The first thing my future husband ever handed me was not a ring.

It was a binder. Thick. Black. The kind lawyers carry into court.

"Read it before tomorrow," Dorian Voss said. "Sign the last page."

I stared at the title. *Pack Household Stability Agreement.*

"Hello to you too," I said. "I'm Briar Calloway. Your bride. We've never met, in case you forgot."

"I didn't forget." He didn't sit. The Alpha of the Voss Pack just stood by the fireplace in his study, tall, dark-suited, his gray eyes as warm as a frozen lake. "Page four is the important part."

I flipped to page four.

*Article 7: Marital relations shall occur once per calendar month.*

*Article 8: Each week, the parties may choose ONE of the following: an embrace, or holding hands.*

*Article 9: All other physical contact must be requested in advance and approved by both parties.*

I laughed. It came out wrong, too high and too sharp.

"Is this a joke? Did your Beta write this for fun?"

"I wrote it."

I kept flipping. My fingers went cold on the last page.

*Article 23: Neither party shall fall in love with the other.*

"You put it in writing," I said slowly. "That I'm not allowed to love you."

"And that I won't love you." He finally looked at me. Really looked. "Let's be clear, Miss Calloway. Your father's pack and mine have been one bad night away from war for ten years. This marriage stops that. That's all it is."

"So I'm a peace treaty."

"You're a stabilizing factor."

"Wow." I closed the binder. "That's so much worse."

"Affection makes people reckless. Reckless Alphas get wolves killed." His jaw set hard. "I won't be reckless. Not for anyone."

I walked up to him. Close enough to smell cedar and cold air on his collar.

Then I slapped him.

The crack echoed off the bookshelves. His head turned with it. For one second, nothing moved in that room.

He touched his cheek. He didn't growl. He just looked at me like I'd broken some law of physics.

"You're afraid of losing control," I said. "Fine. Then you should've married some sweet little she-wolf who'd bow her head and say *yes, Alpha*. You picked the wrong girl."

"I didn't pick you at all."

"No. You picked a contract." I tossed the binder onto his desk. It slid off the other side and hit the floor. "And I'm about to tear up every page of it."

"Briar—"

"Oh, first name now?"

His mouth tightened. "You don't understand what's at stake."

"I understand you're lying." I tipped my chin up. "Your pulse is going crazy. I can hear it from here. So can my wolf."

"That's adrenaline. You hit me."

"Then prove it."

I grabbed his lapels and kissed him.

He went rigid. His hands came up and caught my shoulders, and he pushed me back half an inch.

"This isn't approved," he said, voice rough. "Article nine."

"I'm requesting it. Right now."

"That's not how—"

"Yes or no, Dorian."

His grip didn't loosen. It didn't push me away either. His thumbs pressed into my collarbones. I watched his eyes flicker, silver bleeding into the gray. His wolf, clawing at the surface.

"This is a mistake," he said.

"Then make it."

He made a sound low in his chest, half curse, half surrender. Then his mouth crashed down on mine.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't polite. It was ten years of cold discipline cracking straight down the middle. He backed me into the desk, and the edge hit the backs of my thighs. His hands tangled in my hair.

"Fuck," he breathed against my jaw. "You're going to ruin everything."

"Good." I yanked his tie loose. "But you want this."

"Briar."

"Stop writing rules. Touch me."

He hesitated. I got his shirt open, buttons scattering across the rug. His skin was burning hot under my palms, his heart slamming against my hand.

"Tell me to stop," I said, my mouth at his throat.

He didn't. He lifted me onto the desk, and his papers went flying, his neat, careful rules scattered under us. When he finally pushed into me, he said my name like a prayer and a curse at once. I dug my nails into his shoulders and held on while the cold Alpha of the Voss Pack came apart in my arms.

Afterward, he stood at the window and buttoned what was left of his shirt. His back was to me.

"That counts as this month," he said.

I laughed so hard I nearly fell off the desk.

---

The wedding was the next afternoon. Two packs sat on opposite sides of the aisle, staring each other down like it was a funeral.

The officiant was a nervous gray-haired elder. He read the vows fast. Then he closed his book.

"By the power of both packs, I pronounce you mated and wed. You may now—" he checked a card in his hand, "—turn and face your guests."

No kiss.

Of course. Dorian had cut it.

I looked at my husband. He stared straight ahead. Perfect posture. Perfect ice.

I grabbed his tie and pulled.

His eyes went wide a second before my lips hit his. Somebody in the front row gasped. Somebody on my father's side whistled.

I kissed him long enough to make a point. Then I let his tie slide out of my fingers.

"Article nine," I whispered. "Consider this my request."

"You didn't wait for approval," he murmured.

"You kissed me back."

He said nothing. His face stayed stone cold as he turned to the crowd.

But his ears were bright red.

I smiled at two hundred guests like I'd just won a war.

---

The reception was loud and stiff at the same time. Nobody from either pack danced.

I was halfway through my second glass of champagne when a broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit stepped beside me. Garrick Holloway, Dorian's Beta. He'd been standing behind my husband all day like a shadow with a jawline.

"Luna Voss," he said.

"Still getting used to that."

"Get used to it fast." He lowered his voice. "Change of plans. The Alpha's parents want you at the estate tonight."

"Tonight? It's our wedding night."

"I'm aware." His mouth twitched, like he knew exactly what had happened in that study. "Lady Voss insisted."

"Insisted on what?"

Garrick hesitated. That was what scared me. A Beta like him didn't hesitate.

"She said," he told me carefully, "she can't wait to inspect her new daughter-in-law."

My glass stopped halfway to my lips.

"Inspect," I repeated.

Across the room, Dorian met my eyes. For the first time since I'd met him, my cold husband looked worried.

Lady Maeve Voss did not inspect me.

She hugged me.

"Oh, look at you!" She held me at arm's length in the foyer, her silver bracelets jangling. "Garrick, look at her. Those cheekbones. That chin. She looks like she could bite a man's head off."

"She nearly did," Garrick said flatly.

"Good." Maeve hooked her arm through mine. "Come. I want to see the ring."

She dragged me into a sitting room full of velvet chairs. She tugged my wedding band off, frowned at it, and snapped her fingers at a maid.

"Bring my box. The blue one."

"Mother," Dorian said from the doorway. "That ring was fine."

"That ring was boring. Like you." She slid an old sapphire onto my finger and sighed. "There. That was my grandmother's. She once broke a rival Alpha's nose at a dinner party."

I grinned. "I like her already."

"You would. You kissed my son in front of two hundred wolves." Maeve turned to the three maids hovering by the door. "Did you hear? She grabbed him by the tie. Beautiful *and* brave. Finally."

Dorian crossed his arms. "Some of us found it inappropriate."

"Some of us?" I asked.

"It wasn't dignified." His gray eyes slid to me, cool and pointed. "A Luna should have more shame."

The room went quiet.

Maeve set down the jewelry box very gently. That was worse than slamming it.

"Dorian Alaric Voss."

He flinched. The Alpha of an entire pack actually flinched.

"Your wife kissed you first," Maeve said, "because she is braver than you. Not because she has no shame. Say that word to her again and I'll ask her to slap you."

"She already did," Garrick muttered.

Maeve's face lit up. "She *didn't*."

"She did," Dorian said through his teeth.

His mother laughed until she had to wipe her eyes.

---

Garrick didn't laugh. He found me in the hallway afterward, arms folded, blocking my path like a wall with opinions.

"You should be careful, Luna."

"About what?"

"You walked into this house and took it in an hour." His voice stayed low. "Your father's pack already thinks this marriage gives them a foothold. If you start running the Voss household too, people will say Calloway owns us now."

"So I should be quieter."

"You should be smaller."

I looked him up and down. "You first."

His nostrils flared. He stepped aside without another word.

---

Dinner was a disaster by the second course.

Dorian's father sat at the head of the table, silent and gray. Maeve talked about the gardens. Then Garrick said, while cutting his steak, "The east garden should be paved over. Nobody's used it in twenty years."

Maeve's fork stopped.

Nobody moved. A servant froze with a water pitcher tipped halfway. Dorian stared at his plate like it held state secrets.

I'd walked past that garden on the way in. Dead roses. One stone bench, swept clean. Someone swept it every single day.

"Lady Maeve," I said, "who planted the roses?"

Her eyes flicked to me. Wet at the edges.

"My mother."

"Then I'm not letting anyone pave it." I turned to Garrick. "But I'll need help replanting. Big strong Beta. Good with a shovel?"

Garrick's jaw worked. He glanced at Maeve's face, and whatever he saw there took the fight out of him.

"I'm sorry, Lady Maeve," he said quietly. "I didn't think."

"No," Maeve said. Then, to my shock, she smiled at me. "You'll dig in the dirt with her, Garrick. In a suit, I think. Tomorrow."

The servant finally poured the water. Somebody exhaled.

Under the table, Dorian's knee bumped mine. Just once. I couldn't tell if it was an accident.

---

Garrick caught me on the terrace after dinner. He handed me a glass of brandy I hadn't asked for.

"You notice things," he said.

"It's a hobby."

"Then notice this." He leaned on the railing. "When Dorian was seven, the Harrow Pack took him. Snatched him from the woods right out there. They kept him for four days."

My glass stopped halfway up.

"We got him back," Garrick went on. "But he wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not his mother. Not me. He'd scream if someone brushed his sleeve. So his father made rules. Meals at six. Training at seven. Who could hug him, and when, and for how long. Rules made him feel safe."

"And he never stopped."

"He never stopped." Garrick looked at me. "That contract isn't a joke to him, Luna. It's the only lock he knows how to use."

I stared into the dark, at the woods where a little boy had once disappeared.

He wasn't made of ice.

He'd built himself a cage and called it discipline.

---

That night, Dorian's things were in the guest room.

I carried his pillow back to the master bedroom and dropped it on the bed.

"You sleep here," I said.

"Separate rooms are better for pack stability."

"Pack stability doesn't live in our bedroom. Get in."

He got in. He lay on his back like a wooden plank, hands folded on his stomach, eyes on the ceiling.

I rolled onto my side, facing him. His scent was everywhere, cedar and warm skin. His throat moved.

"You're breathing funny," I whispered.

"I'm breathing normally."

"You're breathing like a man doing math."

Then I felt it. The blanket shifted. Something about him had very clearly woken up.

He turned his back to me so fast the mattress bounced.

"Dorian," I said sweetly. "Do you need a doctor?"

"I need space."

It came out rough. Real. Not a rule, just a man asking.

So I scooted back to my side. "Okay. Space."

He went still. Maybe waiting for me to push.

"Relax," I said, smiling into the dark. "I won't report your secret to the butler."

A long pause.

Then, very quietly, the ice cracked. He laughed.

---

Within a week, I knew every servant by name. Hilde in the kitchen. Tomas the gardener. Pip, the nervous maid who only ever talked to the cat. We tore the heavy curtains out of the dining room, painted the walls yellow, and dragged in a long wooden table where everyone could sit.

On Friday, Dorian came down to breakfast and stopped dead.

"Where is my coffee?"

"Hilde made the Luna cinnamon rolls," Pip said. "The coffee's… after."

"After what?"

"After the Luna," Tomas said, not looking up.

Dorian turned to his mother. "Did you approve the yellow?"

"I love the yellow."

He turned to Garrick. Garrick had dirt under his nails from the rose garden.

"Don't look at me," Garrick said. "She gave me the good shovel."

Dorian sat down slowly, a stranger in his own house.

"I'm the Alpha," he said.

"Sure, honey," Maeve said, and passed me the jam.

---

That night, he knocked on the bedroom door. He'd never knocked before.

"There's a lake cabin," he said. "Two hours north. I thought…" He cleared his throat. "If you wanted. We could go. This weekend."

I blinked. "Is this a request?"

"It's an invitation."

"Did you write it down first?"

His ears went pink.

We left Saturday morning. We stopped at a little diner near the lake, and for once Dorian held the door for me without checking a clock.

Then a voice came from the corner booth. Warm. Lazy. Terribly familiar.

"Briar Calloway. You cut your hair."

My blood ran cold.

Soren.

He stood slowly, that same crooked grin on his face, his eyes sliding past me to the Alpha at my side.

"And you brought a bodyguard," he said. "Cute."

Dorian's hand closed around my wrist. Not a rule. Not a request.

A claim.

Soren's eyes dropped to Dorian's hand on my wrist. His grin got wider.

"Relax, big guy. I know why she's here." He winked at me. "The Trade Festival. Every Alpha in the north eats in this back room this weekend. You knew I'd come."

I stared at him. "You think I drove two hours to find *you*?"

"You drove further in high school." He slid out of the booth. Heads turned at the other tables. Three Alphas, two Betas, a woman from the Ridgewater council. "Everybody, this is Briar Calloway. Loves a strong man. Chases them like a puppy chases cars." He tipped his chin at Dorian. "Looks like she upgraded."

My face burned. "Careful, Soren."

"Or what? You'll cry in my truck again?" He leaned in. "Like the night you found Lacey's earring on my dash? You still didn't leave. Took you three more months. You couldn't."

Someone laughed behind a napkin.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Six years, and he still knew exactly where to attack.

Then Dorian stepped between us.

He didn't shove. He didn't raise his voice. He just stood there, tall and silent, until Soren had to tilt his head back to see him.

"Say her name again," Dorian said.

Soren laughed. "Briar—"

"Luna Voss." Dorian's voice didn't rise. It dropped. "She is my wife. You'll address her correctly, or you won't address her at all."

The room went dead.

Soren's grin flickered. "Your… wife?"

"Married Tuesday." Dorian pulled out his phone. "You're Redfen Pack. Soren Marsh. Your father runs freight through the Voss corridor."

"So?"

"So he did." Dorian typed. Three taps. "Garrick, pull Redfen's protection agreement. Border patrol support ends tonight. Trade road closes Monday."

Soren went pale all at once, like somebody had pulled a plug. "You can't do that over a *joke*."

"I just did."

"Wait. Wait." Soren turned to me, hands up. "Briar. Luna. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know. I was out of line. Tell him."

Every eye in the room swung to me.

I thought about the earring. The truck. The three months.

"No," I said.

"No?"

"You're not sorry. You're scared." I picked up my purse. "Those aren't the same thing."

Soren's face twisted. He grabbed his jacket off the booth.

"Fine. Enjoy your iceberg, Briar." He paused at the door. "Give it a year. You'll wish you'd picked warm."

The door slammed.

Dorian didn't let go of my wrist until we reached the car.

---

We never made it to the cabin. He said the festival meetings ran long. He said it looking at the road.

At the estate, Maeve met us in the foyer with news already in her mouth.

"I heard! The Marsh boy!" She clapped. "Oh, sweetheart, you have terrible taste. Well, *had*. There was the Marsh boy, and that musician, and the one with the motorcycle—"

"Mom," Dorian said.

"—and the pastry chef, I liked the sound of him—"

"*Mother*."

He went upstairs without another word.

---

Three days later, I noticed.

He didn't pull out my chair at breakfast. He just sat and opened the paper.

At night, he didn't ask if I had enough blanket. He'd done it every night for a week, stiff and awkward, like reading off a list. Now he just clicked off the lamp.

"Did I do something?" I asked the dark.

"No."

"You're doing the frozen-lake thing again."

"I'm tired."

"You're lying."

He rolled over. That was the whole answer.

Fine, I thought. The real Dorian was back. The warm one had been a fluke.

---

Finnian found me in the rose garden on the fourth day. Dorian's younger cousin. Nineteen, all elbows, and he ran the pack's security cameras like a nosy grandmother.

"So," he said, crouching by the dirt. "You and my cousin are fighting."

"We're not fighting. He's just cold. Apparently that's his factory setting."

"Uh-huh." Finnian pulled a weed. "You know he watched the diner footage? Like, six times."

I sat back on my heels. "Why?"

"Not the Soren part." He squinted up at me. "The part where Soren said you *chased* him. Dorian asked me, dead serious, 'Did she ever chase me?'"

"I kissed him at the altar!"

"Yeah, but you got told to marry him. That's not chasing." Finnian shrugged. "You chased a guy with a motorcycle, Luna. You didn't have to chase Dorian. You just got delivered."

I didn't say anything.

"He's never had a girlfriend," Finnian added. "Never. Not one date. Aunt Maeve tried setting him up at twenty and he wrote the girl a *schedule*." He stood and brushed off his knees. "You're not his fourth or fifth. You're it. And he just found out he's number six on your list."

He walked off whistling.

I stayed in the dirt a long time, turning my sapphire ring around and around.

---

That night, I sat cross-legged on our bed with a small box, a roll of silver paper, and ribbon.

Dorian came in. Stopped. His eyes went to the box, then away.

"Don't mind me," I said, tearing tape with my teeth.

He hung up his jacket. Slowly. Then he loosened his watch. Slower.

I folded a corner. Creased it. Smoothed it with my thumbnail.

"Who's it for," he said. Flat. Not a question.

"Someone."

His jaw flexed. "Someone."

"A man I've been thinking about." I tied the ribbon in a bow. "I'm trying to win him over. It's harder than it looks."

The watch hit the dresser a little too hard.

"Is it the pastry chef?"

I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't laugh. "Why do you care? Article twenty-three. You're not allowed."

"I'm aware of the article."

"So you don't care."

"I don't care."

"Great." I set the box on my nightstand and switched off my lamp. "Night, Dorian."

Silence. One minute. Two.

Then the mattress dipped hard.

"I care," he said into the dark. His voice was rough, like it scraped on the way out. "I care that you ran after all of them. I care that you never once ran after me. I'm jealous. Of a pastry chef I've never met. It's humiliating."

I rolled over. His face was inches away, silver flickering in his eyes.

"There it is," I said softly.

"Is the box for him?"

I picked it up and pressed it into his chest.

"Open it tomorrow," I said. "I'm chasing you, idiot. Keep up."

He held it like it might break. Then, for the first time in four days, he reached over and tugged the blanket up to my shoulder.

---

In the morning, I came down to breakfast smiling.

Nobody smiled back.

Pip was holding the tablet. Maeve's lips were white. Garrick stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear.

Dorian sat at the head of the yellow table, the silver box unopened by his plate. He turned the tablet toward me without a word.

The headline filled the screen.

*THE PACK SOCIALITE'S LOVE HISTORY: Every Man Luna Briar Voss Chased Before Her Alpha.*

Below it were photos. Soren's truck. The motorcycle. The musician.

And one I'd never seen before. One I didn't remember anyone taking.