Snapping My Ex-Mate's Wrist on Our Wedding Day

The heavy oak doors of the cathedral groaned as they swung open. I stood there, framed by the late afternoon sun, clutching a bouquet of thorns and dying breath. My white veil felt like a shroud.

"Step forward, Elora," Maya whispered from the shadows behind me. Her voice lacked its usual professional warmth. "The guests are waiting."

I took a step. My left shoe filled with a fresh surge of warm blood. The glass shard in my heel shifted, grinding against the bone. I didn't flinch. I kept my chin parallel to the floor.

The garden path had been replaced by a long, red-carpeted aisle that felt miles long. Hundreds of faces turned toward me. The whispers started immediately, a low hiss that moved through the pews like a snake in dry grass.

"Is that blood on her hem?"

"She’s limping. How pathetic."

"Look at her face. She looks like she’s walking to the gallows."

I ignored them. My eyes were fixed on the man standing at the top of the marble stairs. Kael Thorne looked magnificent in his midnight-blue suit. He looked like the savior I had spent two years believing in. Beside him stood the High Priest, and behind them, the massive, black totem stone of the Thorne pack, etched with ancient runes.

Kael didn't smile as I approached. He watched me with the cold, calculating gaze of a predator watching a wounded deer.

I reached the base of the stairs. My breath was steady, even if my heart was a jagged mess in my chest. I began to climb. Every step was a victory over the agony in my foot.

"You made it," Kael said. His voice carried, amplified by the acoustics of the vaulted ceiling.

"I keep my word," I replied. My voice didn't tremble. "Even when others don't."

Kael’s eyes narrowed. He looked down at the bouquet in my hands, the white petals stained with the crimson from my palms. He reached out, not to take my hand, but to snatch the marriage certificate from the High Priest’s tray.

"The Vance family land," Kael announced, turning to face the crowd. He held the cream-colored paper high. "The North Ridge. A prize many have coveted."

The guests went silent.

"Elora Vance thinks this paper makes her a Thorne," Kael continued. He looked back at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "She thinks her father's dirt is enough to buy her a place by my side."

"Kael, what are you doing?" the High Priest whispered, his eyes wide.

"I am performing a public service," Kael snapped.

He looked me dead in the eye. With a sharp, violent motion, he gripped the edges of the certificate.

*Rip.*

The sound of the heavy vellum tearing echoed like a gunshot. He tore it again, and again, until the pieces were nothing but white confetti. He tossed them into the air. They fluttered down, landing in the bloodstains on my train.

"Elora Vance is a worthless discard," Kael shouted. his voice boomed through the hall. "She is a hollow shell, a boring, vanilla girl who thinks she can lead a pack of wolves."

The crowd gasped. A few people laughed. The sound felt like a physical blow to my chest.

"You're making a mistake," I said, my voice low and sharp.

"The only mistake was waiting this long to do this," Kael countered. He turned toward the side entrance of the altar. "Come out, my love."

Selene stepped from behind the velvet curtain. She had changed. She wasn't wearing the purple bridesmaid dress anymore. She wore a gown of deep, shimmering gold that clung to every curve. Her dark hair was loose, and her eyes sparkled with a triumphant fire.

She walked straight to Kael and slid her hand into his. He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist with a familiarity that made my skin crawl.

"Behold your true Luna!" Kael declared. "Selene Vance has the fire this pack needs. She has the spirit. She has me."

Selene looked at me over Kael’s shoulder. She didn't say a word. She just smiled—a slow, poisonous curve of the lips.

"He's right, Elora," a voice called out from the front row. It was one of the pack elders. "Look at you. You can't even stand up straight."

"Kneel," another voice shouted.

"Kneel!" the crowd began to chant.

I stood my ground. I clamped my jaw shut, my spine a rod of iron. I would not give them the satisfaction.

"I said, kneel," Kael growled. He gestured to the guards standing at the corners of the altar.

Two men stepped forward. They weren't wearing ceremonial uniforms; they were in full tactical gear, carrying long spears tipped with silver.

"Down," one of the guards muttered.

He swung the wooden shaft of his spear. It slammed into the back of my left knee.

I buckled. The pain was an explosion of white light. I caught myself with my hands, the thorns in my bouquet grinding deeper into my palms.

"Stay down," the second guard ordered. He struck my right knee.

I fell. My knees hit the cold marble with a sickening crack. I stayed there, hunched over, my forehead nearly touching the stone. The laughter of the guests was a deafening roar now.

"Look at the little Luna," Selene mocked, her voice finally cutting through the noise. "She’s finally where she belongs. At our feet."

Kael stepped closer to me. He used the toe of his polished shoe to lift my chin, forcing me to look up at him and Selene. They stood framed by the black totem stone, looking like royalty.

"You are nothing, Elora," Kael whispered so only I could hear. "The Ridge is already being processed into my name. You have no home. You have no mate. You have nothing."

He spat on the floor next to my hand.

"Get her out of my sight," he commanded. "Throw her to the rogues for all I care."

The guards grabbed my arms, their grip bruising. They began to drag me backward, my dress trailing through the dirt and the torn paper of my life.

The guests stood up, pointing and jeering.

"Wait," I croaked, but the word was lost in the chaos.

Suddenly, a sound cut through the noise. It wasn't a voice or a scream.

It was a sharp, crystalline snap.

Everyone froze. The guards stopped dragging me. Kael and Selene turned around.

The massive black totem stone in the center of the altar—the stone that had stood for five hundred years, the stone that supposedly held the spirit of the Thorne ancestors—was trembling.

A thin, jagged line appeared near the base. It raced upward, glowing with a faint, sickly violet light.

*Crack.*

The sound was louder this time, like a tree trunk snapping in a storm. A shard of the ancient stone fell to the floor, shattering into dust.

A cold wind swept through the cathedral, blowing out the candles and sending a chill through the air that smelled of ancient earth and something much older than any wolf.

Kael stepped back, his face turning pale. "What is happening?"

The High Priest fell to his knees, his hands shaking. "The contract... the stone... it’s rejecting the union!"

I looked at the stone. The violet light wasn't fading. It was spreading, and for the first time since I walked through those doors, the fear in the room wasn't mine. It belonged to them.

The crack in the stone widened, and a low, guttural hum began to vibrate through the floorboards, shaking the very foundation of the temple.