? Should we start?"

"I suppose we have to at some point. Camila? You ready?"

Camila swallowed, hit with a sudden rush of nerves. Smile and look pretty, she reminded herself. That's all she had to do tonight. The food will be good, at least. She pictured the creamy, caramel-drenched flan the head chef cooked on special occasions, and nodded.

The next half hour was a blur.

There were nearly fifty suitors in total and each introduction was an elaborate display of strength. One Beta listed every one of his Alpha's accomplishments, including his ACT score, his childhood pet, and his kill count. Though the presentation only lasted ten minutes, it felt like thirty. Another Alpha brought twenty personal guards with him, each armed to the teeth and sporting matching mohawks. In a demonstration of his athletic capabilities, the Alpha promptly snapped the neck of the closest guard. 

"He'll be fine," the Alpha grunted, waving a servant over to grab a glass of white wine. His pack's healer hurried over, whispered a soft incantation, and the guard rose to his feet and bowed to thunderous applause.

When everyone was finally seated, the large hall brimming with the quiet buzz of whispered conversation, King Fernandez rose from his chair.

"Thank you all for coming. Before we begin the festivities, there's one more..." He paused, milking the silence for all it was worth. Camila mentally rolled her eyes. "...guest I'd like to introduce. Bring him!"

The massive oak doors at the back of the room swung open. A team of guards entered, each of them armed to the teeth. Camila heard a humming noise, a slight buzz that made it difficult to concentrate. Electricity danced along her skin. She smelled something indescribable, something reassuring.

"Mom," She grabbed her mother's arm. "Something's-"

"Shh!" Her mother hissed. Gentler, she said, "Be quiet. Only a little longer."

Her father began talking again, but Camila barely heard him.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. The sound echoed in her skull.

A pair of guards entered the room. Between them, they carried a man. His hair was black, bedraggled, his limbs decorated with so many bruises and cuts that the natural color of his skin was hard to see. When the guards finally released him, he fell to his knees, unable to hold himself upright.

Something called to Camila. There was no word for it. She wanted to see him. She needed to see him.

The prisoner looked up. His face was streaked with dirt, his nose bloody, and an open cut ran from his eyebrow to his chin. Camila couldn't help but stare. His eyes were a brilliant emerald green.

Her father was still talking when the prisoner looked up.

Like an elastic rubber band, the mating bond snapped into place.

For a moment, the throne room was silent. It was just her and her mate, staring at each other across an unbridgeable divide. Later, Camila would wonder if this was some kind of joke the Moon Goddess had played, some kind of cosmic error. 

Now, her mind was curiously blank. 

The prisoner's hand shot out and wrapped around the neck of the guard closest to him. In a quick, brutal motion, he brought the guard's head to his knee. Camila heard a sharp snapping noise, like raw carrots, as the guard's neck broke.

Her mother screamed. 

She grabbed Camila's hand. "Run!" She yelled, tugging her away, but the man—her mate—was already moving.

He leapt forward, chains trailing him. The guards were frozen, startled. They'd expected a ceremonial service, not a fight, and their surprise showed. One Alpha pulled a gun from his belt and clicked off the safety.

The sharp crack of the gunshot cut through the air. The prisoner jolted forward, blood leaking from his shoulder. It barely seemed to faze him.

Another guard approached him. Before the guard could lift his gun, the prisoner wrapped his chains around the man's neck. The guard's face was red when he finally collapsed, in a broken pile, at her mate's feet.

Camila couldn't move. Her mother yanked her away, but she pulled back. She had to see this. Her face was ashen, her brown skin unusually pale.

Then Alex was there and she could breathe again. He stood in front of her, shielding her from the criminal. "Camila," he said, his voice low and steady. "You need to leave."

She nodded shakily. 

"Sweetheart." Her mother wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Come. The guards will handle him."

She heard another gunshot. The man crumpled to his knees. He dragged himself forward, his hands leaving bloody marks on the black marble floor. His eyes—those brilliant green eyes—stayed fixed on her. 

And then he was gone, swarmed by a cluster of guards and guests, securing his chains and dragging him, unceremoniously, back to his cell. 

Thank you for reading!

-Harley