Patricia Briggs: River Marked

I hadn’t intended on walking formally up the aisle. But as people started to arrive, Samuel—werewolf, previous roommate, and long-time-ago boyfriend—pulled me aside and gave me a bouquet of white and gold flowers.

He pulled my hair away from my left ear and bent down to whisper, “My, but you are going to have your hands full with Jesse, aren’t you? A little over three days, and she has the whole thing organized.”

“Three?” I said. “We just decided to elope yesterday.”

He smiled at me and kissed my forehead. “I heard about it on Saturday.” Before Adam returned from the East Coast.

I glanced at Jesse—who smiled brightly at me, and mouthed, “Surprise.” Then I took a real look around. While we waited for Adam, the church foyer had been acquiring a festive air as people brought out boxes with flowers and wide white ribbons—and if I wasn’t mistaken, a few of the fae were using magic to add their own touch.

I wore my wedding dress, purchased the month before. I’d thought it would be odd, with such a quick ceremony, but since I already had the dress—a great frothy thing from the waist down and formfitting white silk on top with narrow sleeves—Jesse had decided I should wear it. And Jesse had chosen to wear her bridesmaid gown because “What else would I wear?” I hadn’t been suspicious at all, probably because I loved the dress and would have accepted any excuse to wear it.

Someone opened the chapel doors so people could go sit down, but there were a lot of people already seated. Not just wolves and fae—I could see some of Adam’s business contacts and some of my regular customers at the garage. Gabriel, my right hand at the garage, and Tony, my contact with the Kennewick Police Department, were sitting next to each other. I took a step closer to the chapel, trying to see everyone Jesse had made come to my elopement. There were a lot of them.

Samuel held me back as the foyer emptied until it was just us, Jesse, and Darryl—and the organ began to play Wagner.

Jesse, on Darryl’s arm, led the procession toward the mouth of the sacrament hall. She paused there, to let my sisters Nan and Ruthie, who’d evidently been hiding just inside the chapel doors where I couldn’t see them, lead the way, escorted by Warren and Ben, another of Adam’s wolves.

At the front of the chapel, Adam waited for me next to the minister.

I blinked back tears, sniffed—and Samuel dropped my arm.

I looked over to see what he was doing, but another man had taken his place.

“Zee wanted to have the honor of giving you away,” said Bran, Samuel’s father, the Marrock who ruled all the wolves anywhere I was likely to ever go, and the Alpha of the Montana-based wolf pack who had raised me. “But I had prior claim.”

“They argued for a good while,” Samuel whispered. “I thought there would be blood on the floor.”

I glanced in the church and realized that a lot of the Montana pack I’d grown up with were here. Charles, Samuel’s brother, sitting next to his mate, smiled at me. Charles seldom if ever smiled.

About that time, humiliatingly, I started to cry.

Bran leaned closer as we walked slowly, and said in a bare whisper that didn’t carry beyond us, “Before you start feeling overwhelmed by how nice we all are to do this for you, you really should know a few things. It all started with a bet ...”

When we lined up in the front of the church, as smoothly as if we’d practiced it, Bran was right: I wasn’t overwhelmed anymore. Nor was I crying. Nan, Ruthie, and Jesse stood on my side of the church, along with Bran, who still had my hand. Darryl, Warren, and Ben lined up on the other side, next to Adam.

My mother, the traitor seated in the front row of pews, sent my stepfather up to pin a silk Monarch butterfly on my bouquet. He kissed my cheek, exchanged a nod with Bran, then sat back down at my mother’s side. My mother gave me a delighted smile and looked nothing at all like the nefarious plotter she was.

“Balloons,” I mouthed at her, raising an eyebrow to show what I thought of her subterfuge.

She discreetly pointed up—and there, clinging to the ceiling, were dozens of gold balloons with silk butterflies tied to the strings.

At my side, Bran laughed—no doubt at my dumbfounded expression.

“Like the fae,” he murmured, “your mother doesn’t lie. Just leads you where she wants you to go willy-nilly, all for your own good. If it helps, you are not alone; she came to me with a coyote pup to raise, and look what happened to me. At least you don’t owe her a hundred dollars.”

“Serves you right for betting against my mother,” I told him, as the music drew to a close, and he led me across to Adam.

Bran stopped just short, pulled me back against him, and frowned at Adam—and let the weight of his authority be felt throughout the chapel. Bran could disguise what he was, and he usually did so, appearing as a wiry-muscled young man of no particular importance. Every once in a while, though, he let the reality of what he was out. Bran was an old, old wolf and powerful. He ruled the wolves in our part of the world, and no one in this room, not even the humans, would wonder that he could make Alpha wolves obey him. The organ music faltered under the weight of it and stuttered to a halt.

“Pup,” he said into the sudden silence, “today, I’m giving you one of my treasures. You see that you take proper care of her.”

Adam, not visibly cowed, nodded once. “I’ll do that.”

Then the threat of what Bran was disappeared, and he became once more an unremarkable young-looking man in a nicely cut gray tux. “She’ll turn your life upside down.”

Adam smiled and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother fan her face—Adam cleans up very nicely and, in a tux, is breathtaking even without the smile.

“She’s been doing that this past ten years, sir,” he said. “I don’t imagine it will change anytime soon.”

Bran let me step forward, and Adam took my hand.

“Have you lost any money lately?” I whispered.

“Do I look stupid?” he whispered back, raising my hand to his lips. “I have to sleep sometime. I didn’t know about this until your mom called me at my hotel after she gave you the butterfly call. She apparently has been talking to Jesse for a couple of weeks. You and I were the last to know.”

I stared at him, then looked at the mirthful gaze of Pastor Arnez. Have to wait for a funeral, indeed.

“I didn’t bet anything, either,” the pastor whispered to me.

“Most people,” said Adam thoughtfully—and loud enough that even the audience members without preternatural gifts could hear him—“have surprise birthday parties. You get a surprise wedding.”

And, almost as if they were coached—which at least a dozen people later assured me was not the case—they all shouted, “Surprise!”

In the brief silence that followed, one of the helium balloons popped and its remains, including a silk butterfly, fell down to the floor behind the minister. If it was an omen, I had absolutely no idea what it meant.

THERE WAS AN IMPRESSIVE ARRAY OF FOOD AND drink in the church basement, and I took the opportunity to corner my little sister Nan.

“How come you got to elope, and I get a surprise wedding?” I asked her.

She grinned at me. “You have cake on your chin.” She reached over and wiped it off—looked around for a napkin, then stuck her finger in her mouth to clean it off.

“Ick,” I told her.

She shrugged. “Hey, at least I didn’t lick my fingers first. Besides, it’s good frosting, a pity to waste it. And, in answer to your question, I eloped before Mom and my new mother-in-law killed each other. A surprise wedding like this would have left bodies on the ground. You got a surprise wedding because Mom, Bran, and ... a few others were feeling guilty.”