Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter Romance

Juliet

By five, my hair is styled into an elaborate up-do, my makeup has been professionally applied-including fake eyelashes that make my lids feel oddly heavy-and I'm dressed in a simple blue sheath dress for the trip from the salon to the church, where my altered wedding dress will allegedly be waiting for me in the bridal suite.

By five-thirty, I'm standing at the back of the church, while the wedding planner explains what to do when I hear my musical cue. "What about my cousin?" I ask. "She's my maid of honor. Won't she need to walk down first?"

The wedding planner, a tiny Asian woman named Nicky with cheekbones so sharp they look like they could cut glass, nods. "Absolutely. We'll also have a flower girl from the pack. So, flower girl first, then Bethany. But they'll walk during the initial instrumental. It's when you hear the shift for Here Comes the Bride that the doors will be opened by the attendants, and you'll begin your walk."

She snaps her fingers and the closed doors in front of me part like magic, letting out a gust of cool, magnolia-scented air that stirs the hem of my sheath dress. It looks like Jean-Paul went with the orange calla lilies he mentioned for the floral decorations, but the candles glittering throughout the sanctuary are magnolia infused and so pungent the entire space is already suffused with the smell.

"But don't start right away," Nicky says, lifting a hand, her slim fingers spread wide. "Hold for a beat, then hold a beat longer than you think you should. Give everyone in the pews time to turn around, see you, and be knocked off their feet by that dress before you walk."

"She should be wearing the dress now!" Jean-Paul shouts from the front by the pulpit and a bored-looking priest. "She needs practice. What if she trips and falls? What's taking Duval so long?"

"She won't trip, and Madame Duval said she needed an extra hour for a few final touches. Besides, we don't want to risk the train getting dirty during rehearsal," Nicky calls back. "You hired me to do a job, Jean-Paul. Let me do it." Her smile returning, she adds in a softer voice, "That's a good pause, now start down the aisle, but slowly, regally. Excellent," she enthuses as I begin the long journey down to the front of the church. "You're a princess who's about to become this pack's queen. And this is the first time most of them will see you. Make an impression. Show them you're something special, a queen who won't be rushed, a queen who holds her head up high and her shoulders back and has zero shame about how she came to be at this altar today."

"And why should she have shame?" Jean-Paul asks as I draw closer. "Arranged marriages are the norm among elite shifter families. Common people marry for love or at the whim of fate. We marry for power. Isn't that right, Juliet?"

"Shouldn't the flower girl and Bethany be here, too?" I ask, answering his question with one of my own. "If you want this to go off without a hitch, shouldn't we practice with a complete wedding party?"

He waves an annoyed hand, like he's batting away a fly. "I'm not concerned. If the flower girl makes a mistake, it's cute, and Bethany is a grown woman and raised as part of a royal family. I'm certain she can walk a straight line and stand sweetly on your side of the pulpit without any trouble. It's more important that her dress fits. Madame Duval is doing final alterations on her gown, as well, but she and your dress should be here soon. You'll have time to catch up before the ceremony. Though, fair warning, if either of you starts to boo-hoo back there, I've given the guards orders to separate you. I won't have you saying your vows with a red, puffy face. This is a celebration, not a funeral."

"I won't be puffy or red." I stop across from him in front of the altar, gifting him a tight smile that I hope hides the murder in my eyes.

I can't wait to shift into my phoenix form and rain fire down on his pompous head. The priest may get caught in the crossfire, but there's nothing I can do about that. Jean-Paul's pack, at least, will have a chance to run out the double doors before the flames spread to the rest of the church.

If they stay and fight to save their sovereign, well...that's their choice.

We should all have free will, and I mean to exercise mine to get my cousin and myself out of here without Jean-Paul's ring on my finger.

After the rehearsal of the vows, during which I heroically manage not to vomit again, I'm returned to the bridal suite. The male guards stay just outside the door and the one female guard joins me inside. She's heavily armed, but once Bethany's here, she'll also be outnumbered.

I don't plan to make a move until we're standing at the back of the sanctuary, but if a perfect opportunity to overpower this woman and sneak out the tiny bathroom window presents itself, I'll take it.

The next half hour ticks by with aching slowness, as I watch the door and will Bethany to arrive. A messenger arrives with my gown in a gauzy garment bag, but there's still no sign of my cousin, not even when the guests start to be dropped off outside. I catch glimpses of them through the bathroom window, emerging from limos and black SUVs, and feel time slipping through my fingers.

Where the hell is Bethany? Is this another one of Jean-Paul's tricks or is she simply running late? And if she isn't here in time to start the ceremony, should I proceed with my plan anyway? If I don't, the goddess only knows when I might get another chance to get out of this damned collar.

Finally, it's time to put on the dress, so I do, allowing the guard to zip me up when she offers. She's a brusque woman-nearly a foot taller than I am with short brown hair and a perpetually unamused expression-but she surprises me by saying, "You look really pretty. It's a great dress."

"Thank you," I say, meeting her gaze for the first time. "Are you married?"

She gives a slight shake of her head. "No. We aren't allowed. Bodyguards are married to the king's service. Or the queen's. I'll be transferred to your detail after the ceremony and give my life for yours if necessary." "Thank you," I say. "But I hope it doesn't come to that."

I hope I don't have to hurt her, either, but if I don't have a choice, I will. This woman chose to stay with the Montreal pack and serve its king and she's accountable for that.

It all comes down to choices.

Mine. Jean-Paul's. And everyone who's about to be caught in the crossfire.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I'm heading into the bathroom to look for my lock-picking kit and find out if Madame Duval is a woman of her word, when Bethany bustles into the bridal suite, her cheeks flushed and her arms full of flowers.

"I have the bouquets. They told me to bring them in. I'm so happy to see you, Jules," she says, laying the flowers on the small table by the door. She's wearing a black gown made of the same heavy silk as my wedding dress that's nearly as revealing in the front. It makes my eyes widen slightly as we pull away from our welcome hug.

"Wow," I say, glancing back down at her swollen chest. "You've grown."

She exhales a shaky laugh. "Yeah. It's the pregnancy. My breasts just keep getting bigger and bigger."

"Who's the father?" I ask.

Her smiles fades. "I don't want to talk about it. If that's okay."

Brow furrowing, I nod. "Of course. And...I'm sorry. About earlier today and the fact that you're caught up in this."

"But you chose me," she whispers, gripping both of my hands tight in hers. "That meant a lot to me, Juliet. I'm so sad about what happened to Lucas, but I'm grateful to be here with you."

"I'm grateful to be with you, too," I say, before adding in a softer voice, "Though I'd rather be anywhere but here."

She sighs. "Yeah, well, you never were the arranged marriage type."

"Especially not to a man who murders members of my family right in front of me." I lock my gaze with hers, willing her not to ask any questions as I add, "Will you help me in the bathroom? I need to pee and don't want to accidentally go on the dress. The skirt is hard to manage on my own."

"Of course," she says, glancing at the guard. "Is that okay?"

The guard motions toward the bathroom. "Knock yourselves out. But don't take too long. It'll be time to get in position in about ten minutes."

Once we're inside the bathroom, Bethany closes the door behind us and reaches for the bottom of my skirt.

"I don't need help peeing," I whisper, brushing her hands away and crouching down to feel along the back of the hem. "I need help getting out of here."

"But how?" she whispers back. "Jean-Paul has guards everywhere. There's one not far from this window, even though it's way too small to fit through. At least for me. You might be able to make it. You've always been so little. It used to make me soooo jealous." "I have an ace up my sleeve," I say, my heart leaping as my fingers move across a series of small lumps beneath the hem. Turning the fabric over, I tug at the loose threads there until I can unfold the satin. Two lock picks with different heads and a small torsion wrench no bigger than my pinkie finger fall out, clinking lightly on the tile.

"Oh my God," Bethany whispers. "How did you do that?"

"A little help from a friend," I whisper as I pull out a few more stitches, uncovering a third pick. Silently, I vow to bust my a*s to get Madame Duval out of here once I'm free. "Turn the water on in the sink, okay? I don't think the picks will make much noise, but better safe than sorry."

Bethany hesitates and I add, "Go on. I just want to make sure I have all the picks. I'm not sure which I'll need for the collar."

"Okay, but I'm not sure this is a good idea," she says, shuffling over to the sink and twisting the taps. "Even if you can shift, you're just one person. You can't take down this entire pack all by yourself."

"Watch me," I mutter beneath my breath as I pull a tiny piece of rolled paper from the last empty space in the hem. Thinking it might be instructions on how to remove the collar, I unroll it to read, "Your cousin Bethany is on Jean-Paul's side. Don't let her know what you're up to. Just shift and run as fast as you can. I'm pretty sure they're planning to kill you."

Well...f**k.

"What's wrong?" Bethany asks.

"Nothing," I lie, tucking the note back into the hem as my thoughts race. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I should wait to pick the lock until later when Jean-Paul and I are alone." I force a soft laugh. "And I should probably actually use the bathroom so if you want to wait outside that's fine."

"Yeah, right, Juliet," she says, sighing as she adds. "I'm not as smart as you are, but I'm not stupid, either."

I look up to see a small gun in her hand that she's pulled from goddess knows where. Maybe her cleavage? It's deep enough to hide a gun twice that size.

But she doesn't have one twice that size. She has a tiny antique-looking weapon that I'm betting I can take from her without much of a fight.

I just have to make sure she isn't able to put up a fuss about it and alert the guard outside afterward...

Trusting the feral part of me that learned to fight dirty during my years in the circus and the combat training I received at Lost Moon, I lunge for my cousin. Before she can cry out, I wrap my arm around her neck, smashing my hand over her mouth as I drag her quickly and quietly to the floor.