Wedding the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance

by Steffanie Holmes

  “So the dress wants to be floaty, majestic, lithe, like a fairy queen …” Marsha cooed. Alex moved to inspect a rack of dresses. Marsha threw himself in front of it, her arms splayed wide and an expression of horror on her face.

  “No! These dresses are not for you! What if that man of yours saw you in one of those, he’ll think he was marrying the little matchstick girl instead of his radiant bride.”

  “They look perfectly lovely to me—” Alex tried to reach around her, but Marsha grabbed her wrist.

  “For a woman of your stature, they are filth. Now, what is your fine gentleman’s name?”

  “Ryan. Ryan Raynard—”

  Marsha screeched, and threw her arms around Alex, who stared over my shoulder with an expression that clearly screamed help! I shrugged. I had no idea what this mad lady was doing but I didn’t think I’d be able to get Alex out of there any time soon.

  “Argh, so you are the fair woman who has stolen my Ryan’s heart? Why, if I’d had known you were planning the wedding at last, I would've come up to that big house with all the dresses and saved you the hassle.”

  “You … know Ryan?” Alex looked shocked. I was a bit surprised myself.

  Marsha chuckled. “But of course. His mother Clara and I are close friends. We’re in the same coven. She’s always gushing about her clever sons and their beautiful partners. Why, I can’t believe she didn’t think to make an appointment for you herself.”

  “Because that’s my job.” I didn’t like the insinuation that I was superfluous. “Excuse me, what do you mean by a ‘coven’?”

  “Why, it’s a group of witches who get together to perform magic and enjoy the occasional Irish coffee, of course.” Marsha tore hangers off the racks and piled up a stack of heavy gowns in my arms. “These gowns are my own designs. You won’t find them in some high street chain, but only the best will do for you, my dear.”

  “Excuse me, but did you say witches? Don’t tell me you think you’re a—” I snapped my mouth shut as Alex shot me a warning look.

  “Don’t tell me you’re an unbeliever, dear.” Marsha patted my shoulder as she laid a chiffon gown on top of the pile. “Not after I can smell a wolf all over—”

  “These are beautiful,” Alex practically yelled, grabbing a dress from my arms and holding it up to herself in the mirror. I guessed she was trying to avoid Marsha revealing the truth about her husband to me. Irvine had kept his word. She had no idea I knew anything. “I’ll start trying them on.”

  “Of course, dear.” Marsha patted my shoulder again. “Go hang those up for her. I’ll hunt out some veils.”

  Marsha disappeared between the racks of white, but not before I had a chance to wonder at what she’d been about to say. Did Marsha really believe she was a witch? And was she trying to tell me that she could smell or sense Irvine in some way? That couldn’t be possible.

  Except … of course it was possible. I’d had an intimate relationship with a werewolf for the last month. Believing that witches exist isn’t exactly a huge leap.

  I could smell werewolves. I’d always thought it was because they somehow reminded me of my father, and the trauma gave me a particular sensitivity to it. But if she could smell them too … even clinging to my clothing … then that meant that I wasn’t the only person who could.

  I wondered what Mum would make of that news.

  Mum … shit. I’d been so distracted that I’d nearly forgotten to check on her. With Alex occupied in the dressing room, I sent off a quick text asking her if she was okay and if there was anything unusual going on. I told her not to call me but to text her reply. Alex still hadn’t emerged with her first dress, so I started to wander around the shop.

  Under the window, I found another rack of Marsha’s dresses. These weren’t quite as intricate or flashy as the ones she’d chosen for Alex, but they were all the more beautiful for their simplicity. I flipped through the rack, each gown catching my attention more than the last. The woman may have been a bit nutty, but she had serious talent. I shifted aside a gorgeous ivory gown with a dropped waist and a beaded bodice and …

  Omigod. Look at that.

  26

  Willow

  It wasn’t just any dress. It was the dress.

  It was hidden right at the back of the rack, stuffed in between a Grecian-style gown and an enormous floofy petticoat. I drew it out and held it up to the light, my breath catching in my throat as I admired the glittering beading catching the light.

  The gown was a simple design in soft ivory satin – a sweetheart neckline with scalloped detail around the bust, off-the-shoulder cuffs edged with a line of pearls, and a plunging waist accentuated with lines of gold floral beading and more pearls. The fishtail skirt swung across my knees, shots of gold thread catching the light.

  It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  Throughout my career as a wedding planner, a stab of envy always hit me whenever I caught the smile of love on a bride’s face, or saw her sob as she tried on her wedding dress the morning of the wedding, or watched her and her beloved kiss at the altar. Over and over I told myself that marriage was just an archaic societal construct and plenty of people lived full and happy lives without ever having a partner, and I was able to bury that little sliver of jealousy deep down, almost so deep I could pretend it wasn’t there at all.

  But holding that dress in my arms, my whole body ached with a need I’d denied for so long. Tears sprung to my eyes as I breathed in the sweet smell of the beautiful fabric. I ran a finger over the exquisite gold threads, feeling the smoothness of the pearls.

  To wear something like this, to pull it over your head and pull tight the neat corset lacing, to feel it shimmer and shift against your skin, to take your first steps in the matching embroidered pumps and to know that after your short walk down the aisle, your prince will be waiting there to kiss you and make you his forever—

  “Do you like that one, dearie?”

  I jerked so hard I nearly dropped the dress. “Oh, no.” I tried to shove the gown back into the rack, but Marsha grabbed it from me and held it up against my body. I backed away, shaking my head. “No, no. I’m not getting married. I don’t even have a guy. I’m just the wedding planner. I was just thinking of it for Alex.”

  “Nonsense. If you’re any kind of wedding planner you’d know this cut is all wrong for her. And besides, a pretty thing like you, without a suitor? Poppytosh. You’re probably beating the men off with a stick.”

  I tried to push the gown away. “I’m really not—”

  Marsha shoved the gown back into my hands and pushed me into a changing room. “Go on, try it on.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, young lady. You spend more than enough time running around after brides. You might as well relish any chance to be one for a few minutes.”

  And that’s how I found myself standing in a changing room, holding the world’s most perfect dress and staring at my terrified reflection. This is nuts, I’m the wedding planner. I’m not here to try on dresses.

  Still, it was an awfully pretty dress. I held it up beside me, noticing how the ivory accentuated the lines of my cheekbones and made my usually pale skin glow. A tiny smile forced its way across my lips.

  “Go on, Willow,” Alex cried from outside. “I’m the bride, and what I say goes, and I want to see you in that dress!”

  Fine. I wasn’t going to win this. Sighing, I unbuttoned my shirt, and tugged off my bra. Next, I unbuttoned my trousers, and slid them over my thighs.

  When I stepped out of them, the hem caught on the ankle of my prosthesis. I bent down to tug it off, and as my fingers slid over the carbon fibre, the stab of envy returned, twisting in my stomach like a knife.

  It’s all fine playing dress-up, but don’t go thinking this could happen to you for real. Marriage, a family, kids … that’s for people who aren’t broken.

  I grabbed the fabric, balling my trousers tight. I hurled them at the mirror with all my mig
ht. They hit the glass and slid down into a pile. Now I was staring at my body, naked except for a black pair of panties and my prosthesis. Tears sprung in my eyes. Curtis was right, what a disgusting creature I was, not a whole human like Alex. I had no idea what Irvine even saw when he called me beautiful.

  “Willow, we are growing impatient!” Marsha bellowed.

  Furiously, I wiped the tears away. I was going to have to go out there and pretend I was just a girl trying on a dress, and not let them see this was tearing me up inside. I unlaced the corset and leaned against the wall for support as I stepped into it, careful not to trip while I supported myself on my prosthesis. I straightened up, letting the dress fall around me. It clung to my body, skimming my hips and nipping in just above my knees before flaring out in a wide fishtail skirt. I spun in a slow circle, and the gown flared out, the glittering golden threads shimmering like jets of fire.

  Careful to avoid looking in the mirror, I tightened the corset as best I could, smoothed down the front of the bustier and made sure my prosthesis was completely hidden by the long hem. Taking a deep breath, I slid the curtain aside and stepped out in front of the mirrors.

  The reflection that greeted me stopped my breath. Is that me? It can’t be me. It’s a trick mirror.

  But it was no trick. I looked like a real bride. I looked like a picture in a magazine, joyful and mysterious, a princess waiting for her magic carriage and glass slippers to arrive. I imagined walking up the aisle with soft violin music wafting around me, and my mother handing me off to Irvine …

  Hang on a second, where had that come from?

  Irvine was lovely and all, and the way I felt around him certainly made me giddy, but he wasn’t husband material. Not even close. For one thing, he was a werewolf. For another, we weren’t even together. We had that whole mates thing, but it was just a biological thing, it didn’t mean we were together together. We were just … friends-with-benefits together.

  And yet here I was standing in front of a mirror in the world’s most perfect wedding dress, and all I could think about was him.

  “Willow, you look amazing,” Alex breathed. She took my hands in hers, and stared approvingly down my whole body. “That dress is perfect for you.”

  I shook my head. “You’re the one who looks amazing.”

  She did at that. The Grecian-style dress hugged her body in all the right places, the flowing chiffon moving as she did. Marsha had swept her hair back and pinned in a floor-length veil of similar gauzy fabric. With the inevitable breezes that would blow through the trees at her outdoor ceremony, it would create dramatic shapes that would make for beautiful photographs.

  She was a dazzling bride. I was a poor imposter in a dress I’d never have the right to wear.

  “I think we’ve found the ones,” Alex beamed. “These are the perfect dresses.”

  “You’ve found the one,” I said, dropping her hands and slinking back into the dressing room, where I was already tugging at the corset straps. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

  * * *

  Alex brought the dress, and the shoes to match. Of course she did, it was perfect. After much fussing, Marsha put my dress – no, not my dress, obviously, I mean, the dress I’d tried on – back on the shelf and made sure I knew exactly where it was, just “in case you come back for it.”

  I left the shop with that knife of jealousy twisting in my gut. As we passed through the door, the raven croaked defiantly at us, and lifted a wing in greeting, as if to inquire what had taken so long.

  I checked my phone. No text from Mum.

  There was a jewellery shop nearby that my sources said had great stuff, but Alex insisted we return to Crookshollow. “I know exactly where we need to go,” she said. Of course she knew some secret place where cool, rich artists shopped.

  But no, she made Simon drop us right on the high street of Crookshollow. It was the middle of the day, so the street was packed with tourists ducking in and out of the crystal shops and tarot readers who lined the street. Crookshollow liked to bill itself as the most haunted village in England, because of the witches burned here hundreds of years ago and were buried at that tiny cemetery Irvine took me to. Supposedly their spirits still hung around the place. I’d thought the whole thing was silly when I’d first arrived, but judging by the sheer number of shapeshifters and now witches in the area, I was starting to believe the claims had some validity.

  I got out of the car carefully, making sure my gait wouldn’t appear odd. Alex rushed ahead of me. In her excited state, she’d probably never notice my limp.

  “Come on, Willow.” Alex waved at me from halfway down the street. “You’re going to love this.”

  Alex walked right into one of the strange crystal shops that lined the streets of Crookshollow. I couldn’t believe Alex was going to ruin her perfect dress with some cheap gothic junk. When I finally made it inside, Alex stood at the counter, pawing through boxes of crystals, while the stout old woman behind the counter placed her choices in neat rows on a leather mat.

  Alex’s face lit up when she saw me. “Willow, meet Clara, Ryan’s mother and our wedding officiant. Clara, this is Willow. She just moved to Crookshollow from London, and she helped me find the perfect dress at Marsha’s store today.”

  The old woman looked me up and down, Ryan’s kind brown eyes giving me the once over. She must’ve decided I was worth her time, for she shuffled forward, clasping the black shawl around her shoulders with gnarled fingers. Black hair streaked down her back, startling against her wizened features. I gulped when I remembered that Marsha had said she was a witch. Clara Raynard definitely had an air of authority about her. I bet she was the head witch.

  Finally, Clara took one of my hands and squeezed it. “Welcome to our village,” she said, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. If she was a real witch, then I had a feeling she was definitely on the side of good, which made me feel slightly better.

  “Thank you, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “And you. Alex was telling me you met my friend Marsha. I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me to introduce Alex to her sooner, but I’m glad you found her.”

  “That’s my job.” I grinned. “Her dresses are beautiful.”

  “Of course they are, and enchanted with magic to bless the union. In twenty-four years of running her store, not a single one of Marsha’s brides has ever had a divorce.”

  “No?” I found that a little hard to believe.

  “Not a one. Oh, she’s had a few brides who’ve cancelled their weddings after buying their dress, certain that they had made a terrible mistake. But not a single divorce. When you wear one of her dresses, the magic helps you to clear your mind and focus on the one you love, the one you’re destined to marry. And it helps to keep the oath you swear to each other foremost in the couple’s mind.” Clara must’ve seen something in my face, because she patted my arm. “I’m scaring you, dear. Please, don’t you mind an old woman like me. Come and see what Alex has found.”

  “See these?” Alex held up two crystals. They’d been cut as long, thin points. They were quite beautiful – their dappled surface a brilliant deep blue. “They’re Lapis Lazuli. This stone was sacred to the ancient Egyptians. They believed wearing the stone allowed them to commune directly with the gods.”

  That’s … kind of weird. “They’re very pretty, but I thought we were looking for jewellery.”

  “We are.” Alex beamed. “I’m going to wind these points on threads of silver and make them into a tiara.”

  Suddenly, I understood. “The black crown Bianca wore at her wedding, you made that.”

  Alex nodded. “I thought I’d do a trial piece first, before I made my own jewellery. Mine won’t be quite as dramatic as Bianca’s, but I think I can get something really cool. What do you think?”

  I think you’re amazing and beautiful and talented and you have both legs and a perfect husband. The stab of jealousy twisted in my gut. Angry at myself for feeling that way about a cl
ient and friend who was genuinely wonderful, I plastered a smile on my face.

  “I think you’ll look absolutely radiant.”

  * * *

  After buying up several stones from Clara, and a stop at Bewitching Bites to taste a selection of amazing cakes to decide on the flavour for hers, Alex and I ended up back at Raynard Hall. We were hanging Alex’s dress at the back of her enormous closet, when Simon called up that the Ryan wanted to see her. Alex practically bounded down the stairs, and I trailed after her, not wanting to witness an intimate moment between them in my current state.

  As I descended the stairs into the grand hall, Irvine and Ryan emerged from an adjacent hallway, followed by Caleb and another man. The wolf scent was thick between them, so I guessed the other guy was a werewolf as well. Alex leapt into Ryan’s arms, and he spun her around and kissed her long and deep.

  I averted my eyes, catching Irvine’s gaze. He gave me a wink, and suddenly my body was filled with a different kind of ache. I may not ever have love like that, but at least I wouldn’t die a virgin.

  Ryan set Alex down and wiped a strand of hair from her face, gazing at her adoringly. “I hope you had a successful shopping day, and spent every last cent we earned from that last show.”

  “I don’t think I could do that if I tried, but it was so cool. Willow’s a genius. She found this amazing dress shop, run by this absolutely crazy lady named Marsha Babcock who is friends with your mum.”

  “Ah, I know Marsha well.” Ryan grinned. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten she makes dresses.”

  “That’s exactly what Marsha and your mum said. But it’s fine, because Willow found her and I found the perfect dress. Everything is falling into place.” Alex beamed. “So what have you guys been discussing?”