Marked as the Ruthless Alpha's Vengeful Luna

Elara POV

The heavy mahogany doors swung open, and the deep, resonant blast of the ceremonial horns washed over us.

I stepped out of the Sanctum with Damien Blackwood at my side. At the far end of the corridor, my father, Richard Vance, stood frozen. His face, initially twisted in confusion at the sight of me with the Alpha instead of Julian, rapidly morphed into sheer terror.

"Elara!" he snarled, taking a step forward, his hands balling into fists.

He didn't make it another inch. Two massive Blackwood Warriors materialized in his path like walls of solid granite. They didn't even touch him. They simply released a fraction of their dominant, lethal aura. My father choked on his own breath, his knees buckling slightly as he was paralyzed by the sheer oppressive weight of their presence.

Damien didn't spare him a single glance. His large hand rested flat against my lower back, the heat of his palm burning through my dress like a branding iron. It was an undeniable claim, guiding me forward as we stepped onto the long white runner of the Ceremonial Hall.

The massive ballroom of The Pierre was drowning in thousands of white roses, their heavy, cloying scent mixing with the sudden, sharp stench of shock and fear radiating from the hundreds of Pack dignitaries seated in the pews. Camera flashes erupted from the press pit like a violent lightning storm.

As we reached the altar, Damien's steps slowed. His slate-gray eyes swept over the front row, locking onto Alpha Pierce of the Silvermoon Pack.

Pierce was leaning back, a smug, predatory smirk playing on his lips, clearly waiting to carve up the Vance territory. But the moment Damien's gaze found him, the smirk vanished.

Damien didn't utter a single word. Instead, he unleashed his aura. It rolled off him in a crushing, suffocating wave of pure, unadulterated Alpha dominance. The air in the room literally vibrated. I felt the pressure in my chest, heavy and terrifying. Pierce turned deathly pale. His Inner Wolf, faced with an apex predator, instinctively submitted. The crystal champagne flute in Pierce's hand shattered under his sudden, white-knuckled grip. He dropped his gaze to the floor, thoroughly broken.

Without a drop of blood spilled, Damien had just claimed my Pack's lands.

The Keeper of Oaths stepped forward, his eyes wide. Wisely, he skipped the traditional blessings of the Moon Goddess and fated mates, moving straight to the cold, hard declarations of the Binding Contract.

"Do you, Damien Blackwood, claim this woman and her lands under the ancient laws?"

"I do," Damien's voice rumbled, a low sentence of absolute authority.

"And do you, Elara Vance, accept this claim?"

I stared out at the sea of faces—wolves who had mocked me, pitied me, or waited for my destruction. I lifted my chin. "I do."

When it came time for the rings, a heavy silence fell. Everyone knew Julian had the wedding band in Paris. Damien didn't hesitate. He pulled the heavy silver signet ring from his own thumb—the one bearing the roaring black wolf crest of his bloodline. He took my hand, his grip firm and unyielding, and slid the massive ring onto my thumb. It was cold, heavy, and felt exactly like a beautiful shackle.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to my forehead. There was no warmth in the gesture, only the chilling finality of a seal being set.

*"The performance begins now, little wolf,"* he murmured, his breath ghosting over my ear. *"Do not falter."*

We turned to face the congregation. The applause that broke out was hesitant, sparse, and laced with profound confusion.

My eyes scanned the front row and landed flawlessly on Addyson Blackwood. Julian's mother looked as though she were choking on glass. The unmasked, venomous hatred twisting her elegant features darted toward me like a viper.

I didn't look away. I didn't shrink back. Instead, I held her furious gaze and allowed a slow, deliberate, and entirely ice-cold smile to curve my lips.

*I am not the victim anymore, Addyson. I am your Luna.*

Damien's hand tightened slightly on my waist, a silent acknowledgment of the war I had just declared. Together, we stepped off the altar and began our march back down the aisle, heading straight for the exit where his security detail was already moving to escort us to the waiting cars.