Red Rose Moon (Seasons of the Moon) (7 page)

They milled around the back of the gazebo together under the watchful eye of Levi, who was getting the sound system ready nearby. Seth noticed that their jackets bulged under the arms.

“Subtle,” Seth said.

Yasir shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be.” He pointed at the man on the far left. “That’s Grant. He’s an ordained priest. He can officiate the ceremony for you two.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could do the honors.”

Seth turned. Someone had let Scott Whyte out of the cellar, and he wore a neat suit and bowler hat low on his brow that concealed the bullet wound. Levi hovered a few feet behind him, looking worried.

“What do you want?” Yasir asked sharply.

“Wait,” Seth said, putting a hand on his best man’s arm to keep him from drawing his gun.

“I realize what a betrayal it was to cooperate with Cain’s demands and bring back Eleanor,” Scott said, holding his hands out to show them that he was unarmed. “But I hope you understand why I did it.”

“Cowardice?” Yasir suggested.

Scott gripped his heart, as if the word wounded him. “Love,” he said. He caught Seth’s eye. “I’m not the only one who has done stupid, misguided things to protect his family.”

Seth rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“If you’re seriously considering listening to him, I have to protest,” Yasir said. “This is a bad idea. We need someone we can trust at the altar.”

“I already have you,” Seth said.

Levi stepped up to his father’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was a lot taller than Scott, which made him fairly imposing. “He can’t do any damage if all of us are watching him. And he knows he’s made a mistake.”

Scott extended a hand. After a moment, Seth shook it.

“I look forward to the ceremony,” Seth said.

Yasir gave a snort of disgust and walked away. The other men from the Union followed him. They didn’t go far—just to the gazebo to sit down. Many of the werewolves were already seated. The time for the wedding was approaching quickly.

“Thank you,” Scott said.

Seth fixed him with a hard look. “You’re not forgiven. I’m sorry, Scott, but it’s going to take more than words to regain my trust.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“There was a way to bring Eleanor back from the dead,” Seth said, lowering his voice. Levi leaned in to listen to him. “After all of this is done, I want you to bring Gwyneth back instead.”

The witch looked startled. “But it requires sacrifice.”

“I know,” Seth said. “I know.”

Music started playing from the speakers by the gift table. It wasn’t the processional yet, but it was a warning that they only had fifteen minutes left. Seth stepped away.

“I’ll have Stephanie check on Rylie,” Levi said.

Seth led Scott to the altar and took his position beside a disgruntled-looking Yasir. He swallowed his nerves, checked his cell phone, and saw that Abel still hadn’t called back.

“Almost time,” he whispered.

The music started playing. Rylie
could barely hear it from her tent outside the house, but it still made her heart leap into her throat.

“But I’m not ready!” Rylie gasped, pulling her garter belt over her stockings.

She pulled shoes on, but her fingers were shaking too much to get the straps around her ankles. Gwyn laughed and took care of it for her. “Relax. The wedding’s not going to start without you. Trust me.”

Rylie gnawed on a fingernail. “What if we get attacked during the ceremony? What if we
don’t
get attacked during the ceremony? Oh my God, what if I trip while I’m walking up the aisle?”

Her aunt grabbed her shoulders. “Breathe in. Breathe out.”

“I am breathing! I couldn’t panic if I stopped!”

“You’re not going to trip and fall. You’re a werewolf, babe. You’re the epitome of grace. Remember?”

“Oh,” Rylie said. “Yeah. But what about—”

“Cain and Eleanor? Don’t worry about it.” Gwyn jerked her thumb at the table that was occupied by a space heater and parts of Rylie’s wardrobe. “I’ve got a shotgun under my wrap. And I have an extra weapon, too.”

She pulled a glass ball out of a box on the table.

“What’s that?” Rylie asked, curiosity winning out over her fear. She leaned in closer. It had a tiny animal skull inside.

“This is what Scott used to resurrect Eleanor,” Gwyn said. “If she shows up, I’m pretty sure I can use it to get rid of her.”

Rylie opened her mouth to argue, but Stephanie Whyte stuck her head through the flap, interrupting them. “Almost ready?” she asked. Little white flowers were pinned in her strawberry blond hair.

“Almost,” Rylie said with a weak smile.

Stephanie stepped in and fluffed out Rylie’s skirt. “Lovely,” she said fondly. And then her voice hardened. “My father’s officiating, but there are Union soldiers out there. I saw them myself. You’ll be safe.”

“Stephanie,” Gwyn snapped. “Is this the time?”

Rylie pressed her hands against her stomach. She wasn’t sure if that queasy feeling was morning sickness or nerves. “It’s good to know. It’s not like we aren’t preparing for trouble, too.” Rylie hesitated, and then asked, “Any sign of Abel?”

Stephanie frowned. “No. Were you expecting him?”

Expecting? No. Hoping? Maybe a little bit.

Rylie shook her head.

“I’m going to take position,” Stephanie said. “I’ll be watching you from the back.” She squeezed Rylie’s arm encouragingly. “You look great.”

And then she was gone, and Rylie still had to get her dress done up the back.

“Hurry,” she urged Gwyn, sucking in her stomach.

“The dress is just a little snug.” Her aunt grunted as she forced the sides of the fabric together. Her fingers were cold against Rylie’s skin.

Rylie pressed her hands against her lower belly. It seemed a tiny bit bigger than when she had first tried on dresses. “I can’t be growing
that
fast. Do I look pregnant?”

“You’ve changed sizes since prom. That’s all.
There
.” Gwyn finally secured the hook and sighed.

Rylie twisted and turned to study herself in the mirror. Bekah had already done her hair in loose curls down her back, with smoky eye shadow and pink lip gloss. All of that looked good. And the dress was gorgeous, too—it had demi-sleeves, a slash of red at the waist, and a heart-shaped cutout at the small of her back. But all Rylie could think about was the shape of her belly.

“You don’t look pregnant,” Gwyn said, noticing her paranoia. Moonlight filtering through the gaps in the tent shimmered in her eyes. She fidgeted with Rylie’s sleeve, trying to smooth the satin flat.

“Why are you crying?” Rylie asked.

Gwyn picked up her shotgun and started loading it with silver bullets. “It’s just—you look beautiful, babe. I wish your dad was here to see the way you look tonight.”

Rylie swallowed around the lump in her throat. It was a horrible thing to think, but she had always been kind of glad that he died before she became a werewolf. He never knew that his baby girl had become a killing machine and leader of a monstrous race. And it also meant that he couldn’t walk her down the aisle in front of enemies.

Her aunt jacked a round into the chamber. Propped the gun against her shoulder. “You ready?”

Rylie closed her eyes and imagined everyone waiting for her to step outside. Werewolves on one side. Plainclothes Union army on the other. Scott Whyte waiting to officiate the wedding. And who knew how many men loyal to Cain would be hiding in the crowd?

The processional music started to play. Whether or not Rylie was ready, it was time to walk down the aisle.

She picked up the bouquet and used the blossoms to conceal the claws that had already replaced her fingernails. Her inner wolf was stirring. It was afraid, and ready for a fight.

Gwyn cradled the shotgun in her arm and draped her wrap over it.

Rylie took a deep breath, nodded once, and stepped outside for the wedding.

T
WELVE

Forever Hold Your Peace

Abel had been running for
hours, but he just wasn’t fast enough. The hills and plains and farms were long and unending. Rylie was still too many miles away from him.

He was out of his mind with adrenaline and fatigue. He couldn’t feel his bare feet, couldn’t feel the muscles in his legs, couldn’t feel his hands or nose or cheeks because of the cold wind blowing past him. All he could think about was
her
—and the wolf’s overpowering need to be with Rylie.

Abel couldn’t let Cain get to her first. She was his mate. He
needed
to protect her.

So he pushed through the exhaustion, pushed through the snow, and kept running.

The hills turned into a blur around him. Daylight faded into evening. He only knew that he was crossing a highway when the thin snow under his feet suddenly turned to pavement.

A car skidded in front of him. Abel barely dodged it in him.

He glimpsed the driver as the vehicle passed—it was Cain, gripping the wheel in both hands with fire in his eyes as he tore down the road. He didn’t even notice that he had almost hit someone.

Abel stopped to look around. The stretch of road was familiar. He recognized the sign for the Batemans’ farm, which was just down the road from the Gresham Ranch.

He was almost there. And so was Cain.

The melodious tones of a
three piece orchestra drifted through the air, and Rylie felt like she floated down the aisle on a sea of music. She was hyper-aware of the people watching her—Levi in the back row, and Stephanie behind him; all the men in black suits were on the other side. Their staring eyes drove straight through her skin and made her gut cramp.

Her fingers tensed on Gwyn’s arm. She almost stopped walking. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered to her aunt.

“You’re going to be fine, pumpkin,” Gwyneth said. “I promise.”

That was the name that Rylie’s dad used to call her. Hearing it again reminded her of him, and his reassuring smile, and it filled her with warmth.

Rylie swallowed hard and kept walking.

She brought her gaze up the aisle. Bekah had spread rose petals over the snow where Rylie was meant to walk, and her path through the audience was marked with crimson ribbon. Snowflakes caught on her veil so that she could see the tiny crystals just beyond her nose.

Her gaze focused on who was waiting for her at the altar—and the rest of the world dropped away.

Seth’s hands were folded in front of him, and the sight of him in his suit made her heart give a funny flop. His shoulders and chest were broad, filling out the tuxedo until it looked like he strained the seams. The white material offset his dark skin. That charming, slanted smile made his face glow—and glow for
her
.

Rylie hesitated a few steps away, heart beating in her chest like a caged animal.

Ever since she had first seen Seth, she had known that she loved him. But she had been such a different girl then. So much younger. Rylie was a different person, and she didn’t know if the change was for the better, but Seth was the same.

He still loved her. It showed in his eyes, his smile, the way he held himself. He didn’t care that she had killed more than a dozen people while sick with silver poisoning. He didn’t care about her position in the pack. He only cared about the woman he had loved for years, and in his eyes, she felt like all her sins were forgiven.

Rylie faced her aunt, who used one hand to lift the veil. Gwyn was still cradling the shotgun under her wrap.

She bent down, and Gwyn kissed her cheek. “Love you, babe,” she said.

Rylie gave a tearful smile. “I love you, too,” she whispered back.

Gwyn stepped away, leaving Rylie nothing to do but take Seth’s outstretched hand. His fingers were warm. She wished that she could kiss him now, instead of waiting for the end of the ceremony. She could have used the comfort.

“You okay?” he whispered as everybody in the audience sat.

Rylie nodded, unable to speak.

His hands tightened on hers.

“Dearly beloved,” Scott said to her left, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Rylie Gresham and Seth Wilder in holy matrimony…”

She was so on edge that she barely heard him. Blood roared in her ears.

Rylie thought she was going to faint.

Her wolf was struggling to emerge from within, making her gums ache and fingertips itch. She could smell the pack surrounding her, the stink of gun lubricant and silver bullets, hear distant footsteps on snow…

Wait. Footsteps.

Rylie’s ears perked up, and she tuned out the drone of Scott’s voice so that she could listen closer.

It sounded like someone was approaching. Running hard. Panting, gasping, staggering.

A faint breeze lifted, making her veil flutter behind her. Rylie let her eyes close so that she could take a sniff of the masculine smell of sweat and gunpowder.

“Will the bride please repeat after me?” Scott said, stirring Rylie from her daze.

She opened her eyes. Seth was looking worried.

And then his eyes focused over her shoulder.

“It can’t be,” he breathed.

Rylie gathered her skirts and turned, but she already knew who was approaching the gazebo.

Abel sprinted up the snowy hill. He was in a black tank top and jeans, completely unarmed, and looking exhausted. His foot caught on a rock under the snow, and he spilled onto the ground.

She sucked in a gasp. “Abel!”

Everyone in the audience stirred, craning to see him. Rylie heard guns drawn from holsters, safeties released, the soft growl of werewolves on the alert.

Rylie didn’t even realize that she was running until she reached Abel’s side. She dropped beside him.

“Oh my God,” she said, hands hovering over his body. She wanted to touch him, but he was looking so pale—was he injured? “Abel, what are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

He shoved himself over to roll onto his back. Every breath tore from his throat and made him grimace. “Rylie,” Abel gasped. “Cain—”

Seth crunched through the snow to them. “Your timing sucks, man,” he said, grabbing Abel’s arm. “Are you okay?”