The Wedding Beneath Westcliff Stars
Book 6
Wolf Moon Legacy Series
Chapter 1
A Wedding Beneath Westcliff Stars
POV: Mira
Westcliff looked softer beneath wedding lanterns.
That was the first thing I noticed when the SUV rolled beneath the carved wooden arch at the edge of Basil Bearclaw’s land. I had seen Westcliff in council reports, border maps, and winter patrol notices. I had stood on its training grounds once with a blade in my hand and mud on my boots while Basil’s warriors tested how quickly Royal North Star guards could adapt to forest terrain.
I knew Westcliff as stone walls, pine-dark ridges, bear-claw banners, and warriors who smiled politely before trying to knock you flat.
But tonight, Westcliff had been dressed for love.
Lanterns hung from the tall pines in warm golden rows, their glass panes flickering like captured stars. Garlands of evergreen, white berries, and silver ribbon wound around porch railings and archways. The wide path leading toward the main lodge had been swept clean of snow, though drifts still rested along the edges like folded blankets. Beyond the buildings, the mountains stood black and blue against the evening sky, their peaks silvered by moonlight.
And everywhere, there were people laughing.
Not shouting orders. Not reporting injuries. Not whispering about old vow magic, stolen gifts, or threats crossing borders.
Laughing.
A strange tightness caught under my ribs.
I stepped out of the SUV and smoothed one gloved hand down the front of my dark winter gown. Arabella had made it for me before everything changed. Before her own dress was stolen. Before she stood beneath moon-thread and decided she deserved to be seen.
The gown was dark green, black at first glance, but not plain. Nothing Arabella made was ever truly plain. Silver stitching moved along the sleeves in thin, hidden lines, almost like frost catching the edge of a blade. The skirt had a slit that I could run if I needed to, and the bodice held close enough that no one could grab loose fabric and use it against me.
Beautiful, but practical.
That was what people expected from me.
Even dressed for a wedding, I looked prepared to draw steel.
Good, Vexa murmured from the back of my mind. Weddings have exits too.
I almost smiled.
“Try to enjoy one evening,” I told her silently.
My wolf stretched, restless and silver-eyed inside me.
I am enjoying it. I am counting doors.
Of course she was.
A rush of voices pulled my attention toward the lodge. Guests moved beneath the lanterns in winter cloaks and formal gowns, their breath misting in the cold air. Warriors stood along the edges, less hidden than they thought, watching the tree line while pretending to admire decorations.
Westcliff did not forget danger just because there was a wedding.
That, at least, I understood.
“Mira!”
Arabella’s voice reached me before I saw her.
I turned just as she came down the porch steps in a spill of silver-white fabric, her dark hair loose over one shoulder and her face brighter than any lantern strung through the trees. She looked nothing like the quiet seamstress who had once stood behind other women’s gowns and tucked herself out of the light.
Tonight, Arabella was the light.
Her dress was not the stolen one. It was better.
Moon-thread shimmered across the bodice, but it did not shine cold. It glowed with pieces of every woman who had helped remake her. Queen-silver near the neckline. Hearth-gold at the cuffs. Healing blue beneath the veil. Shadow-dark stitching along the hidden seams. A road of moonlight trailing softly through the hem.
A dress made from scraps.
A dress made from love.
A dress that said she had not been ruined by what was taken.
My chest tightened again, sharper this time.
Arabella reached me and wrapped both arms around me before I could bow, salute, or do anything appropriately formal.
“I am so glad you’re here,” she said into my shoulder.
For one heartbeat, I did not move.
Then I let my arms close around her.
She smelled of lavender soap, moon-thread, and nervous happiness.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She pulled back, laughing softly. “I have said that to other people my whole life, and I still do not know how to answer it.”
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you.” Her smile trembled, then steadied. “See? I am learning.”
I studied her face. “Nervous?”
“Terrified.”
“Of the wedding?”
“No.” Her gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the porch.
Channing stood there with Basil Bearclaw and Liam Alexander, pretending to listen to something Ronan Blackthorne was saying. He was dressed in deep charcoal with silver embroidery at the cuffs and a Westcliff pin at his shoulder. His hair was neater than usual, though one stubborn piece had already fallen forward. He smiled at something Ronan said, but his eyes kept finding Arabella.
Every time they did, his entire expression changed.
Softer. Truer.
Arabella’s fingers tightened around mine.
“Not of the wedding,” she whispered. “Of being this happy where everyone can see it.”
I understood that more than I wanted to.
I looked away before she could read too much on my face. “Then let them see.”
Her smile warmed. “That sounds like something you would say while holding a knife.”
“It usually is.”
She laughed again, and this time it was easier.
Across the porch, Channing stopped pretending to listen to Ronan. His attention locked fully on Arabella, and the rest of the world seemed to fade for him. Basil clapped a hand on his shoulder, probably teasing him. Channing did not react. He only looked at his mate as if she had stitched the moon into his hands and told him he was allowed to keep it.
Good, Vexa said, quieter now.
I agreed.
Channing deserved that look. Arabella deserved to receive it.
I was glad for them.
I was.
That was what made the ache harder to explain.
Arabella squeezed my hand once more before Liora called her from the porch. “I need to go before they decide I have disappeared.”
“You are the bride,” I said. “I think they will notice.”
“That is what I am afraid of.”
She hurried back toward the lodge, her gown catching lantern light with every step.
I watched her go.
Then I felt the emptiness beside me more clearly than I had before.
It was not jealousy. I knew jealousy. I had fought beside enough people to recognize ugly emotions before they took root. This was not that.
This was something quieter.
An old bruise touched by warmth.
Around me, mates found each other without thinking. Liam’s hand settled at Ashina’s lower back while she leaned toward him to whisper something that made his mouth curve. Tala stood near Ronan with her head tipped toward his shoulder, laughing at something Lyra said as the child spun beneath a garland. Basil and Liora moved through the crowd like hearthfire and stone, welcoming guests, correcting details, keeping everyone fed and warm and grounded.
Even Kael, once all sharp obedience and old vow wounds, stood with Galena near the far path, his hand open at his side until she slipped her fingers through his.
Everywhere I looked, love had places to land.
I had duty.
Duty was familiar. Clean. Understandable.
Duty did not ask whether I wanted someone to notice if I grew tired.
A group of Westcliff children raced past me, their boots thudding against the packed snow.
“Careful,” I warned automatically, catching the smallest boy by the back of his cloak before he slipped on a frozen patch near the steps.
He blinked up at me with wide brown eyes.
“Thank you, Lady Mira.”
“I’m not a lady.”
He looked confused. “You have a dress.”
“That is not how rank works.”
His older sister grabbed his hand. “Mama said don’t bother the scary pretty guard.”
I lifted one brow.
The girl froze.
Then I said, “Your mama is half right.”
Both children squeaked and ran.
Vexa gave a low, pleased sound.
Scary pretty.
Do not start.
I like it.
“I thought I heard children fleeing,” Ashina said behind me.
I turned as the Queen of Royal North Star approached, her pale gown wrapped beneath a fur-lined cloak. She looked softer here than she did in council, but no less powerful. Liam followed a few steps behind, speaking with one of Basil’s warriors, though his gaze flicked to Ashina every few seconds the way it always did.
“I saved one from falling,” I said.
“And terrified two more?”
“Efficiently.”
Ashina smiled. “Then Westcliff is lucky to have you for the evening.”
I inclined my head. “Your Majesty.”
“Mira.”
There was gentle correction in her voice. Not sharp. Not public. But I heard it.
I looked at her.
“Tonight,” she said, “you are a guest.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Ashina’s expression softened in a way that made me want to take one step back. I could handle command. I could handle accusation. I could handle blood, blades, broken doors, and the cold silence before an attack.
Softness was harder.
She touched my arm lightly. “You have done enough watching for all of us.”
“That is not how guarding works.”
“No,” she said. “That is how hiding works.”
The words struck too cleanly.
I kept my face still.
Ashina did not press. That was why people trusted her. She knew where the wound was, but she did not shove her fingers into it just to prove she had found it.
“Arabella asked for you to stand near the front,” she said after a moment. “Not as guard. As friend.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
“I am not sure I know how to stand as only that.”
“Then start by standing there anyway.”
