LOGAN
I hated weddings.
Not because of the music or the crowds or the endless barrage of small talk from wolves I’d only ever spoken to once. I hated them because of what they promised—forever. A concept that sounded so clean, so simple when wrapped in white linen and wine glasses, but in reality?
Forever was bloodstained. It was promises broken under full moons. It was love used like a weapon.
But none of that showed on my face.
I stood near the head of the long, winding Moonstone garden path, where the rehearsal dinner was being set up under strings of soft golden lights. The air buzzed with cicadas and laughter.
We were just on the edge of dusk, the first stars peeking out over the pines. The tables were already half-filled with guests.
The elders were seated toward the front—
